Spitting heat upon pale skin. Dust swirls, thick and ominous like mountainous fog, yet there is little silence and zero solitude unlike the celestial palaces where the clouds’ nebulous movements waver.
Mazatlan: Culture Then, Culture Forever


Camron Karsten2007-04-27 22:20:45
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with mother dodging traffic as she interlinks her arms throughout her five children, and the federales rolling in their crisp black ’06 GMC pickup trucks and Ford Mustangs, fat signs and stripped lands of acres of sweating asphalt surrounded by cheap simplicities of blue and white, and orange and white swallows its environment. Gorging, the corporations find their way as Mexico expands with the born faces of Wal-Mart and Home Depot.
My heart pinged. It skipped a beat. But I drew another
inhale, observed the life around, and continued to witness an unburdened Mexico thrive. Dust tickled my nose. I sneezed. It reached my throat. I coughed. How unburdened can a culture remain? I was about to find out.
A Culture of Tomorrow
Mazatlan, Mexico. It conjures a precision of memories. For many years my family met once a year to live, laugh, eat and drink and recount memories together as we ingrained the new ones into further laughs. We lounged, strolled, swam, shopped the Zona Dorada, rode horses and parasailed. It was our yearly home at The Inn at Mazatlan, one of relaxation and adventure as a family conglomerate traveling like the Partridge family stuck together for a week or more by the sticky juices of squeezed limes and empty Margarita mixes.
From my 164 pound blue-striped marlin reeled in by my nine-year young frail limbs in the deep waters of the Pacific to modern-day today as I search a seafood menu for a vegetarian plate—Mazatlan has risen to its highest, finest, and hottest between the periods of Pacific NW whiteness to burning lobster-red, into the pain and peeling, the lathering of aloe vera in gelatinous greenness to a final golden brown.
Time’s up. Inhale. Breathe in the dust, smoke, fresh rice and beans. Live. Laugh. Love. It is Mazatlan again.
Due to my own direction and the various travels, I missed the last three revivals under the Mexican sun, and so as this spring neared, I looked
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