Mazatlan, Mexico

sights, sounds, smells, and survival

There was a distinct change in the crowds when we crossed the street Calle José María Canizales and left behind the touristy Catedral Basílica in Mazatlan. We left behind the bermuda shorts and fanny packs and entered a crowded sidewalk along C. Benito Juaréz Street, not that we could tell we were on C. Benito Juaréz Street. We noticed no street signs, and it’s only now, as I examine Google Maps, that I see the street signs were located on plaques at the corners of buildings.

On Google Maps, you can even tour the inside of the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception. I recommend it. You can get a feel for the place minus the grandeur and the incense smell and the griminess. Another perk in viewing the cathedral online is that you needn’t worry if your children are touching statuettes of baby Jesus or asking loudly why Mary is front and center instead of Jesus. Who gets to sit in the confessional chairs, and can we sit on them? How about that stairwell with the lookout tower? Can we climb up it? Why not? Ooo look! Pigeons outside, let’s chase them!

Anyway, we were not looking at the plaques on buildings, but Pino Suarez Mazatlan Market was only two blocks from the Cathedral. On that cramped sidewalk across from the cathedral, we passed street vendors, beggars, and trinket carts. The children wanted to stop and use their spending money, but Phil employed a Captain Vontrapp marching approach through the thick crowds until we arrived at the market. This was probably due to some helpful person telling us recently that a child is more likely to be kidnapped in Mexico than in most other countries. Thank you, helpful person.

I suppose it didn’t help that we were clearly not among tourists anymore. Up until this point, we’d been sparsely surrounded by tourists. In fact, we’d been so sparsely surrounded by tourists that I got the eerie feeling that no one toured this part of Mazatlan.

When we had first got off our cruise ship in Mazatlan, shuttles took us to a tented marketplace. From there, we walked through a crowd of white-polo-shirted tour guides offering to take us around town in their golf-cart taxis. We said no to them all and exited the marketplace gates, where multiple policemen saw us safely across a street. For a mile or so after that, we walked virtually alone down narrow streets of brightly colored buildings. We had been told to follow the “Blue Line,” which was a series of raised colored lines stuck on the cement sidewalk. Along this Blue Line, we spotted jackfruit and mango trees. We passed by quiet residents with bars on their windows and barbed wire on their fences. It was interesting and beautiful, but we were mostly on the lookout for the kidnappers.

Every few blocks, we came into contact with an older white person who seemed to be standing around waiting for tourists. They assured us that we were still on the blue line and still on the way to the cathedral. Strange, I thought. Who are these white people, and why are they standing around giving the tourist directions? Are they paid by the cruise ships? Are they hired by the Mazatlan government to make sure their tourists’ kids don’t get kidnapped?

Eventually, the blue line spat us out onto a plaza beneath a canopy of vines and ficus trees. Here, two men, dressed like natives, were doing a ceremonial dance with a drum, smoke, gourd rattles, huge feathered headdresses, and a plastic bottle for donations. The children were mesmerized, but Captain Vontrap soon blew his whistle to move out.

The marketplace was entirely different. We were told this was where the people of Mazatlan did their shopping, and based on the crowds within, this seemed true. We took several turns through the place until we were lost. We passed nuts and sweets, meat & fish counters, the fruits and vegetable booths, and the toys and trinkets stalls.

When our feet splish-splashed over the rubber mats through the meat section and the flies buzzed overhead, my daughter begged us to get out of there, so we found the nearest toy and trinket stall for the younger children to waste their money on squishy geckos that popped within a week. Later that week, Rose would fill her popped gecko like a water balloon in our cabin’s bathroom sink. Our oldest didn’t care for a gecko. He purchased jewelry for someone special. I would’ve preferred if he’d bought a gecko and used it as a water balloon.

Purchases complete, we rewarded ourselves for our bravery and keen survival skills by buying some rather bland-tasting gelato at a little Italian-themed creamery along the deserted Blue Line route on our way back to the ship. We deserved it.

---

If you enjoyed reading this blog, consider upgrading to a paid subscription to read my online novel, COVID Diaries. Click the link to read the first chapter for free.

---