Ex-New Yorker finds one pleasant surprise after another during visit to Providence | Opinion
Joel Samberg is a journalist and also a columnist for Connecticut Magazine. His latest book, "Weinerface," is a collection of short stories.
When I moved to Connecticut in 2010 I looked forward to living in a suburb of Hartford because of what I reasoned to be the excitement of a capital city. But it didn’t take long for me to start joking that Hartford was more of a lower-case city than a capital one. I suppose spending the first 50 years of my life within 45 minutes of Manhattan gave me a viewpoint of what cities should be, capital or otherwise.
They call New York the city that never sleeps. To me, Hartford is a city that is always sleeping. Few people on the sidewalks. Almost no food vendors, which means more truck exhaust in the air than the aroma of international foods. Only three professional theaters. Storeowners, servers and parking attendants aren’t rude, but neither are they overly engaging.
But was I being unfair? Just because a city is called a capital, does it have to duplicate the sights, sounds and bustle of Manhattan?
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The journalist in me wondered how other capital cities would fare in such a comparison. So I took my wife on our first-ever trip to Providence, a mere 90 minutes away.
It didn’t start well.
The Roger Williams Zoo was a disappointment. The animal enclosures seemed cramped, and there was a plethora of cheap-looking Halloween decorations — skeletons and tombstones, mostly, which is not what you want to see in a sanctuary for wild animals.
Then, as we were about to drive into the city proper, we passed a landfill that made us think we accidentally detoured to Staten Island. Or maybe it was just a large junkyard. There was no way to tell, and we had no desire to find out.
But after that it was one pleasant surprise after another, beginning with the parking lot attendant. He was more helpful and friendly than most real estate agents.
The bookstores we visited were fascinating. It would not have been difficult to spend hours in each one looking at the books, which ranged from very new to downright ancient, as well as all the antiques, novelties, knickknacks and curios.
I took a picture from the center of one of the bridge walkways above the Providence River, with a small boat in the distance, and texted it to my son in Brooklyn. He texted back, “Are you in Paris?”
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We ate at a small restaurant whose colorful owner regaled us with a captivating story of his resilience and survival. It was a fascinating true-life tale I will never forget.
The streets weren’t crowded, but neither were they empty. Plenty of students strode by, usually in groups, the embodiment of youthful vigor and optimism. We passed two well-dressed lawyers, a man and a woman, on their way back from lunch (their conversation about judges gave it away). I felt like an extra in "Providence Law," a television drama that doesn’t really exist — but should.
We could not walk more than a block before we were compelled to stop and look up at architecturally-rich edifices embedded with words or sculptures or the intricate façades of Victorian Gothic or Georgian Revival buildings.
We saw signs for museums and concerts and musicals.
To our personal delight we noticed many indications, via posters and fliers, that the city is as inclusive as we like our cities to be. Everyone is welcome. That was clear.
My initial goal may have been to compare Providence to Hartford. But if first impressions have any value, this is one journalist who will eagerly seek an opportunity to come back for a story.
I think it’s a capital idea.
This article originally appeared on The Providence Journal: People were helpful, the bookstores were fascinating, and the buildings were architecturally rich. And there was more.
