Mazatlan: Our First Premier Destination Hotspot

Mazatlan is a beautiful city with floating islands against the backdrop of the sunset, stretched along the Pacific Ocean for several miles. On the northern end is where cruise ships port and the southern end houses the colonial district.

My favorite part of the beach walk is where a lone palm tree thrives and grows just over the concrete divider in a pile of rocks at the edge of the ocean. Across the street from it is a concrete wall where someone has spray painted, “Nace una poema en tu sonrisa.” A poem is born in your smile.

If you continue south from this point, there will be street vendors selling fruit, trinkets, clothing, and souvenirs. A large fountain with a naked couple and dolphins offers a cooling spray to mitigate the heat. There are small lookouts you can climb to view the coastline and they would make a great place for a homeless person to stay, but the smell of urine is strong and no others climb these lookouts so maybe someone already has at some point.

Farther along across the busy road, there is a hole in the tall rock wall with a red cage over it. It’s labeled the Devil’s Cave, previously a tunnel that housed pirate treasure and eventually used as a giant toilet before becoming condemned by the city. Now it is a place for tourists to take funny pictures and for locals to scare small children.

Past the Devil’s Cave is a pool built into the ocean with a slide going down to it. Children carry bottles of water with them to the top of the slide in order to assist their descent. Otherwise they get stuck somewhere in the middle and everyone who watches gets a good chuckle. Parents and children alike are in the pool fully clothed. Very few people have proper bathing suits.

Soon, some restaurants come into view. They are called The Fish Market and The Shrimp Bucket. At first, we think this must be the tourist area given the names that are in plain English. But in truth, this is the other end of the coastline, far away from tourist central so these restaurants cater to the more adventurous souls and well off locals.

The walls at the Shrimp Bucket are drawn on with black marker and the translations are rather funny. For example, “This boots are made for walking. One of this days are gonna walk all over you.” The plates are about $10-14 each, which is considered expensive. The college is located nearby. Students and wealthy locals in addition to the tourists opting to go off the beaten track frequent these restaurants.

Behind this area, away from the ocean, lies the colonial district. The Posada de Colonial is $40 a night with air conditioning. They have the courtesy to bug bomb but leave roaches all over the room, bathroom, and shower. Within the historic neighborhoods is the Plaza Principal, home to a large church with two tall steeples on its sides. Churches don’t tend to interest me, only the solemn people praying in their sacred space. I wonder what type of pleading, hopes, and dreams float inside the buildings, attributing the change of atmosphere to those things rather than something divine.

Another nearby plaza, the Plaza Machado, is lined with numerous restaurants on every side distinguished only by their colored table cloths and artistically hand drawn names above the entrances. Down the side streets are art galleries, an antique store, artisan pastries, and bars.

Yet in the whole area during the day time, the streets are completely abandoned. I wonder how this art culture supports itself. A stranger approaches us in English and begins saying he doesn’t want to bother us. Immediately, The Guy is on the defensive and asks what it is he wants. The strangers says through a thick accent that he used to live in Texas. Already The Guy is walking away and telling the stranger he’s never heard such an accent in Texas (to be fair, this is true) and it’s best not to start off with a lie. The stranger makes one last ditch effort and yells, “But do you have a coin?”

North from this Plaza is the local’s center housed inside an old storage building. Each compartment has been turned into a store. I walk by as a lady asks, “Do you want some Mexican sandals miss? Do you want some Mexican sandals for him? Mexican sandals Mexican sandals.” Like a mantra, she keeps going until I’m out of earshot, only to be replaced by new people yelling about sunglasses, raw meats, shirts, and whatever else their specialties are. I bought a pair of rip off polarized “Louis V’s” for $6, knowing the man has overcharged me but happily accepting the tourist tax. We marvel at the street vendors but are full from the odd pizza we ate earlier.

From this point, if you head back out toward the ocean is Hotel Lerma. 200 pesos (about $13) a night gets a room with a double bed, an attached bathroom, and a very loud and relatively effective fan. It’s located two blocks from the ocean in a very old building. The man who runs the Hotel is very nice, but very sad. He gives us a rate less than his posted rate without saying it out loud, which is how you know he is very nice. But his smile is replaced with a melancholy face as soon as he thinks you’re not paying attention and there is a faraway look in his eye when he tells us laundry is not self-service here, which is how you know he is very sad.

There is a Tecate drink store (like a 711, but only for drinks) on the corner. If you turn left there will be many boats lining this area of the beach. Past the boats over the edge lies a sleeping man and his guitar.

Eventually you’ll be back at the lone palm tree. But if you turn right at the Tecate drink store instead, the beach will be lined with shrimp shacks. Some of the shacks are very nice as demonstrated by their beautiful chairs and superfluous glasses lining the counter. The shack at the end of the row, closest to the tourist side, uses plastic chairs but is expensive and run by a family with the adult-children on methamphetamine. They lie about market prices, bring you extra food so they can “accidentally” overcharge you, and are forgetful and unfriendly. There is another shrimp shack also run by a family. But this one is wholesome, welcoming, honest, and simple. Their menu consists of only a handful of items which they prepare with quality and intent.

If you continue down this way, you will find the Zona Dorada (Golden Zone) which is the area that inflates all their prices any time a ship is in port. You’ll know you are here not only by the sign, but because the vendors all stand outside their restaurants and stores and speak at you in near perfect English, all but begging you to go inside. One street vendor has hats and cheap fans laid out upon the sidewalk, talking at The Guy to stop because he knows there is something he really wants. The Guy pays no mind and walks on by. The vendor jests, “Are you Indian? You must have some Mexican in you with an attitude like that.” I’m not sure what he means exactly but his insult meets no reaction.

We go into a seashell store because I want to see what the destruction of an ecosystem costs. Not much. Large perfect shells sell for about $10 and smaller shells range from less than a dollar and up. The sight makes me sad and we leave quickly. We spend only enough time in the area to exchange our dollars into pesos, which is the best exchange rate we’ve seen since crossing the border.

At night, the local’s center comes alive. The streets around Hotel Lerma remain quiet. A man from a second story window buys a drink from a street vendor. I’m not sure how they exchange money because all I see is the drink tied to the end of a rope as he pulls it up to himself.

This impression of Mazatlan was compiled over the course of a few days while we spent the majority of our time walking up and down the beach, in the colonial area, and the town center. I can see why it is a tourist destination because it is beautiful but the other activities the city has to offer seem to be lacking. I hope the artist’s movement and historic center make a bigger push forward because hey, I’m a sucker for poems borne out of smiles.