Maz Again

Mazatlan has been on and off our places to visit over the years. At first, way back when, our snob-o-meter poo poo'd the colonial seaport as too gentrified, with it's ocean side high rise timeshares, blockbuster video stores, shopping malls and golf cart taxis. It was just a tad too Palm Beach with a Mexicana flare.

Then one year we were too tired to drive any further and discovered the north end of the bay. Quiet with wide sandy beaches, dolphins dancing on the waves and a few small RV parks nestled between the new high rise condos. Our RV park of choice was a bit funky and we made friends with some snow birders from Washington and Oregon who knew the local haunts. Over a few seasons, Mazatlan became a pearl, a precious white sea gem made up of long dog friendly beaches, old Mexican zocalos (plazas) and New Orleanesesque architecture. I could get my culture fix while still having tan time and the dogs had a vast sand dune as their backyard. Mellowed after a day of sunning we would drive into old town and eat at one of the little bistro restaurants on the square and listen to live music, sometimes good, mostly ear piercing and once in awhile phenomenal.

At one point John and I thought about giving up the camper life for a year and renting a small home or apartment in the historic center of town. We looked in the area near the opera house and central market, images of riding our bikes to our favorite fruit and vegetable vendor every morning and sipping coffee under a portico in the late afternoon danced in our heads.

Alas, one fateful December we over stayed our welcome. It was two weeks two too long during the winter holidays, which last more then four weeks and includes non-stop music, fireworks and a general cacophony of noise and traffic, coupled with a major bike crash that left John bruised and battered nixed Mazatlan off to hang destination. The over socialization mixed with injury sent us down the road looking for less gringoized pastures, never to really enjoy the city except for a quick one night sleep over here and there.

This year John's sister and her husband wanted to experience the drive through the wilds of Mexico instead of their usual fly into Puerto Vallarta for a quick surf vacation. They rented a home on the Cerritos end of Maz. and, because our travel time overlapped, we were able to have a private room and bath with a spectacular view of the ocean. The home, which is owned by a couple from Graton rent it on occasion. It is their main residence year round and it feels comfy in all the right ways. There were three couples (John's sister and a brother with their spouses along with 5 dogs sharing a week on the beach). We had WI-FI, a swimming pool, private beach, laundry room, plenty of lounging areas and an upscale kitchen at our disposal. What was not to like? Our routine was loose and soon we were again enamored with the white sandy beaches, evening meals in the local restaurants and family time. We visited old haunts, hooked up with friends, rode our bikes along the malecon and let the dogs rule the sands. Life was a beach!

We are now in Melaque waiting to begin construction on the second floor of our casita and
Mazatlan has once again found a soft spot in our hearts, especially when it is shared with family and friends.

Mexico Prep 2010

The build up towards departure is always a mixed bag. A visceral anticipation of slipping into our flip flops, our white dried out skin exposed to the warm tropical air. Familial farewells and last minute coffee chats with friends leaves me feeling a bit disconcerted. A compulsive anxiety comes over me too. I want all the neurotic care and energy that we put into scouring our home for strangers, something we would not do for ourselves, to remain static. A diorama of 484 Goodman. I desire the weeded garden, refrigerator cleaned and deodorized, all the nick knacks wiped down or stored, scrubbed tile and vacuumed areas behind the furniture to all remain suspended and fixed so that in six months we are allowed to enjoy our home as we left it. No time occurred in our absence. As much as I like to think I can manipulate my environment, mother nature always shows me who is in control. This year there is some trepidation in preparing to head south. Mexico has gotten bad press and we are trying to be level headed about the current events. John follows the news on line, through blogs, chat rooms and off the radar news sources. Our hearts override the gossip in the back news stories. The cartel will not mess with us in broad day light, it’s just common sense; stick to the major toll roads, no night time driving, stay away from the swank disco’s, bars and all places were wealthy narco’s hang and all will be well. We choose this approach rather then toting ammo, camping in Quartzite AZ for the winter or staying in Nor Cal.

Once on the road all our angst and guilt over the remainders on the ‘to do list’ slip and sale past us as we motor down the highway. Sleeping in the camper the first night is a rite of passage. We wake and time is like stretched silly putty, it has little meaning and will be passe when we arrive in Melaque if not before. Stop when we’re hungry, drive until sunset, read, compute. The order of needs and desires are at our whim.

We are number 15 for the day explains the immigration officer at the boarder. It is after 12 noon and there have been 17 of us applying for tourist visas. One Canadian from BC and a very uptight young couple from Austria are in the banjercito office with us. No long lines. A quiet newly resurfaced four lane freeway is outside the glass double doors. We see two motor homes that afternoon, both heading north. Sitting in our truck, AC on, Best of John Prine playing, the dessert stretched before us is placid. Santa Ana is our first stop, refuel, bank, eat and sleep. The family who own the economic restaurant are warm and friendly. The fixed menu is 50 pesos, @ $4.00. We can’t decide on which of the two main courses to order and the very attentive host offers us a ½ and ½ plate. Our dinner comes with soup, rice, beans, salad and tortillas. We each suck down a cold coca cola in a bottle. The next two days are uneventful. People are friendly when we stop to eat or fill up the tank and the roads are smooth as we cruise into Mazatlan. What stands out as different so far is the lack of RV’s. It is still early in the season but for now we are a minority, Americans traveling and camping in Mexico are few and far between.

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