Tag Archives: Sinaloa

Cheeseburger in Paradise

First, there is a typical day on our terrace: paradise, Mazatlán style. (Click here to listen while you read.)

Add to that two men (and sometimes a woman) who love burgers. But, the beef here is VERY lean, not that marbled fat-filled juicy stuff my boys are used to. No worries!

Chef Greg, charter member of “Cooking Club of America,” to the rescue! He has learned to add some extra fat to the ground beef, to make it juicier once it comes off the grill. Turkey chorizo along with his secret spices in a frequent combination. But the best-ever cheeseburger in paradise was made from our local ground beef with some summer sausage, portobella mushrooms, and pineapple.

“I like mine with lettuce and tomato, Heinz 57 and french fried potatoes.” In our house, we go for sriracha mayo on the bun rather than ketchup, though of course we like lettuce and tomato (and sprouts), too. However, no normal bun will do. Chef Greg must go shopping for ciabatta bread. Mmmmmm. Not easy to find here, but doable. And what about the french fried potatoes? Hey, we’ve got a grill! Grilled vegies are loads better than the french fried variety. We nuke the potatoes first, then refrigerate till they’re cool and firm. Slice ’em, spice them up good, and grill ’em in a basket.
We put the sriracha mayo on the bun, but we still need the Heinz 57 for the fries! Since we live in the land of tomatoes (they appear on the Sinaloa car license plates), you’d think our local ketchup would rock. Not! The ketchup served here in the land of bountiful tomatoes is thin, watery and lacking flavor. Like Jimmy Buffett, we prefer Heinz 57. It’s hard to find here in Maz, but, with planning, doable.

¡Buen provecho!

 

El Gimnasio Más Grande del Mundo/The World’s Biggest Gymnasium

Every morning we’re privileged to walk the malecón, our front yard, Mazatlán’s 10 km oceanside promenade. Sometimes we walk it again in the evening, just because it feels so good.

We expected when we first moved here to love the views, the sunsets, sunrises, watching the sailboats and the party boats, the catamarans and the parasailers, the oyster divers, shrimp boats, cruise ships, ferries, and the jet skis. The really remarkable thing to me after living here awhile, however, is realizing that the malecón has got to be the world’s largest gymnasium (and swimming pool).

The photo above left is of a few spinning bicycles, and a lady practicing yoga, in one section of the malecón. As you can see, exercising on the malecón is both an incredible audio and visual experience!

Below I list just some of the myriad exercisers and health nuts we see every day, all day long.
The people on the cement (used to be tile) walkway, including:

  • The walkers: fast and slow, limping and smooth, sometimes with a walker, in expensive sports shoes or recycled tires, wearing sweat-repellant high-tech fibers or charity duds, some in the midst of such heated conversation they fail to notice anyone else, others greeting, hugging and kissing nearly every person they meet, the guy who squeezes a ball in his hand as he walks, those who carry weights and do arm lifts as they walk, those who take a few steps and then lunge, those who walk backwards, those who listen to ipods, and those who walk dogs (or whose dogs walk them).
  • Joggers: old and young, fat and slim, jolly and focused, that guy who jogs with his arms stretched straight out in front of him, the lady who swings her arms hard enough to knock someone out, and the guys who pump their arms. There are joggers with both knees bandaged, or braces on both knees; but they are jogging.
  • The runners, and boy do some of them run, evidently from one end of the malecón to the other! Every day! Maybe more!
  • Rollerbladers: newbies, professionals, those who stumble, those who go 50 kph, those who wear pads and helmets, and mostly those who don’t.
  • Bicyclers: on antique bikes, beat-up bikes, and state-of-the-art bicycle technology, ridden by nationals and foreigners, old and young, those dressed for the Tour de France and those in flip flops and cut-off jeans, those with brakes and without :), and those who steer with their hands and those lovely young men who don’t use any hands (some who steer by weight better than others!)
  • Those who use the cement benches for sit-ups and stomach crunches.
  • Those who use the steel railings for push-ups and leg stretches.
The people on the beach, including:
  • More joggers: those who jog in the hard sand and those who really get a workout in the soft sand. And, unbelievably, those who jog backwards in the sand (thank goodness they don’t usually do this up on the malecón itself).
  • More walkers: including those who have shoes and those who go barefoot, and those who stop to collect shells.
  • And even bicyclers: yes, mostly vendors, but those who commute, too, and have much stronger thighs than I do!
  • Those practicing yoga: usually they are in a group, with bed sheets spread out over the sand. There are quite a few different groups, with various teachers, meeting in various places at different times of the day.
  • Tai C’hi: taught by our friend Rick in the Taboada on Tuesday eves and Saturday mornings.
  • Those people who wield those sticks into contortionist poses. Looks like a martial art, but I’m not sure what it is.
Sports teams: including beach volleyball, futbol soccer and futbol americano, but also teams from schools who hold gym classes on the beach.
Boot camps/training: groups of adults (lifeguards, firefighters, police) who train on the beach, performing calisthenics, playing weird games where they carry one another or crawl through each others’ legs…

 

The people in the water, including:
  • Those incredible swimmers, who swim long distances down the coast and back, alone and in groups, with wet suits and without, those who have done it for years and those who join a class to shape up or improve swim strokes. There is an official “swim club” down near the fishermen’s pangas, and anyone can go early on Saturday or Sunday for lessons, during which they teach you to swim in the ocean and learn the currents. Ocean swimming is a completely different sport than pool swimming, of course.

You’re Not in Kansas Anymore


We picked Danny up from Boy Scout camp on Saturday, June 14, 2008, my friend Basma’s wedding anniversary, to begin our big adventure. Before leaving Leawood we had to stop one last time to say goodbye to our dog, Nacho, who now lives with good friends on their acreage.

The day before we departed had been the 35th anniversary of my first airplane ride. This time we were driving: a Honda Civic hybrid, loaded to the gills with three people, four computers, and loads of other have-to-have-right-away goodies. Needless to say, we wwaaayyyyyy exceeded the weight limit of the vehicle and the car barely cleared the ground.

We drove diagonally through Kansas—truly a beautiful state. We knew we’d miss the prairie, the Flint Hills. We were psyched to be able to drive through Greensburg, the town so devastated by the tornado and now rebuilding itself as a world-leading green city. What an encouraging way to leave the US. We spent our first night in Liberal, Kansas, two blocks from Dorothy’s house in the Wizard of Oz; quite fitting, we felt.

The journey went really quickly and smoothly. Good highways the whole way, we met all terrific people, and it was fun counting the states. We crossed the border in Nogales, where we had our foreign resident cards stamped, and 50km or so later registered our car. Hooray!!! ¡Bienvenidos!

Crossing over the thousands of topes (speed bumps) on the journey through Mexico was not easy given our heavy load, and we had to stop at a mechanic’s once to have something underneath the car tied back up. The only really hairy episode was at one point on the highway in Sonora. Greg was driving, and heading towards us on two wheels, out of control and loaded to three times the height of the cab, comes a pickup truck. Greg froze: heading to the right would take us off the road and into a deep ditch, no doubt flipping us; heading left would take us into the path of the pickup if he was able to right the truck and course-correct; staying where we were seemed to be suicide. Fortunately, the driver was able to get back on all four wheels and onto his own side of the road, and all was well.

We spent our third night, the only night on the road in Mexico, in a “Romance Hotel.” Pulling in it looked great: advertising air conditioning, cable television, room service. It looked clean and new and very private; like a Japanese “love hotel,” you drive straight into a garage with your car, close the door, and no one sees who you are; great for secret trysts. Once we were in the room, we realized the AC didn’t work and the window didn’t open; we were stuck in a steam bath! We ordered dinner delivered, but when they brought it, they couldn’t get the garage door (only door to the outside) to open; the switch had come loose and fallen inside the cement block wall. No worries. We survived, spent one of the most steamy, sweaty nights of our lives, but the next day we made it to our new home and all was well. Seeing that ocean in front of us made everything good!