Fifteen years ago, I was a freshman at Tufts University in Somerville, Mass., a leisurely walk from Cambridge and a short T ride from downtown Boston.

The first time I went back to visit my alma mater, in 2000, I wanted to take pictures of everything and nothing. I wanted something tangible to show what the place had meant to me — some evidence of who I became there. But at the same time I knew that what I was trying to capture was intangible, and seeing the 30-year-old me smiling in front of my freshman dorm would ruin it.

Last month, I made another pilgrimage to my favorite place of the past — and discovered it is also an important part of my present.

Boston lures me with physical attractions: big bookstores, Mexican restaurants, the chance to see excellent live music any night of the week, a public transportation system that will take you anywhere you need to go.

There are also the intangibles: the diversity, the humanity, the sheer life force of a big city, where so many things are changing and anything could happen.

———

I am walking from Tufts to Harvard Square, soaking up the sights and sounds, and observing what has changed and what has not.

There are four new buildings on campus, but the two dorms I lived in look exactly the same. Davis Square, which I remember mainly as home of the Somerville Theater and Johnny D's Uptown Lounge, is now full of trendy bars and crowded coffee shops. Disc Diggers, my favorite used-record store, is still there — though rows of CDs sit where the vinyl used to live.

I turn right on Beech Street and left on Mass. Ave., the busy, merchant-lined thoroughfare that will lead me to Cambridge. There seems to be an Indian restaurant or a taqueria every few blocks. Some of my favorite restaurants are gone.

From a distance, Harvard Square looks the same. I see the landmark newspaper kiosk at the main intersection — an island in a stream of cars and pedestrians. The cobblestones feel lumpy under my sneakers as I walk to the boisterous Border Café, where you can still get a great lunch — chicken enchiladas with black beans and rice, chips and salsa — for $5.99.

Outside the Harvard Coop, a young man strums a guitar and sings a gentle version of "All Along the Watchtower." Some of my favorite stores — Newbury Comics, Urban Outfitters — are the same, but I'm disappointed to see that the legendary Steve's Ice Cream has been replaced by an ordinary Starbucks.

———

The T has not changed much. It's still a world of silver turnstiles and gold tokens. It has the same smell — a mix of musty damp and burning metal. There's still an eerie underground breeze, as if a train is always right around the corner.

A train rumbles into the station, and I get on. Inside, people are reading papers and novels, sleeping, talking, staring into space. There's a new sign detailing emergency instructions, with the slogan, "Safety is Knowing."

The train rushes down the track with a clackity roar, screeching as it navigates curves. The underbelly of the city passes by in a dark blur. There are flashes of light as we brush past another train and pull into the station. Letters and images come into focus as the train slows to a stop. The doors part, and the driver announces, "Pahk Street. Change fuh the green line."

———

One of the best parts about going away is coming home.

Each time, when I return, the Brooks' chicken smells better than ever. The streets seem quieter, the parks more spacious, the hillsides more beautiful.

Most of all, I love the sense of community I've found here. It's the heart of local events such as the Pit Run and the Halloween parade. It's the knowledge that on any long run or walk, I'll pass the house of someone I know.

For a while after I return, I no longer notice the things I missed. I'm content ordering books from Amazon. As for the Mexican food, well, I'm still hoping a restaurant will open — and succeed.

In the meantime, I'm working on my enchilada recipe.

Lisa Miller is a freelance writer who lives in Oneonta. She can be reached at lisamiller44@hotmail.com.