Dispatch Number 9 -Room

This room, my first room in three months, is slightly bigger than a four-man prison cell that is painted in cheery blue and yellow pastels. It has no windows. It is made entirely of concrete except the roof and door. The walls, vanity, open faced closet, floor and bed bases are made of concrete that serve as testament to how long they expect to be in business here at Pension California. The property is set in the heart of La Paz, a buzzing port city in southern Baja California where the Spanish set their first flag nearly 400 years ago. The room is indestructible. Fury himself could stay here and it would not make a difference to the next guest.

After three months living out in the bush, this is what I thought I deserved. Actually, I have resolved to be frugal and travel 3rd class to more deeply experience the countries I travel through, make the money last, and be closer to the people. Nothing worse for this traveler than to be on a resort lounge chair feeling wonderfully rich while surrounded by the colorfully poor.

The depressing and menacing feel of this small concrete room is offset by the happy colors it is painted in. I lay on the firm bed and take in its simplicity. There is a ceiling fan, a single fluorescent tube light, a shower and toilet. Along the ceiling, as wide as the room, are wood slats that allow fresh air in and let mosquitoes wonder about. To secure the room when leaving you swing a padlock into place. Latin American utilitarianism. Later, I think darkly about that lock on the outside and how someone in the middle of the night will lock the doors and set fire to the place. I'll be trapped and die trying to escape.

With such a dense layout of rooms built in concrete the sound travels remarkably well. The rooms are noisy; you can hear everything and when you realize this, you begin to get excited and anticipate hearing things that are forbidden. It is a matter getting the wheat separated from the chaff; where I can hear all of life going on around me: sneezing, showering, flushing toilets and pissing in them, coughing, burping, and clearing of the throat. A collection of voices in Spanish, English and an assortment of European languages full of chatter. There are giggling women followed by lovemaking, the sounds come then fade almost as quickly as they arrived.

It is close quarters cell block living like government style housing. On first night I slept poorly, too many new sounds all of them urban. After three months in the bush sleeping under stars, watching wildlife and waking up at dawn, this windowless room was an extreme shift for my senses.

I don't know why I sleep in campy cheap places like this one or why I spend so much time in the bush. Maybe I am not comfortable anywhere, except in this dark cement cell that suits my mood to be alone in this large city.