Cathedrals and Markets

The truth is that I really am trying to see things in a different light. Stupid fucking me for not trying harder soon, it might have made Margot’s life a little easier, but seeing the glass is what Margot would have done and, frankly, she seemed to enjoy her adventures, even the little ones, far more than I did. However, I know I have mellowed over the years and apart from things like having a traffic accident in Greece where I was not at all pleased, I had been a lot more accepting of what I cannot change (certain recent events aside).

Back to the day.

We drove all along the Mazatlan waterfront walkway which, I found out is not called a paseo but a MALECON. Silly me, I will have to correct my mistake on previous blogs. Man, I walked the shit out of that town. 11 km of walkway and I did a good 8 or 9 of them. No wonder my feet had been a mess (this time, as goofy as it might look, I wore my wonderful running shoes and short-socks. Mmmmm comfy.)

I learned that 55% of the income of the town is from tourists so they love us. (oh the old Joe would have something to say here!) Learned that the flu nearly crippled the town. Learned that there are 700,000 people here, it is home of the largest Mexican shrimp fleet and that the Malecon was sponsored by the cruise lines (kind of a win-win for everyone though there are those who might read this that would disagree.)

Our first stop was at the cathedral. We came along a wider road filled with cars and dirty buses with destinations scrawled on their windows in white wax. As far as I could tell, there were no tourists on the streets, just locals, and, sure enough, as we pulled to a stop, the tour guide pointed out we had the city to ourselves since all the cruise ships left yesterday.

Good news indeed.

The cathedral was bright and blinding in the sun, a dark yellow color front, white stoned sides and domes of gold. Stark white statues stood to the side of the cathedral and a black iron fence surrounded it. Across the street was a square with local booths like shoe shiners, an Indian looking couple playing flutes and old men sitting on benches with their hands on their bellies.

We all stumped out and the tour guide told us a little about the cathedral, how important religion is to the Mexicans, how sacred the house of God is then told us we had half an hour. I immediately went to the square to look around then wandered the nearby streets. Nothing magnificent but there was no question, this was a working city with people living their lives and going about their business. Women carried shopping bags. Men sat on benches or steps or leaned against buildings and chatted. Police in bulky blue uniforms looked bored and twirled with batons.

I listened to the pipers, walked by the stalls filled with food, and smelled an odd looking flower that grew out of the side of one of the palm trees (it smelled like death, I kid you not). Then I raced into the cathedral, by now the tour group having moved on. I sat in silence on the pews for a moment, then shamefully took pictures and moved on to the market place.

This is a huge building filling one entire block and it is filled with everything from butchers to food stands, to bakeries to tile shops and curio shops and clothing sellers and candy shops and pretty much anything you could want (though no porn shops, sorry Sean). Now, I love the smell of cooking meat, but I have to say the smell of a butchery is a whole different smell. Whole animals hung from meat hooks dripped blood or lay on a counter for inspection (and carving up). Fresh? Sure. But fresh has a smell and boy, was it not good.

The food stands filled with fruit and vegetables and all manner of local produce smelled wonderful, though. Our guide had told us on the way in that they grow over 50% of their own food here. Tomatoes. Mangos.

None of the shops, except the butcher shops were big but man did they cram a lot of stuff into them. I found my tour group wandering around in 2s and the Nebraska women looked like they had actually bought something. They were an odd pair. Blonde, tall, not good looking but not bad either. I think the thing about them was that they had the skin of older women, leathery around the neck and on the arms, wrinkled elbows, drawn necks but their faces were flawless smooth. Could be this is common in Nebraska but I suspected surgery. It gave them a pinched looked.

I made it back to the bus with seconds to spare as I stopped to shoot pictures of locals and get a shot of the market from the street. The Nebraska women climbed in ahead of me and the old wisecracking guy turned to the woman and shouted, hey, did you do any cornhusking? It became his ‘thing’. Everytime from then on that they got on the bus or came to the line up of us waiting for the buss, he would shout, hey did you husk some corn? What corn did you huskers husk? Did you find any corn to husk? And on and on.

It was so annoying that I had to laugh, partially because they showed no expression on their faces. (Made me think that I should botox the hell out of my face too so that I can be a better poker player.) Clearly it bothered them as their lips thinned and their eyes narrowed and, when they responded, nicely to be fair, their voices were strained. It made for good theatre though and I wondered if they would snap and belt him one or tell him to shut the motherfucker up.

But no, they were nice Nebraska women. Kinda spooky looking but nice.

Anyway, it was now 11 and so far, we had only seen a small fraction of the old town. Surely we would get to see a lot more, Right?