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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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looked forward to the reintroduction to a culture buried within the memories of youth. I was in for remembrances and surprises.
The Inn dresses as usual, elegant in contrast with the streets beyond its whitewashed walls. A new tower, more rooms, larger pools and fully-functioning waterfalls. Yoga classes in the morning provide a stretch and increased prajna after a night of drinks, chips, salsa and guacamole. There’s painting classes, weekly Bingo for the crowds with accompanying time-shares in Branson, Missouri as well as Mexican piñata fiesta for the kin every Wednesday night at seven. With a restaurant on premise, the Inn is a self-sufficient community of lounge-chair potatoes here for the whatever is available.
Culture? I ask: ¿La cultura? ¿Dónde está la cultura?
Indeed, it won’t be found within the walls of the large resorts and hotels fabricated for the broadening American and Canadian, unless…unless, I say, you work your Spanish with the maids and various workers. But outside, stepping into the mix of heat and noise, running like an old lady on a broomstick, Mexico awaits.
Mazatlan’s Chattahoochee
One evening the family piled in two pulmonias (the equivalent of a crazed golf-cart blaring an ungodly noise of music ranging from YMCA to CCR’s "Bad Moon Rising"). We drove north to Costa Marinara. Inside the seafood restaurant/factory, I scanned for that vegetarian plate and came up empty. Drink, talk, laughs of the previous evening, and then to eating. After our meal, the American music toned down and the DJ slapped on your classic Mexican rhythms. Suddenly, as if transformed like Mexico’s next “American Idol”, a waiter stepped up onto the platform of the patio with microphone in hand. He held it tight, not out of nervousness, but out of passion. Yes, it was Mexico’s one-and-only Tom Jones.
Deep with reverence, he sung his heart out, swooning the customers (who responded often with
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See photographs from:
Mexico Gallery
