Saturday Nov. 04, 2006
As I left the mountains and neared the Pacific Ocean again it was obvious that I'd entered the tropics (Mazatlan is just south of the Tropic of Cancer). The temperature rose steadily as did the humidity while I descended from the temperate mountains into the palm, coconut and numerous other undefinable trees growing near the ocean. Mazatlan is Mexico's principle Pacific coast port for fishing and trade as well as resort area and home to the largest shrimp fishing fleet in Latin America. I managed to get located in a reasonable hotel with mandatory air conditioning and bonus WIFI Internet connection for 230 pesos ($23 US) just one building off the main beach front drive. Returning to my room after dinner I looked up to find several semi-transparent geckos above my door waiting for insects to visit the light bulb.
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The next day after a jog and swim at sunrise with Pellicans skimming the water and flying fish skipping on the water. I decided to take a taxi (an open-air special, typically Volkswagon) downtown to mail a package. I was really glad I didn't take Buzz down into those busy, crowded streets. It was here where I spotted a moto-bago-trike contraption, seriously loaded with drinks for sale.
There was also a beautiful cathedral across from the central plaza which I think is common in all Latin American cities.
One day while eating breakfast a guy walked into the restaurant and started meowing like a cat, and then left. But since we listened to Olivia Newton John on the bus I thought nothing of it.
Over the next few days while searching for a copy of Lonely Planet Mexico (something I had been trying to find since Creel, where everyone in the hostel seemed to be taunting me with theirs) I visited a couple of bookstores at a modern mall where a nice young lady was advertising cell phones, but I had no luck......with finding the book of course. I thought it was interesting to see a large department store similar to Eatons or Sears selling motorcycles. A new 125cc Vento dual-sport was selling for 30,000 pesos ($3,000 US).
My next quest for the book found me strolling through the old buildings and streets of downtown Mazatlan in search of an English bookstore where I was hoping to find a used copy. Along the way I came across an old school building that was full of laughter and screams from children playing in the inner courtyard behind the steel bars and concrete walls of this very basic building. I also met two young hombres who had built some very custom bicycles and were more than happy to have their picture taken. When I finally found the bookstore, David said he couldn't sell me their copy, but he was sure he had a copy at home I could have for a couple of beer. Later, when talking to him further over our beer, he told me about the beach on Isla de la Piedra (Stone Island), just south of mainland Mazatlan that I shouldn't miss.
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So after only two nights in Mazatlan, I decided to give the island a try. It was a 5 minute, 5 peso ($0.50 US) water-taxi ride (for people only) from the Mazatlan harbour, but driving there was estimated to take an hour (go south around the main airport and then back north along a peninsula). All of which sounded good and looked fine on my maps - until 3 hours later when I found myself riding in the dark on a very questionable dirt road through huge coconut plantations in wetlands that felt more like the swamps of Florida. After getting seriously turned around earlier by some typically bad Mexican road signs and what was now an untrustworthy map, this 13 km road up the peninsula tuned out to be - at best - a second-gear special. In places the ever-present water on both sides managed to creep overtop nearly all of its width. I could not help but think that if it rained I would never get out, but I couldn't turn back. When I arrived, the simple little town I had seen on the map earlier became much more confusing in the dark and I managed to get even more turned around (although I felt slightly better when I was asked the way out of town by two Americans who had been driving around in circles with a rental car).
When I finally broke down and asked a local on a scooter if he knew where Victor's place was (somewhere I had read about in my newly acquired book), he told me it was just around the corner and then proceeded to take me there. Within two blocks he turned off the main road onto this narrow sandy trail that turned into an abyss of darkness between two buildings. I quickly stopped and said I wouldn't go there, it was too soft. He looked at my trusty (but overweight) sherpa and understandingly said we could walk there, but that it got better and I could probably make it - at this point I wasn't quite ready to believe any more Mexican road advice.
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So we walked another 30' between the buildings and came out on this surprisingly beautiful beach defined only by the moonlight. This is the image you would have in your mind when dreaming about a tropical resort. With only a handful of small, local beach front palapas, restaurants and bars, it was nothing like the touristy, noisy beach front loaded with hotels and taxis I had thought were so great in Mazatlan only hours earlier. This was the tropical location I had dreamt of - with palm thatch roofs, a long silky-sand beach, and nobody else here but me. At this point I didn't care if it did rain and I was stranded there forever.
Victor's place was two doors down and even though he no longer rented palapas, there was a narrow path of beach between his building and the next where I was welcome to pitch my tent and stay for free in exchange for buying a meal from him each day. I retuned to Buzz and managed to get him through the soft sand entrance onto the hard-packed beach and then up into the soft stuff between the buildings, where I parked it maybe 30 yards from the waters edge. I wouldn't know it yet, but Victor runs a very busy (and very tasty) fresh seafood restaurant by day for tourists from the cruise ships and mainland on weekdays and for locals on weekends. He is a hard working, honest man who has many friends in the community dropping by to play cribbage and visit after the crowds recede in the early evenings.
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Falling asleep to the sound of waves gently crashing into shore is one of the most soothing experiences I've ever had, but occasionally there is an unnatural silence as the waves somehow miss a beat. It's only 3 or 4 seconds long, but it's eerily quiet. The next morning I went for a swim in the warm Pacific water and quickly spotted some of the harmless Owl Stingrays that Victor had told me about. Standing waist deep in water and being hit by a 6' cresting wave filled with sea life that resembled a window into a mirky aquarium took a little getting used to, but somehow, none of them actually touched me.
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One of Victor's friends owned an adventure guide business on the island and he was so impressed by my helmet cam videos that he invited me to go for a quad ride with them one evening through the plantations and down the beach in exchange for a video. It was a lot of fun. But after five nights of camping on the beach and eating fresh seafood, it was time to hit the road again. The salt air was wreaking havoc on any exposed metal parts on my bike, and the high heat and humidity during the daytime was taking its toll on me. It was hard to leave such a beautiful place where I was made to feel at home by Victor and his friends.
While in Mazatlan I:
- Got searched by police while walking to downtown
- Rode quads at high-tide in full moonlight on beach past scurrying crabs
- Spent a night listening to a guitar, banjo and singing on the beach at plastic tables with cordless garden lights as candles (the moonlight was so bright there was no need for lights)
- Learned that Maz is the shrimp capital of Pacific
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