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We walked downtown to watch the Waterfire event. Never in all my years would I imagine Providence to foot the bill for such an extravagant festival and not charge admission. Clearly, things have changed here. When I left, they were beginning the process of moving the Woonasquatucket River... again. They had already shifted the railroad tracks and had begun uncovering and dredging the river back in '96. They've made the river a centerpiece of the city (complete with gondolas), built a huge mall and many pricey hotels around it. Now, there's Waterfire.
We stood on a footbridge and watched as boats with fire dancers circled the main area. There were circles and lines of pyres set up and music piped throughout. It was quite lovely. We strolled through the downtown streets afterward. I'm a little surprised there aren't more commercial booths and stands set up to take advantage of the crowds. We had to quest to find a Del's lemonade to share. Though, we did happen upon a stretch SUV parked on a side street. We stopped to chat with the driver who was super cool and gave us a tour of the vast interior. He estimated maybe 10mpg on the highway. An atrocity to be sure.
Many of the main arteries and streets have shifted just enough to throw me and my rusty mental map. And, I can't for the life of me remember what used to be in the places where all the new buildings exist. I remember what's there, I know what's new, yet I can't remember what once was.
G and I are a bit concerned about all the major building and renovation projects actively under way. The closure of so many banks and the weirdness of the real estate market may prove disastrous. So many other building projects have forced contractors and financers into bankruptcy before the structure is complete. With all they've done to revitalize Providence, I'd hate to see it deteriorate in the next decade into unused, unfinished buildings.
We're sitting in a little Italian café sharing G's computer to work. As I reflect, my attitude about "The Biggest Little State in the Union" (their tourist campaign of 20 years ago) has changed as a result of this trip. I've always had nostalgia for certain spots, yet I left the state on bad terms within a very negative period of my life. There was little love for RI as I raced to leave for a new life on a new shore. I had no desire to return. It was never my plan. These few days here on our way to Boston have shifted my perspective. I have taken G to some of my favourite places and rekindled my affection for them. I return with my current attitude, which is vastly different from that bitter and depressed place from which I lived while here and left to change. I see the beauty, I have only met the wonderful people and I am enjoying the quirks of the area that I found so irksome then. I'm reveling in the accents and attitudes. It really is about perspective. I'm in no hurry to move back here -- the oppressive humidity and persistent haze are no more attractive than when I departed -- yet I would enjoy more time in this state. I'd make the time to call all my old friends and relatives and see if they had time for a chat. I'd return to all the museums and historical spots and re-educate myself. I'd take a walk through all the ethnic pockets and soak in their flavour. Maybe I'll return before long. Optimistically, at least, before another 11 years passes.
I guess the saying is wrong. I really could go home again.
We stood on a footbridge and watched as boats with fire dancers circled the main area. There were circles and lines of pyres set up and music piped throughout. It was quite lovely. We strolled through the downtown streets afterward. I'm a little surprised there aren't more commercial booths and stands set up to take advantage of the crowds. We had to quest to find a Del's lemonade to share. Though, we did happen upon a stretch SUV parked on a side street. We stopped to chat with the driver who was super cool and gave us a tour of the vast interior. He estimated maybe 10mpg on the highway. An atrocity to be sure.
Many of the main arteries and streets have shifted just enough to throw me and my rusty mental map. And, I can't for the life of me remember what used to be in the places where all the new buildings exist. I remember what's there, I know what's new, yet I can't remember what once was.
G and I are a bit concerned about all the major building and renovation projects actively under way. The closure of so many banks and the weirdness of the real estate market may prove disastrous. So many other building projects have forced contractors and financers into bankruptcy before the structure is complete. With all they've done to revitalize Providence, I'd hate to see it deteriorate in the next decade into unused, unfinished buildings.
We're sitting in a little Italian café sharing G's computer to work. As I reflect, my attitude about "The Biggest Little State in the Union" (their tourist campaign of 20 years ago) has changed as a result of this trip. I've always had nostalgia for certain spots, yet I left the state on bad terms within a very negative period of my life. There was little love for RI as I raced to leave for a new life on a new shore. I had no desire to return. It was never my plan. These few days here on our way to Boston have shifted my perspective. I have taken G to some of my favourite places and rekindled my affection for them. I return with my current attitude, which is vastly different from that bitter and depressed place from which I lived while here and left to change. I see the beauty, I have only met the wonderful people and I am enjoying the quirks of the area that I found so irksome then. I'm reveling in the accents and attitudes. It really is about perspective. I'm in no hurry to move back here -- the oppressive humidity and persistent haze are no more attractive than when I departed -- yet I would enjoy more time in this state. I'd make the time to call all my old friends and relatives and see if they had time for a chat. I'd return to all the museums and historical spots and re-educate myself. I'd take a walk through all the ethnic pockets and soak in their flavour. Maybe I'll return before long. Optimistically, at least, before another 11 years passes.
I guess the saying is wrong. I really could go home again.