Forget Dubai. Hanover is so hot right now. Recently, two leading national rags showcased Hanover in their broadsheets, painting the home of the College as a rustic oasis in the wilds of New Hampshire. "The region is a center for outdoor activities, and Hanover itself is a cultural hive," posited the New York Times in its glowing February feature. The Boston Globe gushed in its extensive mid-March expos, "It is no surprise that CNN and Money magazine put [Hanover] near the top in their ranking of the best places to live in the United States."
While singing the praises of Main Street mainstays, the Globe tended to overreach into the unrealistic: "Thursdays call for dancing shoes at Fuel Rocket Club...where you can learn salsa, merengue and bachata then dance till nearly midnight." Any curious passerby will be disappointed to discover that Fuel is not quite Studio 54 on the Connecticut River. Still, with all this prime publicity, it is only a matter of time before travel journo extraordinaire Rick Steves romps into town or "Let's Go! Upper Valley" hits bookstores.
There is no wonder why Hanover lures flocks of visitors from distant locales and attracts this media spotlight. Hanover bills itself as the pristine colonial village -- crowned with the archetypal town Green adorned by white buildings and redbrick facades -- that pulls at the heartstrings of Baby Boomer yuppie tourists. Disney World's interpretation of classic New England would look a lot like Hanover.
It is not happenstance that the town has maintained this mythical aura over the years. Hanover boasts volumes of zoning laws that prevent McDonalds' Golden Arches and other kitsch corporations from setting up shop and vulgarizing the idyllic northern New England ambience. And to preserve the town's historical shtick, as mandated in Hanover's 2003 Master Plan, new construction and renovations "should be compatible with the existing building fabric and sympathetic in terms of height, setback, proportions, materials and detailing."
Yet simultaneously, Hanover harbors cosmopolitan flair with its high-end boutiques and jewelry dealers that satisfy the consumerist appetites of its chichi clientele.
This dualism between the classic and the cosmopolitan makes life difficult for any entrepreneur-cum-shopkeeper trying to make it on Main Street. With all the same booms and busts and swapping of real estate deeds, a veritable real life game of Monopoly constantly plays out in Hanover. (And yes, India Queen is Baltic Avenue.)
Just look at the fate of Razzberry Kiss -- the once do-it-yourself bead jewelry bazaar nestled in the enclave next to Wheelock Books. This stillborn store closed up shop this past fall after being in business for just one year. Its fatal flaw: disrupting the delicate balance between the traditional and the modern. It veered too much toward the latter for the palate of the townsfolk. And on top of that, flapper fashion went out with Prohibition.
Are all these zoning laws and the town's yin-and-yang persona a boon to undergrads? On one hand, kids at the Big Green swap easy access to their corporate comforts for the mostly local businesses of Main Street. Then again, who doesn't want to go to college in Disney World? A fair trade.
At the same time, in walking the fine line between the classic and the cosmopolitan, aspiring shopkeepers should come down more on the side of the former. The 03755 does not need any more diamond jewelers, frame shops and other menageries of the miscellaneous catering to the 45-and-over crowd. While Hanover seems self-contained in offering all the bare necessities, students still dream of that one extra -- and practical -- storefront that would make the town (more) complete. An indie record store? A New York"style deli? An adult bookstore?
The 4,100 undergrads comprise a commanding share of the 11,100 residents of Hanover. With this sway, students vote yea-or-nay to new business ventures in town with their feet and wallets. Rolling the dice in Hanoveropoly, prospective entrepreneurs take note: ignoring the student angle will likely result in a "Chance Card" that more-or-less reads, "Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200."
