Mazatlan #8: Skin of our Teeth? Getting my head around Mazatlan.

"Anything can happen anywhere" has long been one of my credos. Bad things don't necessarily respect geography. I know this. But, to use another cliche, living in fear is not living at all.

I'm trying to get my head around Mazatlan.

Last night, had Greg and I opted to walk rather than take the bus down our usual route along the malecon, we would have been in the eye of a gunfire storm.

Earlier we had bussed to a palapa restaurant on the malecon where we ate while being serenaded by waves and a CD of Beatles' hits played on pan flute. The beach was alive with people of all ages, enjoying the water, or watching the sun begin its descent. At least one marauding dog left a deposit on the sand not far from us.

"See those red lights down there?" I asked Greg. I was looking south, along the malecon, toward the Old Town, where we are staying. "The police. There's something going on down there."

Down there was Playa Pinitos, a beach not far from our home that we've walked and run past dozens of times. The small beach is popular with Mexican families. One of our rental options was directly across the street from this beach.

On our way home from the restaurant we decided to flag a pulmonario (golf cart turned taxi) and as the driver approached aforementioned beach, we had to detour around police cars, including one with three men in the back seat. I saw their faces.

I didn't know until I'd read this morning's NorOueste that at 6:15 last night, two people had been shot and killed and a bystanding 8 year old boy was injured -- shot in the ankle -- during the brazen AK 47 gunfire.

I quote NorOueste:

"Violence comes to public places."
"Broad daylight."
"A group of gunmen in a red car."
"Without any fear of the authorities."

This was the second shooting of the day.

A few days ago I read that Mazatlan is sending a commission to Canada
-- specifically to Vancouver, Edmonton, Calgary and Saskatoon -- to encourage tourism in this city. Until the violence and the underlying problems that contribute to it -- namely, the drug trade -- are brought under control, I cannot fathom how tourism here can be successfully promoted.

I am an outsider, and have far too little knowledge about any of the above to make any claims or recommendations. I can only observe -- I saw their faces -- and try to process.

And what I see is that something is not working. Assassins seem to have the upperhand. Every day, grisly murders are front page news. Murders in 2010 are up over 50% compared to 2009.

And then there is the other Mazatlan. City of sun-lounging iguanas, singular ocean vistas, and paradisiacal Stone Island. As I write this, the parrot in the house of the Mexican doctor who lives across the street has turned positively verbose. He talks a bluestreak, and sings. Just now the bird's whistling the tune "The more we get together, the happier we'll be ...."

There are joyful, ambitious children -- like 13-year-old Jorge, whom we met in a bar (he was looking for English-speakers to converse with; he's in summer school to improve his English) with his mother, Julia, a few nights ago, and visited in his home yesterday. And there are children as young as 3 or 4 begging on the street.

There are glorious sunsets.

And every minute of every day, I am aware of how privileged we are.

The contrasts, the ironies, the similarities. Injustices. People I've met who live in what we would consider slums and those I've met who live in homes far more beautiful than I. They are all "good" people. All my friends.

It's hard to get my head around this. Damn hard.

Yesterday was eye-opening for Greg. Like a good percentage of travellers, his Mexico up till now had been of the all-inclusive variety, in Puerto Vallarta. (I've been to PV -- a genteel city -- as well.) Anyone who knows me knows that the words "all-inclusive" make me cringe. (Note: Greg has an explorer's heart, and even when staying in AIs, does venture out, patronize local restaurants, etc.)

Mazatlan is not Puerto Vallarta. Nor Merida. It's not Cozumel. Or Cancun. (But this is at best a mute argument, for neither is Victoria Winnipeg, nor Regina Ottawa; each city has its own distinct personality, at least wherever I've travelled.)

De todos modos (anyway), yesterday. Julia, Jorge's mother, had invited us to her home for "donitas" and the other pastries she makes to sell to businesses. (While Greg was conversing with Jorge in the bar, I was hablando con Julia, who speaks no English).

We walked in a part of the city we were unfamiliar with, and although we had Julia's address, we could not find her street. I had a borrowed cellphone, and called. We agreed to wait for her at the CristoRey (Christ the King) Cathedral. (Greg is sitting in front of it, above).

Julia arrived in a few minutes, and took us to her humble home.

Shelley on Julia's rooftop.

Greg and Jorge, walking and talking.

Greg and Jorge visit in his home.

Julia, mother of 6, grandmother of 1, with her cathedral behind her.

Neighbourhood children.

Last night was a semi-close call for us, and a rarity, gracias a dios, but for Mazatlecos it was a daily reality. Real and present danger.

Perhaps I am making too much of things. But last night I saw what may have been the eyes of an assassin. It gives one pause.

Mazatlan #8 - Back in the Saddle

Day to day life in Mazatlan.

We might observe a game of
soccer on the beach.

Or sit on the malecon with thousands of others, watching the waves thunder in.

We walk.

I speak Spanish all day.

The lifeguarding here is unpredictable. We rarely see anyone on duty, and the lifeguard below was only "on guard" for a few minutes. This is the Olas Atlas beach, just down the hill from our house. You can't really swim here -- except, perhaps at Playa Norte, where every morning members of a swim club get their exercise -- because the waves are brutes.







The house we're renting is on the obscenely popular route to the lighthouse. As Greg's health's greatly improved, we climbed the hill to the lighthouse yesterday, enjoying sweeping views ...

and dozens of reptiles.

Iguanas here are as plentiful as gophers (or crows) in Saskatchewan.

(This little jigger is my favourite.)

It took us about 30 minutes to walk to the the lighthouse. (note the slick skin)

We gallivant in sopping clothes all day long; it's inevitable.

The house from the front. I am curiously dry in this photo ... wait another minute and I'd be dripping.

After the trip up to the lighthouse, we took the ferry to our favourite place: Stone Island.

Every few days I've been focussing on taking different kinds of photos. I was on a close-up kick at the beach yesterday.

The indigenous children are beautiful.

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I've tried to blow this up sufficiently to determine if, in fact, this is a "tagged" lizard. I'm guessing he\she is. What a job that would be ... tagging and tracking small lizards.

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These shoes were made for walking ... Greg testdrives a pair of huraches, but decides not to buy them.

(He has to experience them on the sidewalk, too).

Sandals (a different pair) in hand, with the storeowner.

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I've had my last dental visit now.

Should one look this happy at the dentist's?

(p.s. My legs aren't really that big ... it's the angle ...)

Mazatlan #7: New Words

osamentos - bones\skeleton

hallazgo - discovery

balazo - shot, bulletwound

bala - bullet

fosa - grave

ballaceras - persons shot

semiquemado - half-burned

lesionado - wounded

huida - escape

rumbo desconocido - unknown route

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Yes, I've been reading the paper again. And this is how my vocabulary grows. Tells a sad tale, no? A found poem, of a sort.

A headline today: "Matan en Sinaloa a 70 en solo 8 dias." 70 murdered in the state in only 8 days, many of which have been in or near Mazatlan.

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I joined Greg's party yesterday and fell terribly ill. What a pair.

The worst part was the lethargy.

The worst part was the diarrhea. (Good lord ... again?)

The worst part was the nausea.

We played a fair bit of cribbage.
Today, however, he reports a a 60 % recovery and I've almost completely rebounded.

After my dental appointment (another one), we hit the beach. I borrowed a Mexican oceanographer's boogie board (try saying that 3 times fast), and enjoyed being a girl in the waves.
A few days ago I went on a stroll and took shots of Mexican tiles. I've always been rather wild about them. More samples below.

Oh, and I cut my hair off today. In this heat, something had to go.

Mazatlan #6: Lluvia (Rain): Gracias a Dios

Greg was not feeling well enough to accept our invitation to dinner at Juan Jose's, but as I didn't know if they're been another opportunity to meet JJ's mother, sisters, and sobrinas (nieces), I decided to go.

They live in a gorgeous home, filled with art, and prepared a tradional Mazatlan meal. Marlin. Yum.



The family was most welcoming. JJ's mother is on the far left. His sister, Claudia, (pink blouse, in the centre) lived in California for a time, and speaks superb English.

Today it's raining. Pouring. There's a great show of thunder and lightning.

This change in the weather is entirely welcome.

Greg said he may be up to a short walk later. For now it's more Steig Larsson (G's ripping through these books), and cribbage beside what there is of a breeze at the window.

Mazatlan #6 - El Hospital.

Greg was not improving. Fact is, he awoke feeling worse today than yesterday. I phoned two doctors: no answer.

Shelley: "Well, let's go the hospital. The Miliary Hospital is close. Can you walk? If not, we can call a taxi."

Greg: "I can walk. It's all downhill."

Shelley: "We'll go slowly, and walk in the shade."

We arrived in about 15 minutes (I thought it was closer), and waited just a few minutes to be seen. No one spoke English at the hospital -- okay for me, not so good for Greg.


Waiting to be examined.








A doctor and an intern conduct the examination.

Greg receives fluids. Mucho fluids.

Doctor: "Es como Red Bull."

The doctor then noticed that Greg had a dead toenail (he had his foot run over, years ago ... something to do with a game of chicken in a warehouse he worked at ... ask him some time). The doctor seemed more interested in this toenail than in Greg's infectious diarrhea. Zoom zoom zoom ... adios black toenail.

About 3.5 hours later, we were on our way. Juan Jose took us to the farmacia for prescriptions. Ahora todo esta en regla. Now everything is in order.

Weather update: 48 with the humidity

Murder update: according to today's NorOueste, add 2 more.

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.

Mazatlan #4 - "It is what it is."

Just pigs' heads (in the market.)

We bought one and roasted it up .....

.... just kidding. :)