The Historical District is deceptive.

You walk narrow streets and narrow sidewalks.

You meet massive walls and sturdy doors, wrought iron, steel gates.

When you peek through cracked doors, or open windows, you see glimpses of cozy interiors, plants, fountains, bicycles on tile floors, rocking chairs, big screen televisions. Drafts of cool air funneled through the house hit you in the face.

These old original homes are built with thick adobe walls which cuts noise, keeps temperatures constant, and keeps occupants safe. By opening windows and doors you get ventilation. There are multiple porches and open spaces for dining and entertaining.

These old colonial homes have been reconditioned, modernized, and transformed into new homes for contemporary souls.

If I lived in one of these old homes, I would spend some of my time on the upstairs porch, rocking in a chair, sipping coffee, practicing jazz licks,putting words on paper, surfing the net, calling friends and family, wondering about wandering. 

The rest of the day my shoes would be in the streets following the pied piper.

I try to remind myself that these Historical districts always glamorize history and put a countries best foot forward for tourists. When I travel, I’m not interested in seeing what I don’t even want to see in my own country. We can rewrite history, clean it up, re-interpret it.. The present, we are living, is more messy.

Several blocks away from me, are neighborhoods I wouldn’t enter without backup, for any reason.










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