Too-soon
October 15th, 2010
And no, it’s not "Tucson" as the current and former natives might lead you to believe. Going on day two now, and I still swear the entire city is away on sabbatical. Deserted calle’s abound. The opposing sister of New York City, this here is the city that always sleeps — and gives new definition to the Spanish-owned and ruled siesta.
No knives, no guns, no jump ropes. The definition of chill.
I’ve spent my last 36 hours looking for a pulse – for some indication that humanity exists in this post-zombie apocalypse "city". There are signs of life, but one has to walk 4th avenue until the old spice and soles wear thin. Despite the college — Universidad de Arizona — being just steps away, this place absolutely deserves the ghost town label it has so famously carried for centuries on end. And trust me – given the hustle-bustle of most cities over 1-million people I have visited in my life, that’s not such a bad thing. If only we could all slow down and learn the art of "poco tiempo". It’s an acquired talent very few (Americans) can master.
Spend just two days in Tucson and you’ve earned your PhD in chill. A certificate in doing nothing and enjoying absolutely everything. The sights, there are not many. Definition: sparse. Dry, brown hills hazed over by the dust of occasional movement. But characters? There are plenty. The forgotten 70’s and 80’s have transplanted themselves to 4th Avenue. It’s a pocket of life and free thought with tattoos to spare. No need to visit a parlor, just rub up against one of the weathered locals who frequent the many Che-themed venues. You’ll be set free, even if it’s just for a southwest moment. There is a subtitle, yet very distinct smell of uprising in the air. Yet its efficacy is strictly surrounded and limited by the heat-seeking retirement money and ever-lasting ghost of Barry Goldwater.
The Hippie Gypsy. Where white dreads and romani people live in eternal peace. Bonus! They sell chong pipes!
And then there are the brochures and magazines. You know the ones – they line seat-back pockets, the retiree-staffed booths at the airport and every hotel lobby in town. They’ll sadly instruct you that the direction to happiness in Tucson is to spend the day at a $500+ a night komodo dragon habitat (free logo’d robes and slippers!). Yet a true understanding of Tucson can only be earned by walking “on” the beaten path without thought, without prejudice. Avoiding the foreclosed perimeters, the concrete retirement villas. Exploring a very concentrated, real Tucson. Where the authentic wander the streets lost in dreams of a long-storied past.
Downtown Wig-O-Rama. I’ve found my new look: "Nuevo Matteo".
There is one, and only one thing to remember when you visit this metropolis of brown vistas and towering saguaros. Poco tiempo, poco gente, y Avenida de Quarta. The streets which seem deserted are surprisingly full of character which defines the very soul of this city. Hit the trolly, open your eyes and you’ll see past the dragon’s disguise.
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