Category Archives: Life in Mazatlán

Las Temporadas de Mazatlán/Seasons of the Year, Updated

 

  • Season of the Curved Tides (January-February): The ocean waves come in with scalloped edges, leaving the sand on the beach with ripples. It’s beautiful! (See the photo above for an idea.)

  • La Temporada de la Neblina, Fog Season (February or anytime as late as May): Starting around Carnavál and continuing for a few weeks, the cold ocean air meets the warm land and….our building disappears, as does Ice Box Hill and many other landmarks, for a good portion of the morning.

 

 

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  • Season of the Crying Screens, in May-June, after the heat of summer begins and before the rains start. We get condensation of salty ocean air on our window screens.
  • La Temporada de los Candidatas, the season of the PARADES!!! (May): Two kinds of candidates: political and royal. The royals are the fun ones—girls (and sometimes boys) from all over the metro area, who want to be queen or king of their school. They walk the malecón, the plazuela, and the Golden Zone collecting donations, usually accompanied by their court if they’re teenagers, and by their families if they’re primary school kids. When the little girls wear nice dresses, boy then am I a supporter of their cause! Parades of course accompany the campaigns of both kinds of candidates. Parades include multiple live bands (not marching but riding), cool cars, loads of balloons, horn honking, and sometimes fireworks. The political campaigns include the standard posters, bumper stickers, t-shirts, etc., and their parades, unfortunately, include the loudspeaker campaign speeches.

  • Season of the Panzas–or Panzones! (July-October): If you are walking the malecon, walking to the market, or basically just standing outside, beware of the bare bellies! Men of all shapes and sizes seem to quite enjoy the air conditioning they achieve by rolling up their shirts and exposing their mid-sections. Unfortunately, six pack abs are few and far between! This is also the season to carry a wash cloth or small towel–sweat rag season. A handkerchief will NOT be sufficient. 🙂
  • Septi-Hambre, Hungry September: The month when those who serve the tourist trade complain because there are neither national nor international tourists around.
  • La Temporada de Venezia, The Season of Venice (August and September): This is when you need a gondola to get your son to school, or to go grocery shopping. MUST wear waterproof shoes and shorts, as streets are flooded at least 1/2 meter deep and more in places.
  • Necklace on the Bay Season (September or October through April or so): Open season on shrimp! US$4/kilo and even cheaper, higher for the really giant ones. You can get shrimp any time of year, but the legal shrimping season is now, so you can get fresh not frozen shrimp now. Mmmm. Our fleet is the biggest in Latin America. Opening day of the “veda” is one of my favorites. The shrimp boats all leave port, and in the darkness of night you see the lighted boats forming a beautiful necklace around the bay. Very difficult to capture on film, but incredibly beautiful and, from our experience, it only happens once a year. Don’t miss it! Opening day of the season….

This is the sixth update to this post. I’ll keep updating this post as I learn more.

Crane Convention

As I was driving Danny to school this morning, it seemed every crane, heron, wood stork, ibis (scarlet and white) and roseate spoonbill on the Pacific coast wanted in on the party. Was it a birthday? Quinceañera? Maybe a wedding? Or a discussion of how big birds should respond to the flu pandemic? No doubt it was the fact that something edible had just spawned in the water there, but it was beautiful!

In the estuary north of Insurgentes, behind Howard Johnson’s and Cherry, south of Mega. Right in the middle of town!

Link to the photos themselves or a larger slideshow.

Sinaloa Geckos

An online acquaintance of mine, Ken Layne, lives in the mountain pueblo of El Quelite. He’s a terrific writer, and I loved this story about our Sinaloan geckos. I hope you’ll enjoy it.

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THE LIZARDS ARE ON STATION ©2006, Ken Layne

Hawaii has its geckos that hang around people’s homes, schools, and businesses to keep the bug population under control. These little green lizards have been memorialized on thousands of tee shirts, baseball caps, handbags, and countless other tourist items. They even star in TV commercials for an insurance company. Sinaloa, too, has its own unique family of lizards that challenges the Hawaiian geckos as household fixtures.

Most folks in Mazatlan do refer to these little lizards as geckos, and they probably are members of the gecko family. I think there are couple dozen varieties of geckos worldwide. These Sinaloa gecko-lizards are unique, though, in appearance and lifestyle.

These little lizards are integral parts of every building in El Quelite, patrolling the ceilings and upper walls for insects. Unlike the Hawaiian geckos, which are bright green and can grow to a good size, the Sinaloa lizards are quite small — average length, about 3 inches — even when fully grown, and are almost translucent. Small size doesn’t hinder them in their insect-exterminatin g job, however. I’m sure that they are a major factor in keeping the Sinaloa spider population as low as it is.

In our house, the lizards hide by day behind the paintings on the walls and in small cracks and holes at the rafters. Conchita makes it a point never to take the pictures off the walls for cleaning. Rather, she dusts them in place. If you disturb the lizards, they might get upset and leave home — not good.

The lizards start to come out of hiding around 4:00 in the afternoon. They appear gradually. One may sprint out from behind a picture and run to the top of the wall. There, it will sit absolutely motionless for what seems an eternity. I think they even stop breathing and go into a catatonic trance. I know that any lizard can out-wait me. I’ll give up staring at one and go away before the lizard decides to move.

After the first lizard emerges, others gradually appear and start chirping. Yes, chirping! These little lizards talk to each other by chirping. Lizard chirp has a lot of volume and expressiveness. Lizard chirp is in the vocal range of a mocking bird or a magpie.

The first chirp is usually notice that the lizard has appeared for duty:

“Chirp! Lizard number 4 on station.”

How something that small can made such a noise is amazing.

These lizards are quite territorial. Each has its own area to patrol; if one lizard wanders into another’s turf, a war of words breaks out. A mighty dialogue of chirping ensues for several seconds until one lizard gives ground and retreats.

Occasionally, when tempers flare high, the lizards will square off like two Sumo wrestlers staring each other down. Then one lizard will launch a Kamikaze attack on the other. Darting across the wall or ceiling, the attacking lizard tries to strike a blow on the other’s flank. The rule seems to be that if the attacker achieves a strike, the other must leave the field of battle. If the attacker misses, it must continue on, out of the disputed territory. They don’t try to harm each other; they simply count coup to settle their disputes.

As I said, the lizards are territorial. Lizards on the south wall, never venture to the north wall, just 30 feet away. Ceiling lizards keep to the ceilings, while wall lizards patrol the walls. The latter never venture below windowsill level. I’ve yet to encounter a floor lizard.

One wise and enterprising lizard staked out the territory around the kitchen light. The kitchen light is a bare bulb in a receptacle mounted on one of the kitchen ceiling beams — decidedly not a decorator item but perfect for a lizard. The lizard in charge of this area will sit on the beam for hours, motionless for 10 to 20 minutes at a time. Here he enjoys the warmth of the 60-watt bulb and snatches any flying insects that venture too close to the light. Lizards are very smart.

Throughout the evening, the lizards come and go. They patrol their territory but periodically dart back to the safety of the pictures on the wall. We take a lizard census each evening. The highest count that we have gotten so far for the number of lizards present at one time is 8.

At bedtime, our lights go out. We can lie there in the darkness, falling asleep to the chirps of the lizards on patrol. At sunrise, we awake and the lizards are all gone — back to their hiding places until the afternoon when they once again appear on station.

Come on in…

This one is a little hard without pictures, but here it goes:

Over Spring Break, we were joined by Dianne’s niece, Ceci and her friend Kristen. Both are in college, both under 20 and both here to explore Mexico over spring break. When we contacted them prior to arrival we explained some of the options for things to do and one they both seemed interested in was a drive up into the mountains to a couple of small towns. So on Sunday, the second full day of their trip, we head off towards Concordia and later Copala.

Concordia is a common tourist stop and is famous for furniture. The whole town seems to be engaged in some aspect of furniture production, distribution or sales. We wanted to show our guests traditional furniture and as were entering the town picked one of the many roadside dealers to stop at. As we pulled in the dirt parking lot to the open air store front it was just before noon. The store has all of its display pieces facing the street to catch the eye of any would be buyer who drives by. Sitting on the right hand side in a very uncomfortable looking wooden bench was a very old looking man, nicely dressed with a lot of class, but only a few teeth. He was speaking with a younger gentleman wearing a sport shirt and tie. Odd appearance for a mountain town, but it was Sunday. To their left in the middle of the store front was another gentleman sitting in a rocker. As we approached the store, I went left and the rest of our gang went right. I was quickly engaged in conversation with the gentleman in the rocker who from his questioning and eagerness to sell was an employee and/or the owner. The others were just out of ear shot, but I could see that they were having a very engaging conversation with the old gentleman and he seemed to be having a great Sunday chat with the young girls. I could hear Dianne and even Danny laugh every couple of minutes and eventually saw Dianne go to the car for Ceci’s camera.

Around this time, I asked my guy if the old man was his father. “No, he just lives next door”, was the answer. Well, next door didn’t look like much, so I can see why the guy hangs out at a furniture store in his free time. When Dianne returned with the camera, she asked the neighbor if she could take his picture with the girls. He beamed a big ol’ wonderful toothless smile, slid himself to the middle of the bench and with his wrinkled probably arthritic hands, patted either side of the bench next to him as if to say, “Absolutely, right here girls”. The picture was taken, followed by more laughter. After the picture, the old man wanted to come over to meet me. He was a great guy and I told him that he looked good for 77 as I had been told his age by the salesman. Again, he beamed and proudly told us that he turned 78 the next day. A few congratulations followed and I asked him if he would want a beer to celebrate as we had a cooler in the car. “No”, the non-drinking old man from next door said, “postre!” Ahh, he has a sweet tooth for baked goods. Sorry, we only have beer and Doritos. A short while later, we said our goodbyes and got back in the car. As we drove off, I commented that it would be nice to bring him back dessert or something as we have to drive by again on the way home.

The day progressed and after seeing Concordia and Copala we found ourselves on the way home and as we neared the center of town, I remembered the postre for our new friend. All we could find open was a bread bakery that happened to have some cookies. We got our friend a sprinkled cookie and wrapped it in a plastic bag. We figured he would still be perched on his bench and if not, he would be at home.

We pulled in with a huge cloud of dust and the salesman recognized us immediately. I think he thought we were going to by two rockers and strap them to the top of the Honda. Sorry to disappoint. The girls hopped out to go make birthday dreams come true and there was no old man in sight. Dianne rolled down the window and asked the storekeeper where the old man was and told us that he had gone home. We pointed to the house for the girls and told them to knock on the door. Did I mention that neither speaks any Spanish? We move the car up near the house which is long and narrow. It looks like it has been there forever, like most of the stuff sitting outside of it. The old wooden door has an old screen door on the outside to offer protection on hot days, and is flanked by two good size windows with the standard Mexican bars over them. We watch as the girls knock on the door and as the door then slowly opens to reveal a very nice lady, obviously the man’s wife, who is staring at two cute young girls from somewhere other than here holding a clear plastic bag with a cookie. What they said, I don’t know, but eventually Dianne helped out by yelling from the car that we were looking for the old man we had met earlier. The wife told the girls that he was showering and then used her hands to motion the washing of hair, just in case we didn’t get it. “Oh, too bad”, the girls said. Sensing the disappointment in the girls’ tone, the lady told them in Spanish loud enough for us to hear, “wait right here”. The girls stand there and wait and Dianne and I expressed concern that this lady is going to interrupt this man’s shower just for a cookie. Not exactly. At that moment, the window to the right flies open to reveal a very wet and obviously not clothed almost 78 year old man, standing in the shower, which evidently has a very nice window. The view from the car is about chest up. Words cannot describe the delight in this naked man’s eyes. Here are two very cute girls, dressed for summer, offering up a birthday cookie to a very naked, very wet and very happy old man. The girls say happy birthday and Dianne yells out in Spanish that we are sorry to interrupt, happy birthday, etc, etc, and the man smiles, and with water glistening off his face, chest and arms looks at the girls and says in Spanish, “come on in.”

I like this old guy and I hope I have as much spunk in me the day before my 78th birthday. Sorry there are no pictures. The camera used was lost later that week, never to return.

Goyo versus “El Hombre” —or— A Great Start to Valentine’s Night

Background Information for non-residents of Mazatlan:
The main road along the ocean is called Avenida Del Mar. The road connects the Golden Zone or tourists’ area to the south of the city called Olas Altas. The posted speed limit on this street is 40 kilometers per hour, or about 25 ridiculous miles per hour. This speed limit is routinely ignored except during traffic jams and parades. If you drive 35-40 kilometers per hour, you will get beeped at, cut off and not enjoy your driving experience. I try to go as close to the speed limit as possible. In other words, it is not like me to dart in and out of the two lanes and try to be the guy in front. The risk does not justify the outcome, as there are frequent stoppages for busses and taxis as well as the threat of encountering “the man.” Much has been written about the graft of the traffic enforcement system in Mexico. We have all heard stories about bribes (or “mordidas”) being paid to police officers for legitimate and not-so-legitimate traffic offenses. Most people prefer to pay the bribe rather than deal with the bureaucracy of paying a legitimate fine. Having lived here for about eight months, our friends are usually shocked to learn that we have not been pulled over ever for anything. We always write it off to the fact that we drive a Honda Civic and try our best to obey traffic laws and not draw attention to ourselves. Just in case, I always state, we have a stash of small bills in the console of the car. You never want to be the guy who asks the cop, “Do you have change for a five hundred?”

So here it is Valentine’s Night. Saturday night—we are on our way to dinner downtown. We are treating ourselves to a nice night out at an expensive restaurant we have never been to before. It is dark out, just after 7:00. I pull onto the Avenida Del Mar and ease into the flow of traffic. Very light for a Saturday night. Okay with me, we’ll get there early and have more time to find a parking spot. As I go past the most commonly referred to landmark, The Fisherman’s Monument (also called Monos Bichis, or “naked mannequins” by the locals), the road opens up as traffic all but disappears. The road gets a little windy as we begin a slight assent along the rocky shore. As I execute a bend in the road, my eye is caught by a flashlight being shined into our car from the side of the road. A lone motorcycle police officer stands some 30 feet from his bike and is shooting a beam of light straight into my face. I look at the huge digital display on our dash and see that I am doing 51 kilometers per hour. By the time I pull over, I am a good few hundred feet from this man, who is now my bitter opponent in what will be a bloody battle to the end for our hard earned pesos. Ahh, I think, if I back up and get closer to him, it will give me points for saving him the long walk. I demonstrate my driving skills by backing up yet still following the curve of the road. American driver indeed, he’ll know he is dealing with a local when he sees me.

I put the car in park and roll down the window. At this time I realize that I am parked in the darkest part of the damn road. This Mordida Fund that I have stashed in the center console is all but irretrievable, lost to the dark abyss of the too-deep console. How can I offer this man a reasonable bribe if I have to enter the console and spend five minutes showing him how prepared or unprepared I am for this monumentous event? I guess I’ll need another strategy.

I quickly tell Danny to say nothing and let me do the talking. I assume Dianne already knows. The officer approaches and I give him a hearty “Buenas noches” in my absolute worst Spanish. He asks me in Spanish if I know how fast I was going and I again offer up “Buenas noches.” He then asks where we are from. “Vivimos aquí” (we live here), again in my worst Spanish possible. I figure if he can’t tell me what I did wrong, he will have to give up. He wants to know where we are going, so I make him ask about three times and I just keep staring at him like I really want to understand, but have no clue what he is saying. Finally, I relent, and say “restaurante en la plazuela.” I said it poorly enough that he says it back to me in perfect Spanish and I give him a celebratory smile—now we are communicating. He asks who is in the car with me and I proudly point out, “mi esposa y mi hijo.” Two in a row, uh oh, back to the speed thing. He tells me the speed limit on the street is 40. I repeat in Spanish, Cuarenta (40), and point at my dashboard to show that I understand. Feeling like he can strike pay dirt, he goes back to his first question and I again smile. He tries a few other ways to ask, but I’m not biting. He tells me again about the speed limit and I tell him again, “cuarenta, no mas (40, no more) and smile. I throw in a gracias and he wishes us a buenas noches and we are on our way.

I feel bad for a few things. One, I was speeding and did deserve whatever punishment I am entitled, except when you factor in the fact that most traffic rules in Mazatlán are a joke. Second, it is no coincidence that this guy was set up in the darkest part of the street as to avoid the cameras installed along the Avenida with the expressed purpose of catching cops asking for bribes. Third, it was Valentine’s and I could have given him enough pesos to get his wife a couple of roses or himself a six pack of Pacifico – his choice, but I would recommend the roses. I didn’t want to get into a bidding war which is what these too often can become. In my defense, if I had not stopped, he never would have caught me. He gave us something to talk about as we navigated the streets to our destination, obeying every speed limit, of course!