A peripatetic afternoon in Providence
April 25, 2003 ~ 11:36 p.m.
BOSTON, MA, U.S.A.�The wife and I went to Providence, the capital city of the state of Rhode Island, today. Walking down Francis Street with the impressive, domed State House building to the back of us and the city�s financial district skyscrapers looming past the river walk in front of us, I told the wife that I thought, �Providence is to Cardiff as Boston is to London.� Meaning that, while not as domineering as Boston in terms of prestige or power, Providence is a thoroughly likeable, compact and energetic city that holds its own, just as Cardiff does when compared with giant London.
In fact, it was a curious sight to see a weathered sticker clinging to the back of a STOP sign on Exchange Street that read, �Keep Boston out of Providence!� A small, grainy photo of the Boston skyline had a red slash running diagonally across it. This reflects the proud nature of Rhodies. Roger Williams broke with Massachusetts and the anti-Bay State rebellion tradition carries forth. Give the plucky residents of the Ocean State that much credit. They know they have a state that can hold its own, and a capital city with pulling power. (And to be fair, once you�ve been to Amsterdam, every city seems dull by comparison. Or so I�ve found.)
Although only an hour away from Boston by car or MBTA train�we took the latter form of transportation�Providence does give one the impression that they�ve stepped across the state border, even without the aid of assertive propaganda on street signs. The feel of the city is really a reflection of the state itself�small, important, but not self-important. The interactions I had with people in Providence left me with the impression that they are self-assured but assuredly not self-important. They do wear the same weather-weary look typical of all New Englanders; that much we share in common.
When you hop off the train at the clean and rather cute Providence Station, you walk out the doors to be greeted by the Florentine-cum-American Renaissance architecture of the State House. The nerve center and central command of Rhode Island sits impressively on the top of a hill with a wide, park-like lawn surrounding it. You stroll down towards Francis Street and are drawn to the megaplex called Providence Place. Much like Copley Place in Boston, you can take skywalks to several sections of the mall; and, much like Copley, it is ritzy. Don�t even think of shopping here unless you�ve got cash, baby (it�s got a Filene�s and a Crate and Barrel, for Chrissakes). But a shrine to posh consumer capitalism gives Providence its seal of official City status and I wouldn�t have it any other way.
We crossed Francis Street by the river and got absorbed by Waterplace Park. The riverfront was vital to Providence�s revitalization and the cobblestone paths along the water make for a great romantic setting. Especially if it�s a warm, humid evening and there are small bonfires afloat in the river with Venetian style gondolas skimming the surface of the water. This is Providence on a summer evening. In our case, this was 2 p.m. on a very windy, 60-degree day in late April, but never mind. One look at Waterplace Park and you imagine the rest. The walls of an tunnel leading to Exchange Street are covered with tiles and they are charming�1960s style peace symbols and sentiments combined with towering patriotism. One tile showed the outline of the United States with the Stars and Stripes design on the inside of the shape and a peace symbol interlaced with it. This is the sort of true peace envisioned by the original Old Left Vietnam protestors who meant well, conscientious but patriotic dissenters, the peace movement before it turned ugly in 1968 and gave birth to the monumentally disgusting New Left �peace� protestors of today. This peace-and-patriotism display was the highlight of Providence for me.
A restaurant, Bella Vista, stands at the foot of Waterplace Park. It didn�t seem open when we walked in. In fact, it was surreal. We took the stairs down to a dark but posh corridor at the end of which was a ballroom-like dining room. Imagine the type of place you always wanted to have your wedding reception in and multiply it by one hundred. It was fantastic, but there was nobody around. I wandered toward the dining room.
�Don�t,� my wife whispered sharply. �This is way beyond our means.� A later look at the menu, provided free at the train station, alerted me to the fact that the prices were no more damaging than the Joe�s American Grill at Providence Place that we eventually had lunch at (highly recommended all the same). But damn, what a place. It seemed ominously quiet�if they were closed, how could we just walk right in?�but in the summer, I imagine it must be hopping. I was reminded of the Baja Beach Club, our infamous haunt whenever we find ourselves in Barcelona. I just wanted a drink, anything from the place, could feel the restaurant calling to me like the Overlook Hotel � la The Shining, but the wife was leading me back up the stairs by both hands.
We walked a loop through the financial district, past the Woolworth Building carbon copy Fleet Bank office tower, up Westminster Street to Memorial Boulevard. A brick archway details the horrifying disasters that were wrought upon Providence by the Great Hurricane of 1938 and Hurricane Carol in 1954. A painting of a mid-19th century storm was also none too succinct in hammering home just how fierce cyclone-whipped water racing up through Narragansett Bay and straight up through the Providence River was to a city ill-prepared for its effects. A hurricane barrier at Fox Point separates the city from the widest part of the river. Chilling stuff nonetheless.
Across the bridge stood the stately brick edifices of Brown University. We walked back up toward Providence Place for our lunch at Joe�s and then rested by the State House. Our train back to Boston wasn�t due to leave for nearly an hour, so we walked up past the State House, along Gaspee Street, over the Smith Street bridge where we were treated to perhaps the best view of the city skyline, and then along Canal Street back toward the financial district, then up toward the MBTA station again. (There is something rather odd about the fact that the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority serves the capital of Rhode Island.) Providence Station is also a destination point for Amtrak.
Among my regrets are that we did not get to sample the trolleys that run through the city (the Green and Gold Lines), and the fact that we had to scrounge deep inside our change purses for the $4.50 necessary to purchase a book of stamps of a post-office vending machine only to come across the post office later that afternoon on Exchange Street, nor venture into the Federal Hill district (Providence�s Little Italy).
I looked at the Providence skyline as we pulled away on our way out of Rhode Island and I thought, I need to come back here more often.
And you know something? I will.
� M.E.M.
|
[Sign My Guestbook]
[View My Guestbook]
|
Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.
AMERICA FOR TRUE AMERICANS!