Mazatlan #5: The Aztec Two-Step, Dentists, Corpses, and "We didn't need a bigger boat."

The Aztec Two-Step.

Or Montezuma's Revenge. Travellers' diarrhea. No matter what you call it, it's no joke. (Poor Greg. I have it minimally).

Let me back up. Since my last post, we've experienced some amazing sights, like the clavadista (cliffdiver) on Sunday night. If I had to guess, I'd say there were about 3000-5000 people enjoying the Malecon that night. It was shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-jowl.

Greg and I melted into the crush of people and found ourselves observing a clavadista ready to sail off the top of a cliff (think very tall rock) into the swirling, treacherous, rock-studded water below. For the longest time he was just standing there, balanced on two 2 x 4s (the corner of a small "fence"), while holding two burning torches in his outstretched arms. How he managed to retain his balance (and concentration, with all the noise) was a feat in itself.

We waited and watched, watched and waited. There was loud music, vendors selling all sorts of delicious-smelling food and trinkets, a full orchestra on stage, and radio announcers interviewing children. (From what I could glean, this was an opportunity for the kids to send saludos (greetings) to friends and family members who were ill, haviing birthdays, etc. One could scarcely move for all the people \ happy chaos.

We inched closer to the clavadista. He crossed himself, but did not leap. Perhaps 15 minutes later, with no fanfare from the announcers on stage (indeed they seemed oblivious of him) he executed a perfect swan dive. I was sure I was going to witness a death, but no: these guys are pros, and he leapt out far enough and had the swell timed just right so as not to get hurt. He surfaced, and scrambled up the rock-face to the crowd.

"Don't forget the diver!" his associate yelled, and commissioned us and others for a freewill offering. It was really something.

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The corpses.

One of the major cultural differences I've experienced here concerns journalism, and, even more so, photojournalism. I'm talking both about what is making the news and also how it is reported. Every day there are drug-related deaths, and photos of the corpses in various states of repose (plastic bags tied around heads, limbs splayed in impossible angles, blood-drenched knife and gunshot wounds, etc.) are published on the front page.

Every day.

Gruesome? Oh, yes. And as my friend Juan Jose says (and he writes for NorOueste, the major paper here), the problem is that, generally speaking, the photos\deaths no longer phase people. The drug trade, he explained, used to be centered in cities to the north of Mazatlan. Now the "narcofosa" are here.

And wow, are they ever. I haven't checked today's paper yet, but in our first week here, drug-related deaths (and accompanying graphics) were in the double digits, and there have been 214 in Mazatlan alone this year. The population here is approximately 400,000; a frightening ratio.

In the August 4th edition of La i - Mazatlan, the headline and photo: "Descruban narcofosa: Localizan siete Cadaveres." Seven more bodies.

The main headline for the August 3rd edition of El Sol de Mazatlan reads: "Tres crimines mas." The story about these three deaths is found on page 30. Page 30!

Thirteen murders in the last two days.
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Dentists.

I've been spending time with dentists. I broke a molar, and thus far, over five visits, have had a) a root canal b) a post put in c) an impression made for a crown. The latter involved having something like a wire inserted (in and out, in and out) all the way around my tooth, between the tooth and my gums. ("Look, Ma, no anastethic!") I will have at least two more appointments.

Now this isn't all bad, because a) dental work is far less expensive here b) I can walk to the dentist's office c) the latter is air-conditioned d) all this work has cut down on my eating e) the technology is cutting-edge (especially re: the root canal) and f) the dentist, Jose, has become a friend, and has offered to take Greg and I on an approx. 35K off-road cycling trip with about 40 other cyclists, north of Mazatlan, next Saturday in the late pm. Muchas cervezas after the trip, he says. And he has extra bikes for us. We're in!

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Fishing.

From "Jaws": "It looks like we're gonna need a bigger boat."

Not.

One of the activities Greg had really been looking forward to in Mexico was marlin fishing. We've all seen this on TV and the movies: a guy (or guys) sitting in (or strapped into) chairs at the stern of a boat, working like mad to land a gargantuan marlin. Then come the requisite "standing beside the hanging marlin" photos.

Well, it was not to be. We booked a trip with Manuel, who has taken the likes of John Wayne and Dean Martin on numerous fishing trips. (I'm assuming those trips were successful.)

We walked down to the embarcadero with our tuna sandwiches, fruit, water and beer, and met up with Juan Jose, who hadn't been fishing for 8 years, and wanted to relive the experience he enjoyed so much as a boy. Manuel had told us there was one other person booked, as well, and we were glad of this, as it was 2500 pesos to book the boat from 7 until 2 pm. (Approx. $250 US)

Long story short: no other person, Manuel wanted to put us on a much smaller boat, for a shorter length of time, and there were ningun (not a single one) fish. No mahi mahi, no kingfish, and certainly no marlin.

The fishing was no hell, that's for sure, but the napping was. The ocean put all three of us -- JJ, Greg, and myself -- to sleep. Greg napped between vomitting (impressively violently) over the side of the boat. I napped because if I didn't I would have been vomitting over the side of the boat (as it happened, I made it to the stiflingly hot and miniscule bathroom on board, and made good use of a 20 litre pail). Juan Jose kept it all in, but he was wise and had taken a pill for nausea a few hours before we left.

Greg wants readers to know that he was a good sport about it, disaster though it was. When skippers Frederico and Fausto asked if we wanted to turn around and go slowly back to shore (over the medium-sized swells), or to carry on where there might be larger fish, Greg said onward. (Actually, he couldn't talk at that point, he just pointed ....)

The photos below are from the early part of the trip. We were still healthy. Those tuna sandwiches and beer? Didn't touch 'em.

(Above: Oh, dear, you have no idea what's ahead.)

Frederico and the embarcadero.

Shelley, and a cave.

Juan Jose and Shelley.

Empty seats.

Juan Jose, with the lighthouse (you can barely see it, on top of the hill) behind him.

Another photos of the lighthouse (barely), the hill, and the cave.

After returning, I had to quickly shower and prepare for a 2 and 3/4 hour dental visit. Not the best day.
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Heat.

Okay, it's getting to us a little. I'd have to say it's the definitive attribute of this vacation.

We've tried running at 8 am, at 7 a.m., at 6 a.m., and it's always too hot. My dentist told me that with the humidity yesterday it was about 120 degrees F. (I should break a few more teeth!)

I never thought I'd hear Greg say it's too hot, but he's said it. We are learning how to better deal with this -- staying inside during the day, moving a fan around the house with us, and not running.

Today is low-key. Greg's now on the 3rd Stieg Larsson novel, and I'm about to start the 2nd.

Greg's only been able to eat toast the last few days. I hope he feels better soon; we're joining Juan Jose's family's for lunch tomorrow (the main meal of their day), and a few days later we're touring the Pacifico (beer) plant. I do love my Pacifico.

Hasta luego.