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!

Carnaval Parade 2009

We thoroughly and completely enjoyed our first Carnaval in Mazatlán. We live in the absolutely perfect spot. Good friends joined us for the parade, and we have posted some of the parade pictures to a
Kodak gallery slide show–take a look if you’d like.

Our 1st Carnaval Event

Greg and I were two of over 20,000 lucky people who showed up to the vacant lot in front of the aquarium to watch Verónica Castro crown my favorite banda, El Recodo, the “Kings of Joy” for Carnaval 2009. It was DEFINITELY a night to remember!

El Recodo played for over an hour, as did 11 other bands including Pedro Fernández, Banda El Limón, Huichol Musical, Banda Estrellas de Mazatlán, and the comedian Carlos Bardelli. The lighting on the stages was truly amazing, very high-tech and exciting, and the fireworks were remarkable.
The band is celebrating their 70th anniversary this year. The leader’s mother, Chuyita, who is the widow of the band’s founder (Cruz), and Cruz’s brother German, were both present at the ceremony.
One of the incredible things about this event is that it took place in what, up to that morning, had been a vacant dirt-covered lot. The city came in and plowed out a hill on the lot during the prior week, took out a small old amphitheatre, and the day before the event they installed a HUGE stage and one smaller one, along with 3-story high light mounts.
The lot was fenced off and you had to go through a long line of Federal Police, most people being frisked (we weren’t) before you could enter the party zone (huge lot, now transformed). The party zone was lined with snack booths of all sorts, from tacos to flan to carne asada. Strolling vendors sold hats, masks, noisemakers and toys. There were of course several Pacífico booths.
One of the interesting “side shows” was electric shock treatment. A man walks around with two hand-held diodes and a small generator. He gets a group of people together and asks you to hold hands. He gives a couple of people a diode, and he backs away. You get shocked, it hurts quite a bit, and the first person to let go pays 100 pesos for the privilege. Hmm… Greg lost 😦

Another interesting sideshow was the “eyelashes and beard” man, as you can see below.

Everyone talked to everyone as instant friends and shared the beer. It was an ideal start to our first Carnaval in Mazatlán.


Pre-Carnaval

This year is the 135th anniversary of the Carnaval here in Mazatlán. With our history as a port city (read pirates, drug runners and all sorts of shady operators), since the early 1800s my beloved home has been the site for a pre-Lenten Mardi Gras. They say we are the third largest in the world, after Rio and New Orleans. But who’s to say?

The main events run from the 19-24 of February this year, but for over a month now the fervor has been building. We’ve had parades, campaigns and parties for all the candidates for Queen and King. We’ve had the unveiling of the decorations, and the light display is fantastic. Strings of multi-colored lights are hung along the malecón from the Pedro Enfante statue to the Golden Zone (5 miles maybe?). It is a sight to behold! They include 90 different designs of very large, lighted masks on either end of each block. The lights are strung all through the winding streets of the Centro Histórico, too, and there are ticket booths, temporary restrooms, chain link fencing, and loads of background scenery everywhere.

A few nights ago we had the final vote counting to choose the Queens (Queen of the Carnaval, Queen of the Juegos Florales, and La Reina Infantil) and King of the Alegría (my favorite local Banda El Recodo–see photo below of me honoring them with my presence 🙂  ). They gave Greg a CD of their current hit, “Te Presumo.

Rigoberto Lewis has made the carrozas, those incredibly gorgeous, ornate, over-the-top Carnaval floats, since 1960. He seems to live the whole year for Carnaval, eating, sleeping, dreaming and breathing the floats.

So what actually happens during Carnaval? Well, this will be our first, so I look forward to letting you know. Some of what I know will happen is this:
  • The Mazatlán Prize for Literature is announced.
  • The Antonio Lopez Saenz Prize for Painting is announced.
  • The reenactment of Angela Peralta’s arrival to Mazatlán in 1883.
  • The coronation of the King of Joy (my favorite banda).
  • The coronation of the Queens of the Flower Games. That evening includes the Clemencia Isaura Prize for Poetry.
  • Coronation of the Queen of Carnaval, in the baseball stadium right behind our house.
  • The Burning of Bad Humor. If you have some you want me to burn for you, get it to me before the 21st!
  • The Combate Naval, a huge fireworks battle in the bay.
  • The first Carnaval parade, which will go right past our house on Avenida del Mar.
  • Coronation of the Child Queen, and a big kid party to go with it. Mazatlán’s Carnaval is for the whole family. Schools city-wide even give kids two days off school to join in the celebrations.
  • International Queen of the Pacific contest and dance.
  • Festival of Lights and Fireworks, the second big fireworks display, again in front of our house.
  • The second Carnaval Parade, this one heading south instead of north.
  • And, for the duration of Carnaval, there is a HUGE street party with over a dozen stagesfor live bands, dancing, and countless shops.
This year’s theme is Fantasía Universal, so we are expecting to travel the world from our own local celebration. We can’t wait, and we hope to see you here for Carnaval soon! Don’t plan on sleeping though.