A renaissance in European Providence

In the 1980s, some of Providence’s most famous features were a mayor who is now serving a federal prison sentence and a downtown traffic rotary so dangerous that it was nicknamed “Suicide Circle.”

Providence has since become known as the Renaissance City. The downtown area did look exceptionally clean, though I also got the feeling that city planners wished they could clean some of the local population, many of whom are resolutely seedy.

If it’s any consolation to those who dislike seamy flair in a city (and I think every city should have at least some of that), I have little doubt that the west side of Providence, an area currently consisting of a peculiar mix of vibrant artists and aforementioned seedy locals, will undergo SoHo-style gentrification within 10 years.

The first place I went to was the Rhode Island State House. The white marble edifice reflected the day’s light, which was on the wane. The result was blinding yet beautiful.

I basked in the fading glow of the building for almost 10 minutes before finally leaving. I wished I had made an earlier train so I could have toured the inside.

And so I walked from the grandeur of the State House to the commercialism of Providence Place Mall, which is actually a damn fine mall. It’s carpeted! And classical music played on the sound system. I continued downtown and reflected that I had no idea where I was. While this is how I usually feel in life, I also usually know at the very least which T station I’m near. I now found myself at the mercy of Providence, and I felt more peaceful than I had in years.

I walked along Francis Street and soon entered the Financial District. I had been walking around, swept up by the old-fashioned look of Dorrance and Winchester Streets, when I was abruptly reminded how small Providence is.

I reached the end of a long side street and realized I was already at Rhode Island School of Design (RISD).

I checked my map and found I was in the College Hill area. I continued up College Hill. I stopped in Memorial Park, located at the base of College Street. Whether by design or by accident, Providence is one of the most European cities I’ve ever visited in America. With its expansive waterfront walkways, parks scattered with people out for walks and the frequent juxtaposition of modern against colonial, I was surprised each time I heard people pass by conversing in English.

As the sun set, I began walking along historic Benefit Street. Even in darkness I could tell the street was remarkable.

I looked through an open window in one of the houses, and startled when I saw a woman watching television.

I had completely forgotten that these houses weren’t just historically preserved like waxworks, as if for my benefit as a tourist. These were people’s homes.

Needing a break from the near-suffocating grace of Benefit Street, I checked my map for the nearest way to cut across to Thayer Street, which runs through Brown University’s campus and offers numerous quirky shops and restaurants.

I headed south down Thayer Street, toward Brown. At this point I made the questionable decision of straying off Thayer Street.

Somewhere amid Angell Street and Prospect Street, I became spectacularly lost. Waterman Street, God bless it, deposited me back along the Providence River.

I was dismayed to find that Providence exhibited distinctly American attitudes after a certain hour. Separated by a bridge from the ado of College Hill, downtown Providence on a Friday night bore a striking resemblance to quiet downtown Boston. A gondolier passed me by on the river. It was a nice touch, but his empty craft spoke volumes.

As I was thinking all this, Emeline, my own personal providence, called. She was a friend of a friend, currently attending Brown. She graciously agreed to show my hapless self around town.

We walked to South Main Street, where I found a most delightful movie theater. The Cable Car Cinema, at 204 South Main Street, successfully combines hipster eccentricity, which I generally loathe, with earnestness and cinematic appreciation, which I love.

Best of all, the theater eschews traditional seating in favor of rows of couches. The couches add an intimacy that is sorely lacking in many of the cold, massive googolplexes of today.

After coffee, Emeline left for a prior engagement and I walked to Wickendon Street, another popular street teeming with restaurants and coffee shops. I ate dinner alone.

I walked back to Thayer Street at 11 p.m. This time I spent much of my time amid Brown’s campus. It felt like off-campus west, except the police didn’t care about minor substance infractions such as public drinking or smoking pot or shooting up smack with RISD grad students. Actually, I’m not sure what you have to do around Brown to get in any serious trouble.

Watching inebriated students drift from building to building and frequently run into friends, I started to realize how vastly different the social experience was at Boston University.

I don’t know what it is about BU’s social scene that I dislike. I’ve visited friends at other schools and people seem really happy on the weekends. Parties I go to at BU are more like marionette shows, with some invisible controller — social obligation, latent alcoholism, I don’t know — pulling the strings for the night’s performance, “What a Fun College Party Should Be Like.” It bores me.

I started to resent Providence for exposing so much of my unhappiness. I returned to Emeline’s dorm and fell asleep on a couch in the basement lounge.

I woke up early and headed to the RISD Museum. I spent so much time there that I had little time left.

I can’t say I was sad to be leaving Providence. I also can’t say I was excited to be getting back to Boston. Still, even if Boston didn’t feel like home, it offered the promise of a hot shower and toiletries. After a day and a half in Providence, that would have to do.