Hola Chicuelos
Well folks, all I can say is that it was certainly better when the weather was a sunny 85 degrees and the Green Bay Packers were winning. Now that I have returned to the frigid tundra and my football cheering season has come to a harsh and untimely close (a most brutal homecoming), it will take great strength to get through this week. I will need a heavy discipline to fight all my urges to continually look in the rearview mirror for a warm sandy beach and brightly painted cityscapes. Ohh the colors!
Attention Americans: We Need More Color! The word for 2004 is Saturate.
To fight the cruel grey winter and duo-tone landscape that I have returned to I will be painting the kitchen a bright orange this weekend. And dammit if the dinning room couldn’t use a little deep blue.
Enough whining though. It was a good vacation. I feel rested and ready and that’s where I need to be. Strange place that Mazatlan. You definitely get the feeling that it was the pinnacle of paradise just a short while ago. Back in the days when John Wayne had a house there and Jack Kerouac a boat, Mazatlan must have felt like a gentle Miles Davis record – a sleepy slow fishing village with european flare and reason to stay hidden. The ghosts are everywhere. Hints of that old cool place are still prevalent in Mazatlan but you have to look pretty hard and you have tune out so much tourist non-sense that the practice can by painstaking.
Today, there is a constant hustle on the streets of Mazatlan. If you’re not careful your vacation in Mazatlan can be not all-together relaxing and more like vacationing at a used car dealer. Many attempts to inquire amongst the locals as to where I could find some interesting off-the-beaten-path sites and rythems, were replied unanimously with the Mazatlan Mantra: “Senor, you want go to Senor Frogs. 3 for 1 Pina Coladas all de night”. It’s as if every citizen of Mazatlan has been lectured and trained like an apt Border Collie to corral the Gringos and have them herded into a Senor Frogs Restaurant and then onto the ‘Official’ Senor Frogs store. And judging from the number of Senor Frogs tee-shirts being worn by Minnesotans on the return trip back home, I can conclude with certainty that I live in a land of sheep.
If you move past the tourist zone (Zona Durado) and take a taxi just a bit further South into Old Historic Mazatlan, things change drastically. The whole vibe is much more pleasant and relaxing. You can sit around the zocolo at one of the many low-key restaurants and peacefully drink Tecates while munching on marlin tacos. Get a full belly and then wander around some great locally owned art galleries, museums and old theaters. Then walk a few blocks west to the beach and sit on the pier for a heavy sunset. Good times.
The only real shopping I did was at the local record store: “Musicassett’s Solo Exitos”. I wanted to see if I could pick-up some newer stuff with a Mexican pressing but they were lacking in that category. I did pick up the new Plastilina Mosh CD (the WEEN of Mexico) and have been rocking it ever since.
I also got a sweet wood cane. And wait…before you laugh people, let me just say that the cane will become the fashion icon of double-o-four. That’s right. You heard it here first on the fashion pages of Afrojet. The man-cane will be all the rage. Unfortunately, I had a little trouble getting the cane on the plane. I didn’t want to check the cane in as luggage. Instead I preferred to carry it on the plane with me. But when attempting to get through the metal detection phase of an orange alert, they informed me that I couldn’t take it on the plane. Being the pathetic and ingenious person that I am, I quickly concocted a Keyser Soze style limp ailment in my right leg and made a huge fuss about needing the cane to walk. And what kind of heartless monkey would take away a man’s cane? I demanded someone push me around in a wheel chair if they were going to take my cane. They weren’t about to do that so they let me keep the cane. Unfortunately, from then on, I had to actually limp around the whole damn airport in my unwholesome attempt at being handicapped. Worse yet, the officials were not buying my acting job and when it came time to board the plane, and as I limped up to give my boarding pass, pausing to balance on one foot as I handed over my passport, I was gently escorted aside for the full and detailed search. As I watched the other passengers pass by exchanging dirty looks, I removed my shoes and belt and was again interrogated about the cane. They did multiple tests on the cane. I even got to balance on one foot again while they swiped the detector over my person. This was an oscar worthy performance. With evil stares they finished there terrorism check on me and let me board the plane. Again I had to fake the limp as I walked down the boarding dock. With my weight on the cane I didn’t get more than five steps before the cane shattered into 4 gnarly pieces of wood. Ha. Total humiliation. But just like that I was healed. No more limp. I quickly gather my broken bits of cane and began jogging away down the dock. I didn’t dare look back to see if the officials had seen my collapse. And that was my final moment in Mexico.