Mazatlan (Mexico)
03 MARCH - 06 MARCH 2011
Staring out of his window as the world rushes by, Arthur Robinson closes the glass and replies, ´I dream of ballerinas and I don´t know why but I see cadillac´s sailing...out there in the shadow of the modern machine walks St.Robinson in his cadillac dream
Offering protection to travellers was the manner in which Saint Christopher, via his unfortunate martyrdom, became the the revered patron of all travellers. Closing in on Maztalan and feeling the sharp pains of bus seat punishment in my lower back I wondered if an ethereal chat with St. Christopher might in some way allow for the granting of a penance for all my travelling sins over the years. So there I was on the Central Pacific coast of Mexico thinking that my well intentioned thoughts could somehow bring home tomorrow to today, and there of course I remained, endlessly waiting. I assume that if Saint Christopher were to hit the roads of Mexico in this day and age that he´d want to cruise the wilds of the Mexican countryside in the drivers seat of a cadillac, wearing some sinister black shades, his hair blowing as he coolly acknowledged fellow hombres as they danced around their taco stands hoping to acquire his patronage. Now would not that be the way for the patron saint of travellers to roll!? These are the things that I contemplate as I dance across the Mexican landscape in a modest, if not honourable form of cross country travel. I ask you Saint Christopher, please ´hook me up´ the next time I hit the road!
The ´place of the deer´, i.e, the meaning of Mazatlan in the Nahuatl language lies on the Pacific coast directly across from the most southerly point of the Baja Californian peninsula. Cruising into town on a beautiful bluebird afternoon I was looking forward to getting down beach side of this resort town and checking out its colonial style historic centre. My dreams of swaying palms and beach huts filled with Corona induced conversation was briefly destroyed however when the reality of the location of our accommodation hit home. Really, why I should ever trust a blurb that stipulates online that the location of your nightly abode is ´5 mins from everything´ is beyond me? I mean, ok, if ´everything´ means the local bull fighting ring then maybe they would have an argument but I should have known better. In any case it wasn´t really that bad, we did find taxis in the town to be cheap and the local bus lines even cheaper.
Mazatlan - Mexico
Mazatlan - Mexico
Making our way down to the playa Camaron and playa Gaviotas we stopped for a while at the northern end of the beach and saw how it beautifully stretched in a crescent shape for over 5kms to the south, ending up at the headland of Los Pinos, which in turn acted as the ´invite´ to the historical centre of town. After hiding out in the wild west frontier town of Tijuana for nearly five days and then peering endlessly into the shadows for hours on end on the journey down the rhythmic rolling of Pacific waves and the endless blue that met it´s other blue cousin at the horizon was just the tonic for me. I´ve got to say, I´m not sure how it was that I made the transition from being a creature of snow, ice and gentle carves down pine laden slopes to a man that thinks that food tastes better when there´s sand between his toes and a mojito in tow but San Sebastian, you have a lot to answer for.
Mazatlan - Mexico
Mazatlan - Mexico
Mazatlan - Mexico
Stopping several times for beers during the day the hours just faded away as the evening hues started to paint their way across the sky. Sitting down on the beach at one of the huts watching some of the local fisherman attend to their nets before the night closed out I realised how odd it was that my negated plans of South America had actually thrown me onto a Mexican beach with one of my best mates. Had I have still been on my original journey then I would have been in my last few days, more than likely somewhere in Rio on a beach doing pretty much the same thing. Somehow the dice that I rolled produced a perfectly acceptable replica but replaced the Atlantic for the Pacific. Alright St.Christopher, you might just have pulled through for me. What´s more, news on the street was that we had arrived in Mazatlan just at the start of their very own carnivale, it´s almost as if the cosmic forces got together and decided that my stolen wallet in La Paz was a fairly raw deal. As I´ve said a few times in my posts thus far, I don´t know why luck has decided to touch my crown right at this moment but I´m happy to claim it.
First night in Mazatlan - taken from the Oyster Bar
Our second day in Mazatlan ran a little like the first, which wasn´t too bad a deal at all. Have always liked the concept of the 2 for 1 deal, have got to figure out a way to trade futures on daily wish lists. Wonder if that would ever catch on? In any case, waking up at our now Mexican standard time of 12pm or just ´mas tarde´ we approached Mazatlan with the speed and conviction that one might have when they operate on ´island time´ - things get done but somehow the concept of expedience just gets traded off against absolute necessity. It´s all about ´mañana my man!´.
Pueblo Viejo - Mazatlan - Mexico
Mazatlan - Mexico
Another calendar shoot for Frichot!
Pueblo Viejo -Mazatlan - Mexico
Settling into the historic part of town (pueblo viejo) for a few afternoon hours I got an appreciation for what actually makes Mazatlan the draw card that it is. The cobbled streets, faded colours of buildings, crumbling edifices and drifting sounds of mariachi bands melding into the scenic set of this quaint locale, it drew my mind back to a few places that I had encountered within the last year. There´s always something pleasing about a location triggering a sentimental dose of another place and time. Ahh Cancerians, we can be, how would one say it elegantly? Soft cocks at times! As one crafty English lady said to me at 4am yesterday morning, ´Man up!´ - and really, who was it that added the additional softener to my mental fabric? Never the less, a walk back out of peublo viejo and down to the beach for an encore performance of our previous nights corona´s under the stars was called for. Watching the sun drop out of sight on its westward journey and admiring its lingering after affects accompanied by the lingering after affects of the alcoholic kind I entered into a peacefully buoyant state. I remembered that years ago in high school screen printed a shirt with the words ´Pacific dreams´ on it. Now not wanting to go into why screen printing on a Tuesday afternoon was actually part of our curriculum, the question of why the hell I chose to print ´Pacific dreams´ on my shirt when there were other far less cheesier options, albeit cliched band name options, is something that I´ll never resolve. Still Mazatlan can now happily sit alongside some of my other realised Pacific dreams such as Tahiti, Hawaii and Vanuatu, and as my boys from Ratcat might neatly add at this point, ´and that ain´t bad´.
Mazatlan - Mexico
From the places where you'd rather be - a Corona induced haze
I'm a sucker for sunsets, what can I say?
The sun commencing yet another journey across the Pacific
A Mexican sunset can be aaaaalllright!
Heading out of our hut haven later than evening we set out down for the peninsula of Los Pinos and went to check out if the Mazatlan Carnivale of 2011 had anything to offer. In short, it didn´t. A bunch of taco stands, wandering streets performers and intermittent stages with bands of less than mediocre talent made carnivale look like a Rooty Hill street party gone wrong. I mean think Rooty Hill, add an airy feel of cheap cheeriness, mix it with moustached fiends who appear to be afficionados in bastardising the Dali look and then smear it with cream cheese (I don´t know why I went with cream cheese, just felt like I was on a roll) and then just maybe you´ll be able to acquire an image of carnivale 2011. The best performance of the night went to a bunch of Brazilian samba dancers who looked as though they were about to burst their breaches. It was kind of awesome actually! Aside from that the most enjoyment that we got was when we ditched the crowds and ducked into a ´spiffy´ little rock joint called the Time Out. It´s the type of small bar that Sydney would die for and probably a type that Melbourne is renowned for. We hung out their for a few hours under the inimitable moves of Mick Jagger on the overhead flat screens, downed a few pina coladas and contemplated whether we did really enjoy walks in the rain? Night two in Mazatlan drew its curtains on us at this point. We located Mazatlan´s finest golf cart driver and sequestered him for our journey back to El Bucanero.
Waking up on our ´exit strategy´ day in Mazatlan we encountered a phenomena that we had heard of but not realised for quite sometime, ´the morning´. Since Vegas our mornings had been spent in a slumber and it was only for the sake of figuring out a way to Mexico City that we needed to beat the midday alarm. Sorting ourselves out at central de autobuses we managed to acquire a 2pm ride to the capital and thus had a few hours up our sleeves to play with before departure. Accepting one last opportunity for some time on the sand we had ourselves a great little seafood feast and wiled away the hours on the back of few ales. This however is where our travel itinerary turned a little nasty. Rocking back to the bus terminal with 15 mins to spare we made our way for the bus stands only to be told that the bus had left? What the hell? My Spanish wasn´t quite able to get the point over the line that the bus had by its own accord decided to leave before it´s scheduled departure time and the man explaining it to me couldn´t quite get across to me that the time ´we thought it was´ was not the time it actually was. From what we later could deduce somewhere between Tijuana and Mazatlan we´d lost an hour and the bus that we had anticipated to be on right now was already cruising the Ventura highway! With a bit of a song and dance at the bus counter and an emotional, appealing story to the manager we did manage to acquire a standby seat to MC about 2hrs later. Saint Christopher obviously had our backs yet again and we were now once again off in our own cadillac dreams to continue the tour on a wing, and perhaps a prayer or two included.
