Sunday, February 21, 2010


The Town Tour

Feb 20th 2010

I set the clock to make sure I would get up in time to get my ticket to go into town.

It looked to be a glorious and sunny day but I had no idea if this was going to be a van driver tour where the driver shouted, hey look to your left, that’s the famed black marble statue of the Madon... oh never mind, we passed it. Or if would be run by a person who loved the town, knew its history and wasn’t afraid to walk around to actually see things.

I think you all know what I suspected.

Bought my ticket without a problem but the tour ‘specialist’ had trouble getting hold of anyone which made me think, I might be the only one, which was great news if the tour was what I hoped, very bad news if it was what I feared. Either way, he finally got hold of someone and I promised to return in time. He did remind me that 9am was 9am Mexican time and not to be too surprised if the driver, he was late.

Colour me shocked.

I ate surprisingly good heuvos rancheros, managed to fish my toast away from a toast stealer and ate in my usual fast fashion. The place was deserted. All the locals had gone home, which struck me as particularly odd since it was Saturday and I would have thought they would leave on Sunday. Very few little kids roaring around. No mass of tables shoved together to accommodate a HUGE family. No life. It was eerie.

When I finished, I marched upstairs to wait outside. 9am. I chatted with a fellow who stood waiting as well, younger than me, taller, wider, better facial hair, smoker. Chatty Joe does these things. Talking to smokers that is. I asked him which tour he was on, where he was from, what he liked most and my usual battery of 2 minute conversation questions. To quote Fight Club, my single serve friends.

Then the small buses arrived and we parted ways. I got on with a pair of blonde women (from Nebraska, I would later learn) and an older couple, the husband a wisecracker and all around trouble maker (my kind of guy). The bus was air conditioned, which was not a good sign since it meant we would be in it a LOT. The tour guide was friendly enough, funny at times that actually made me smile and we zipped around to pretty much every hotel and resort gathering tourists like deepsea fishermen with the right bait.

The tour guide asked us all where we were from and it was a odd mix. Minnesota again. Dallas. Nebraska (corn huskers! Shouted the old wise-ass, turning to grin at them). Me, from Vancouver, a couple from Saskatchawan (with a wee, wide-eyed little baby) and two couples from mexico. Why they would want to come here, I have no idea.

We arrived at our first destination. A silver shop. Full of silver. And gems.

Know, this is where I must tell two stories. There is going to be the Margot version and the old Joe version. Shall we start with old me?

What the fuck? First stop a jewelry store? Are you kidding me? This is glorious old Mazatlan? This is the Spanish Cathedral and beautiful old stone houses? This is the French quarter? No. This is the classic fucking tourist trap. Get you on a bus, take you to a shop, get you to buy stuff, make sure you can’t go anywhere exciting.

Well, screw them. I got my ‘badge’ (the reason we were stopping here, we were told, was to get a badge for the specific tour we were on), I grabbed my free bottle of water and marched the fuck out of there and stomped down towards the water. It was ‘Goldentown’ and that means a wasteland of dirty, graffiti-covered buildings, senior frogs selling tourist crap, gangs of pamphleteers handing out ‘must see, must drink or must eat’ brochures.

It stank of diesel buses parked too long, of grease and burnt meat and concrete dust from the construction projects nearby. Horns blared. Jackhammers hammered. Drivers swore at the buses who stopped in the middle of the road.

It was what I had feared. But I had a plan, oh yes, a plan, to quote Black Adder, that if it had a tail, it would be a weasel. Already, I had begun to put it into effect.

Now, had Margot been here, the observations might have been different.

The windows were large and easy to look out of. The air conditioning was great as it was getting quite warm out there. You could even see the heat shimmering off the pavement. Better to be cool.

I don’t think Joe was happy when we got off in front of a shop selling silver and told we had to go inside to get our badges and, should we want, we could grab a bottle of water or shot of Tequila.

Inside, we were greeted by a jolly, large black man who welcomed us with arms, literally, wide open. His name was Bob, B-O-B, “The same forwards as backwards, hohoho,” and we would be his guests for about 15 minutes, “so please feel free to look around and have a drink on us. Those on tours, please see my assistant for your badges.”

The crowd moved to look at all the silver and Bob stepped back only to trip over the stair he had stood on. He didn’t fall but righted himself and made a joke. Not a typical tequila joke either. He didn’t say, “Oh, too much tequila too soon my friends, hohoho,” but, instead, “You would think with feet as big as mine, I would not lose track of them.” Even Joe laughed.

There were a lot of nice bracelets but Joe got his drink, his badge and stomped out of the shop like he was stamping on bugs the whole way out. Rather than stay in the shop, which was fine, we went looking at the local sights. It wasn’t as pretty as the old town was supposed to be but this is the real Mexico, vibrant, loud sometimes, dirty in places but alive and full of life.

However Joe decided he was not going to play by their rules. Joe called it rabbiting and he meant to run from the group and see what he could see whenever possible and damn the consequences. I’m not sure how well that will work out.

(picture is of the 'trap', the silver store.)

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