The Cambridge Street reconstruction is finished — maybe. Workmen were out on the median last week picking the plastic bags out of the bushes and otherwise cleaning up, a good sign that someone is paying attention.

The buildings along the street have more appeal than they did 20 years ago when the idea for Cambridge Street’s reconstruction first took root. Some of you won’t remember how a shabby Sporters became the Hill Tavern, but it did. A new building filled a seedy parking lot. An old cigar factory that had been morphed into a strange-looking church has become a Mexican restaurant with loft-like condominiums above.

Whole Foods, the renovated plaza and its businesses, and at, the other end, the Liberty Hotel, the new Charles/MGH station and MGH’s Yawkey Center have done much to make the street more useful for its adjacent neighborhoods. And the sidewalk dining is as popular as we hoped it would be when the reconstruction widened the sidewalk in selected blocks.

But there are still a lot of things to dislike about Cambridge Street. The median doesn’t keep people from jay-walking, and footpaths have emerged at certain locations where people have trampled on and killed the vegetation. Perhaps we were too optimistic that we could control the natural desire to cross where it is convenient.

Pedestrians continue to regret the unanticipated conflict between pedestrians and cars at Joy Street. Walk lights aren’t reliable or predictable. Residents still complain about the unappealing appearance of some of the shops on the street.

The biggest complaint, which emerged again at the community meeting on May 4 at 74 Joy Street, is that the street is a division between two neighborhoods, not a uniter.

That complaint is so familiar that it got me thinking in another way. Why is that division so bad? In fact, it might even be appropriate.  The contrast between the two sides reflects the different characters of the adjacent neighborhoods. Big stuff on one side, little stuff on the other. Big businesses, housing complexes and institutions on the north—small businesses and small residences on the south. That’s pretty interesting.

The whole of downtown Boston, in fact, is a collection of distinct and distinctive neighborhoods with obvious boundaries. At another meeting last week, some neighbors regretted that we were like islands, and in architecture, topography and atmosphere, we are. It’s one of the aspects of Boston I most like. As beautiful as Paris is, each arrondissement looks pretty much like the other. Here, there is no question about whether you are in the Fort Point Channel or the South or North End; Charlestown, the Leather District, the Waterfront, Chinatown or the Back Bay; Beacon Hill, Downtown Crossing or the West End. The contrasts make for interesting walks and surprises when a resident of one neighborhood moves to another.

There is always the suspicion that Beacon Hillers dislike the Cambridge Street’s divisive quality because they dislike the West End. (Go ahead, admit it.)

And there is a lot to dislike, from that neighborhood’s sad history to its current banal landscaping—there’s all that land and not a single foxglove, bloodroot or ladies mantle—and forgettable high-rises the Rappaports and their partners built.

But the old West End is not coming back. And while the new West End may never win any architectural awards, it has definitely been improved by Equity Residential, which bought the holdings the Rappaports had left after turned Hawthorne and Whittier into condominiums. Equity built new towers and a row of townhouses that filled in dead spaces. The construction also gave the neighborhood a couple of better edges.

Most importantly, the West End has become a community again. The residents have taken back the old name, and with it, their destiny. They like living there. No wonder. Single women feel safe. Older folks from Beacon Hill move there when climbing stairs gets too much for them. It has the best swimming pool in Boston, urban views that Beacon Hillers can only dream about, and another Beacon Hill fantasy—indoor parking.

There is a lot of to-ing and fro-ing between the two neighborhoods, just as there is between Beacon Hill and the Back Bay and the rest of the city. Recognizing the absolute contrasts between adjacent neighborhoods in Boston isn’t a bad thing. It’s lovely. It’s what makes Boston, Boston. Vive la difference.