As my final weeks of college count down, I'm nostalgic. I'm anxious. I'm terrified. I'm ready.
For my final column it seemed intuitive to end with a "best of" - a reel of all the hoods and haunts that this self-appointed critic endorses. That end, however, felt inappropriate. Not only because my self-delegated post as Jumbo's guide to Boston hardly makes me an expert (only four years ago I was a mere rogue explorer myself) but because now, as I prepare to move on, it seems as though we are parting ways just as we really got to know each other.
Therefore, this is not an opinionated catalog of the city's worthiest. This is a tribute to my dear friend, Boston.
For my final foray into my beloved Boston, I felt the most fitting way to say farewell would be from the top of the Prudential Center. I hopped on the T reminiscent, realizing it would likely be one of my last rides. As the Red Line glided over the Longfellow Bridge, I craned my head, as I do compulsively at that point every ride, to gaze out onto the Charles. It was cold and rainy, but the State House dome was still gleaming, and sailboats still dotted the water. It was good to see Boston as I know it best.
Finding the elevator to the top of the Prudential, however, was a novelty. I had never been to the top before. After a short ride, my ears barely popped, and I gazed out over the city. The Hancock was right in front of me, and I squinted to search for my reflection. The Common, Beacon Hill, rows upon rows of brownstones and green oxidized roofs, the Tobin Bridge, Boston Public Library, the flexed arm of the Cape, a Red Sox game in progress - all were there in one panoramic breath.
I'm ready. I need a new adventure. But goodbyes are never easy. I'll miss long days strolling down Newbury, getting lost in Boston Public Library, and buying chocolates at Cardullo's and eating them in the snow while walking through Harvard Square.
What about trips to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, the Museum of Fine Arts or the Institute for Contemporary Art - how else will I find my cultural fix?
I'll miss the food. Oh, how I'll miss the food. Savory dates, hors d'oeuvres and champagne cocktails at Upstairs on the Square, cheesy seafood burritos at Border Café, the bloody mary bar at East Coast Grill, the meatloaf from Stephanie's, slices from Mike's at 11:30, and tuna melts and Naragansett from All Star. Oh, how I'll miss Naragansett!
After a long week of hitting the books, nothing was better therapy than a night out in Boston.
I can't imagine living without pints in Underbones, the naughty drinks of Noir or the long list of cocktails to lush my way through at the B-sides. And especially late at night, I'll long for the sexy anonymity of the dance floor at the Middlesex.
Hell, I'll even miss the winter and the cobblestones, the bad transportation and the early last calls. In light of our imminent separation it all somehow becomes endearing.
I guess my parting wisdom is this: Cherish every moment, take every opportunity and don't ever pass up the chance to get to know your city. Boston has been my constant companion, my partner in crime, my tempestuous lover, my confidant, another fellow Jumbo whom I won't ever be able to tell a story from my years at Tufts without. Goodbye Boston. It's been real.
Robin Alberts-Marigza graduates today with a degree in psychology. She can be reached at Robin.Alberts_Marigza@tufts.edu.
