MAYA-HO DOS!
_{To Central America, 2005}

Being in Taxco, Guerrero, Mexico was initially stimulating. When the stimulation wore off, I found it tedious here. Most places I've been in the last few years became tedious over time. Let me review my tedium in general; and (in vaguely reverse order) the places where I've passed time, and their tediums (tedia?) in particular. Then y'all can psychoanalyze me to your hearts' content.

TEDIUM means boredom, ennui, a lack of mental-physical-moral-spiritual-whatever stimulation. It arises from sameness, from a lack of percieved variety, from not being in an enriched environment, from doing and seeing and feeling the same stuff over and over and over and over. Other definitions may exist; feel free to look them up. Me, I'm too bored to do so.

STIMULATION means sensory and/or mental input, visual-aural-oral-sensual-cerebral sensations that change over time. The length of time, the rate of change, the depth of delight in the variety, may not be significant. Some places and things and people can become very tedious very quickly. You know who you are; or maybe you don't.

I base my judgements on some specific criteria, having to do with how I move through life. I like to be self-powered, to note what's happening around me, to read more or less extensively, and (to a lesser extent) to hear different sounds and musics. I try to avoid video and cinema, because they're so mind-numbingly seductive, McLuhan's 'hot' and 'cool' media that can involve the viewer beyond all rationality.

On being self-powered: That can be a metaphor, as in selecting my own media to consume. But it's also a physical preference, as walking and bicycling allow more contact with ambient reality than do driving, riding powered vehicles, flying, etc. I haven't boated much, so I have no judgements about that.

I like to walk with a camera, to compose and record visual images that intrigue and/or beset me. At times I walk and bicycle with a tape recorder, to compose and record word-images in response to my surroundings. Both tools can also be used when passively riding, but are more difficult to employ safely while driving. And while driving or riding, the images may flow by too quickly for adequate response. Still, I try, and I haven't hit anything yet.

PLACES

My boredom level in any place relates to what interesting stuff I can see and record while walking and/or rolling around there, and how soon it stops being interesting. When I think about the places I've been and the length of time I've been there (as of May 2005), I try to understand when and why they become tedious.

TAXCO, GUERRERO, MEXICO -- two weeks. Taxco was initially a turn-on, but the city is hugely devoted to retail and wholesale silver marketing, and its steep and narrow streets are physically daunting for my old muscles. The neighborhoods I've seen bear a certain sameness and the people become old quickly. Our first week here mostly involved becoming acclimated; once we were fairly fit, the thrill was gone. But with a bigger budget, it could grow on us.

SAN CRISTOBAL DE LAS CASAS, CHIAPAS, MEXICO -- five weeks. San Cristobal was initially inviting but disorienting, which made every corner seem new. The city is spread out; there is much to explore on foot, and many promising nearby villages and terrains. But we'd seen much of the historic core and interesting outlying areas within two or three weeks. And because of Zapatista sympathies and hostility in the region, it doesn't feel safe to venture around, except to take the main highway to get somewhere else.

ANTIGUA GUATEMALA -- almost a month, in various stays. For a flat square small city, Antigua is endlessly fascinating. Architecture old and new conforms to similar styles, but spiced with brilliant colors and details, framed by spectacular volcanos. The people come from all over Guatemala and Central America and the world, an infinite range of subjects to observe. We've only begun to see its fringes. I would like to spend much more time there.

PANAJACHEL, SOLOLA, GUATEMALA -- almost a month, in various stays. Panajachel aka Gringotenango is a small town located in a tremendously enriched environment. As in Antigua and San Cristobal, I had extended opportunities to repeatedly stomp its streets. Of the town, there isn't that much to see, but it's diverse enough visually to spring surprises. The people are just as cosmopolitan as Antigua but fewer. The surrounding countryside, the huge volcanic caldera of Lake Atitlan, can bear much more exploring, hopefully safely.

BISBEE, ARIZONA, USA -- about six months. I explored Old Bisbee extensively in our first two or three months there. After that, I was mostly retracing my steps. The architecture is immensely varied within a limited scope, the people are mostly domestic, the grafitti are quickly exhausted, and almost everywhere else is a long long way away. It's a good place to experience a slightly crazed small-town ambience. I need to be elsewhere often.

Greater VOLCANO, CALIFORNIA, USA -- about two years. Like Bisbee, the Gold Rush towns between Angels Camp and Placerville (my usual range) are visually diverse but limited. A living town like Jackson, just downhill, has more interesting people on the streets than do the more stage-set tourist traps. There are many trees up on the ridge where our house is, and houses hidden behind them, and not much else. The drive over the mountains to Carson City and Virginia City and Reno is beautiful but difficult to record. Mountains are always more interesting when one can see beyond the forests. Maybe we need to hike the high country.

AMALFI COAST, CAMPAGNIA, ITALY -- three weeks. The tiny village of Minori and its ancient neighboring Amalfitano towns, connected by sinuous road and an intricate network of over-the-hills trails, maintains a strong lure every time I think of it. My heart is set on a lengthy exploration of the whole Naples region and beyond. I imagine that first-timers to coastal California feel about the same; but Italy is so much older.

SANTA ROSA, CALIFORNIA, USA -- six months living there, two decades in the vicinity. A flat suburban sprawl with the barest of an urban core and little in town worth seeing. The surrounding countryside is lovely, but wineries and orchards and forests become old. I've been over every road so many times that I can't see anything new. I couldn't go back.

FORESTVILLE, CALIFORNIA, USA -- twelve years. Our steep hill was intimately familiar, yet was always good to stomp around on. The valley roads were ideal for bicycling while composing rude songs into the portable tape recorder. I didn't do much photography there but I know I could, and I feel the same about much of north-coastal California. Yes, those are roads I've travelled many many times, but there are always new vistas, even if available routes are limited.

CONCLUSIONS

Can I generalize from these details? Maybe it's that flat and homogeneous places become boring quickly (and I didn't even mention my 18 months at Ft Riley, Kansas, USA, the epitome of tedium); and really steep places are very tiring and so limiting in range, thus growing old (also remembered from my four months at Lake Arrowhead, California USA); and very small and limited domains are quickly tiring unless surrounded by stimulating hinterlands. Nothing surprising there.

[NOTE: I've also stayed for long periods in many stateside locales: Hollywood, San Francisco, New York City, suburban Los Angeles, upstate New York, and others; but I wasn't recording much in the way of words and images then. That was a different me, right?]

So, what good is travel if it means journeying between places of which I quickly tire? I guess the trick is to keep moving, and to leave as soon as the surprise wears off and ennui sets in. In some places the threats are more ominous than just boredom, as with physical violence in Central America or the imminant eruption of Vesuvius near Naples, but the solution is just the same: short-term rentals and return tickets. Git while the gittin's good. I hope to visit many more places and leave before I'm dead bored or just plain dead.

_{—21 May 2005, Taxco, Guerrero, Mexico}

SPANISH LESSONS:

I am very slowly and very imperfectly learning Spanish. I thought I would share some of my education with you, the readers. I hope you find the following informative and useful. Yeah, right.

PRONUNCIATION: Spanish is a fairly simple language to pronounce, but does not contain the letter X. But Mexican does contain X, which is pronounced in many ways, depending on location and local cultural heritage.

• MEXICO: Sometimes the x is a hard X and sometimes it's a soft H.
• XILITLA, XALAPA (JALAPA): Here the x is always a hard H.
• SAN ANDRES TUXTLA (southeast): Here the x is a soft SH.
• TUXTLA GUITERREZ (southwest): Here the x is a hard X.

I think there's someplace where X is a soft ZH, but I don't recall just where. I'm confused enough anyway. And remember that XXX is pronounces TRAYS ECK-IS, unless you've had too much of it, in which case you just burble incoherently. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor, as the old chant goes. Or so I've heard.

THE MILITARY CHECKPOINT:
_{What the travel guides don't tell you}

Sometimes it's at a crossroads, or a Y-junction, or where the road narrows or widens. Sometimes it's near a state or department or municipio (county) boundary and sometimes it isn't. Sometimes you expect it, and sometimes you don't.

Often there's a brown sign with black letters: MILITARY CONTROL POINT, 100 METERS. Or you might see a temporary or permanent guardpost made of wood and sandbags, more-or-less camoflaged by the roadside, with a uniformed kid pointing a automatic weapon more-or-less at you. And another guardpost a little ways past it, and another one or two on the other side of the road, at the other end of the gauntlet. Sometimes there is a line of trucks and cars, and you're at the end of it, and you wait and wonder what's happening. Then you see it.

You tense up. Where are my papers? Is anything embarrassing visible? Should I spit out my gum, or will that be taken as a hostile act? Calm down, you tell yourself; everything will be OK.

There may be a little checkpoint booth up ahead, but nobody is in it. A couple or a few armed uniformed guys stand in the middle of the road, between lanes. Strips of tires or wood or metal are laying across the road, serving as topes or tumulos, very effective speed bumps. Even without the guys with guns, you would have to stop.

There are wide areas on either side of the road at the checkpoint. Some cars or vans or big trucks may be pulled over, their contents being emptied out and closely examined, their drivers standing around acting nonchalant -- unless they're being frisked. It's hard to be nonchalant when armed guys have their hands on you. I haven't tried that lately, but it sure doesn't look like much fun.

Someone in charge looks into your vehicle and decides what to do with you. If you're riding in a car or pickup or van, you may have to get out. If you're in a bus, one or two or three troops may come in and go down the aisle. Papers may be checked, questions asked, certain people taken away for 'questioning'.

The guy in charge may be of almost any age or size or color, but he never looks very happy, unless he's been watching a futbol game on TV and his team is winning. He may be loud or silent, brusque or relaxed, but he'd nearly always rather be somewhere else, doing something else, not being at this often-remote shithole dealing with shithead suspects like you. Be very polite and considerate with him -- it might help.

If you're driving a car, the guy in charge looks at you. Maybe you don't fit any profile, and you're waved on. Maybe he asks some questions. Maybe you understand the language. Maybe you give the right answers: we came from there, we're going there, this stuff is our personal gear, we don't have any meat or plants or animals or wood or drugs or weapons or hidden desperados on board. Maybe you are waved on.

Or maybe you don't look right or sound right, or your answers and your passengers' answers don't match, or the guy in charge is just in the mood. Then you're told to get out of the vehicle. Someone (rarely) may hand you a plastic-coated card with a message in a language you can read, telling you that this is all for your own protection. You look at this card as troops snoop around in your vehicle's interior, tapping the roof, poking under the body and seats and wheel wells, picking up various of your stuff.

Sometimes they find something funny, like my size 18 tennis shoes, or something suspicious, like my heavy (camera) tripod, or something distasteful, like the laundry spread out in the back to dry. Hopefully they don't find anything alarming; they haven't with us yet, anyway.

With any luck, you'll soon be on your way, past the other guardposts and the cars and trucks in the other lane awaiting their turns. It's been that way every time for us, so far. I'm not sure what the alternatives are. I don't want to know.