Photo Essay: The Departed Returns (to Boston)

I lived in Boston for only a year, but it left an indelible impression on me. It was the final year of my post-graduate training, and I had bagged a dream Fellowship at a Harvard institution. As if that were not sweet enough, I had also landed a previously unoccupied basement loft literally opposite the Prudential in the ritzy Back Bay neighborhood. I was within walking distance of Newbury Street, the Commons, Theater District, Beacon Hill, Lansdowne Street nightclubs, and South End restaurants.

In the year that followed, Boston would endear itself to me. It was a small city to be sure, but had a tangible sense of history (Freedom Trail, anyone?). Thanks to its college town status, there were always hoardes of young people around. Contrary to everything I had heard, Bostonians would disarm me with their friendliness. I loved my place of work - it was a tough program, but challenged and inspired me. Most weeknights, I would walk to my (also subterranean) gym on Newbury, where I would run into people like Nicholas Baume, the curator of the ICA (back then, the ICA was still in its old digs on Boylston, making Yours Truly a regular at opening parties). And if Boston ever seemed tame, NYC was a quick daytrip away.

Ever since I left, I had wanted to plan a return trip. The opportunity presented itself this past weekend, thanks to a free (frequent flyer) ticket and the Anish Kapoor show at the ICA (I am a big fan and collector of this Indian born sculptor). It was important for me to visit my old haunts and retrace my steps. There was a part of me that wanted to hold on to my memories without risking disappointment. I feared that things would be different, and that would somehow undermine the authenticity of what I remembered.

But I found Boston to be mostly as I had left it five years ago. My old street was still home to students and young professionals; even the laundry room hadn't moved. The weight machines at my gym hadn't budged an inch. People were as engaging as I had hoped they would be, save for Sonsie's (the Newbury Street dining institution) and Louis Boston (a high end lifestyle store also on Newbury). Emack and Bolio's was still dishing out its ever popular icecream from the same location. I was pleasantly surprised to see Good - the curated curiosity shop - doing well on Beacon Hill. The chocolate bread pudding at Sonsie's was a disappointment though, and Pravda - the Russian themed nightclub - was no more.

The Diller, Scofidio and Renfro designed ICA was exemplary, but I wished its immediate surroundings were more concordant with the architects' vision. The piece de resistance, no doubt, was the sloping media center framing mesmerizing views of the water.

I had come for the Kapoor show, but was very impressed with all the current exhibitions (especially Mark Bradford's and Robin Rhodes' street art). Ranjani Shettar's sculpture (which included tamarind paste) was an interesting counterpoint to Anish Kapoor's works.

It is hard to describe the Kapoor pieces as they warrant first hand experience. While press images make them seem somewhat derivative of minimalism, they were in reality closer to the perceptual works of Olafur Eliason or James Turell. The ICA show included only a handful of sculptures - many of Serra-esque proportions - in a large room with diffused natural light. They were at once delicious and delirious; vaginal and vertiginous; and I found myself reluctant to leave.

My choice of hotel - the Liberty - was somewhat new to the Boston scene, and as I would discover, was the hot spot du jour. Originally the Charles Street Jail, it was masterminded by architect Gridley Bryant who sought to build a humane prison in the Granite Style. It served its punitive function from 1851 - 1990, before being resurrected as a luxury hotel. The Liberty did things right from the moment I walked up to the Reception - allowing me a very early 0730 check in (a welcome respite after my redeye from the West Coast) - and paying attention to the small things that matter: in room coffee brewer, Molton Brown toko-yuzu shower gel, iron and lint brush, weighing scale, umbrella ...

However, for an hotel that claimed "we have the capability of providing over 500 newspapers from 67 countries in 36 languages" I was disappointed that they were unable to provide me with the New York Times. I was also dismayed at the $1/ minute charge to use the internet at the Business Center.

The buzzing weekend Lobby Scene more than made up for these inadequacies! I met a friend for drinks and small plates on Saturday - and enjoyed two Mumbai Express cocktails (mango puree, ginger, red bull, crushed kumquats and rum). The cheese platter was excellent, as were the fries with harissa aioli; the garlic soup with pistachio oil was exquisite. By 9 pm, there was a long line snaking outside the lobby and only guests or patrons with printed reservations to CLINK or ALIBI were allowed inside.

The ambience on Sunday was more subdued. However, thanks to a wedding reception, there was a steady stream of bowties and black dresses at the bar. Strangely, several of them would greet me or stop by to shake my hand. I had more strangers acknowledge me in one night than I've had in 5 years in California. (The Bay Area - despite its self proclaimed liberalism and inclusivity - has always seemed insular to me. )

Back home, I am more conflicted than ever. San Francisco no doubt has stunning natural beauty, incredibly good weather and a certain foggy magic. But I find myself wondering if I am essentially an East Coast person after all.