MAZATLAN AND SOUTH
Monday, January 30, Our week started with an evening cocktail buffet that featured tequila laced marguerites and mariachi entertainment courtesy of a local full ownership condo resort. The buffet was marginal but the marguerites seemed to satisfy even the most selective of tastes and if one has enough marguerites, entertainment is secondary. We concluded the evening with hamburgers at our place. Tuesday evening, our group of eight (Len and Agnes, the other Ken and Georgina, Bill and Diane, Ken and I) enjoyed the sunset from the terrace at Playa Mazatlan and capped the evening off with a superb dinner. This was our second dining adventure at the Playa Mazatlan and both times the food was outstanding, the service good and the location and view super.
Bill, Diane, Ken and I departed La Posta Wednesday and made our way down the libra (public road as opposed to a toll road) South to Playa Amor, approximately 30 minutes South of San Blas. Several years ago, sailing friends visited this area and shared stores of their San Blas adventures that I wish I had reread before we left home. Igt sounds like an area of interest and history.
Playa Amor is a small well maintained RV resort with grassy sites that over look the ocean. Bill and Diane relinquished a choice available spot overlooking the beach to us for which we were deeply appreciative. We parked on the waters edge and listened as huge rollers serenade us and kiss the sea wall below. We are captivated by a view that melds the magic of the sea with the serenity of the distant horizon. It is an enchanting location, in spite of the bugs that appear nightly at the cocktail hour and for one hour it is they, who “have the last bite”.
On Thursday we enjoyed breakfast at Miramar, a combination Hotel/RV resort less than a mile from Playa Amor and explored San Blas, a quaint fishing village, made famous by Longfellow in his poem “The Bells of San Blas”. After checking on the bus schedule to Guadalajara, we visited the town proper (if in fact there is anything proper in these little Mexican villages) and climbed the hill to the Counting House where sea captains of yore stopped to pay their fare for sailing the coast of Mexico. From atop the hill, the view of the surrounding area and what was the old city is phenomenal and, seemingly, forever. After our walk through the counting house, we ventured on to the old church that still stands though in disrepair. A lady there, who appeared to be a local and perhaps part of a maintenance staff, explained to Ken and Diane some of the history of the Church and shared stories of its past.
Friday we were up at five and away by six AM to catch our bus in San Blas for Guadalajara. We booked our third class fare all the way through to Guadalajara and delighted in the experience of a first hand look at the culture and people watching. We were generally greeted with shy smiles and Buenos Diaz or “ola” with our attempts to communicate in rudimentary Spanish accepted with good cheer. The bus stopped in Tepic and additional passengers came aboard. A Mexican lady, Marguerite, a native of Mexico now living in Long Beach, California, boarded the bus and introduced herself to us. She struck up a conversation with us and during the ride from Tepic to her destination in Magdalena, she pointed out places of interest and chatted with us. She had returned to Mexico to bury her 93 year old father and was en route home. We appreciated her commentary and bi lingual skills.
Just inside the city limits of Guadalajara our bus driver was pulled over by a policeman. We were pleased to note that he did not get a ticket and we had seen no obvious infractions.
The bus depot at Guadalajara is enormous and we jokingly referred to it as the “airport”. From the bus depot, we caught a cab to the Fenix Hotel in downtown Guadalajara, checked in and freshened up before a quick excursion of the downtown sights before dinner. We toured the city by horse and carriage and viewed the major sights with only limited audio from our Spanish speaking non bilingual driver. Ken swears the horse was bilingual. He claims that he asked the horse if it would like to give us a ride and it shook its head sidewise to indicate no. After our scenic view of the downtown metropolis and related cathedrals etc we returned to the hotel for a dinner and entertainment of live music in the bar.
Saturday, February 11 – Up at 7, down for breakfast at 8 and out to play at 9. Our tour guide, Able, a guide and friend of Bill and Diane, picked us up at 9 for our departure to Lake Chapala, approximately 50 miles out of Guadalajara. Large populations of American and Canadian retirees’ live in this area with the Americanized/Canadian lifestyle reflected in the large homes and villas in the area. Able drove us to a village plaza maintained by a local Women’s society for the English speaking colony for a walk about and look around. Able said that the resale value of the area will not support the prices of the homes because the homes are too expensive for the Mexican residents and the deterioration of the Lake has made the area less desirable as a retirement community. I had exhausted my supply of reading material so my major purchase was from the English speaking library where I was able to purchase three paperback books for seven pesos each We then drove through old town Lake Chapala and down to the lake, walked out onto the pier and sauntered through the stalls of arts and crafts on display there. Lake Chapala is 53 miles long and 18 miles wide, according to the Mexican tour book published by the Auto Club and, “it is the largest natural lake in Mexico, surrounded by lushly forested mountains (I’ll have to take their word for that inasmuch as we didn’t go to the mountain – nor did the mountain come to us). The weather is spring like all year a bit cooler in the summer and warmer in winter than Guadalajara. The lake is the chief source of water for the city and because of tremendous population growth in the surrounding area it has dropped by half since the turn of the 20th century. Cutting down trees has caused millions of cubic feet of mud to seep into the lake over the years and the stench of pollution is strongly evident in some areas.”
It was depressing to see the lily pods (Bill referred to them as milfoil) that are infringing the lake both near the shore and further out. As I stood surveying the beautiful landscape from the pier area, I overhead a gentleman tell his companion that the last time he visited the Lake, children were swimming and playing in the water now overcome with lily pods. Small boats navigate a path through the lily pods to pick up customers for a boat ride on the lake. Able explained that the Mexican government cannot agree on the proper resolution to the deterioration of the lake. I further concluded that Able felt President Fox had not practiced good stewardship of Lake Chapala when he approved building a dam that now deprives the Lake of its water supply from rivers upstream. Otherwise, Able seemed to support and believe that President Fox has been good for Mexico, generally.
After our visit to the lake we boarded our “taxi” and drove to Tlaquepaque, a beautiful village shopping area restored to reflect the charm and culture of old Mexico. After a brief stop for refreshments and a final walk about we headed off to the La Faena for dinner and show.
We arrived La Faena, at 4PM and were shown to our “ringside” table and immediately, drinks were served and the food began. We started with cucumbers and orange slices, followed by tasty tahquitos, a shrimp soup preceded an array of pork hocks, carne asada, refried beans and tortillas. The food was outstanding, the drinks potent and the service outstanding. The first show started at 530P with a mariachi band performing flawlessly and a series of singers, six in all, rendered songs of romance and adventure to a more than appreciative audience. Of course, we didn’t understand a word of the songs but the tone and beat sounded good. One of the entertainers stuck the mike in front of Ken who obliged with a sound that simulated a grunt! After the show, the entertainers offered CD’s for sale and personally autographed them at the table. A fellow Californian from the Fresno area who comes to Guadalajara at least three months out of every year, came by our table and visited as well as translated our delight and enjoyment of the performances to the entertainers. We would recommend Able as a first rate guide to anyone visiting Guadalajara for the first time. He speaks fluent English, he loves his country, its culture and its history and not only is he a first rate guide, he is a jewel of knowledge.
We said our goodbyes to a staff who had made us feel like VIPs, boarded a waiting cab and, at the hotel, were surprised to learn that the Club had paid our cab fare and not even a tip was accepted. Our experience left us with a warm and fuzzy feeling of Guadalajara and those whose path we had crossed during our brief stay there. We recommend both our guide and La Faena as a “must” to a wonderful Guadalajara experience.
On Sunday, we departed Guadalajara at 10A on the Elite Bus (first class) to Tepic and enjoyed a lovely comfortable trip back on the toll road. The drive provided a fabulous view of the beautiful fields and landscape of that vibrant farming area. Mile upon mile of tequila plants compete with sugar cane for preferred crop status and tequila appears to be the winner, by far. We arrived back at Playa Amor with great memories of a wonderful weekend that we will recall and enjoy in our “old age”.
After our ambitious weekend trip, we enjoyed a day of relaxed laziness. A drive into an adjacent village and a visit to a panateria (bakery) was the highlight of our day. Bill and Diane had visited the bakery but finding it was not easy. There is no sign or indication whatsoever that a business hides in the non descript dwellings along a street of dirt. Finally, we located the gully that flows through the town and the tiny “bull ring” which sits across the street. Entrance to the bakery was by a wooden plank across the swift flowing gully leading into a building that appeared to be little more than a shanty by American terms. As we walked through the front part of the operation, bags of flour and other ingredients stood stacked on the dirt floor. The impact of what I was seeing still had not registered until we stepped into the next room where several bakers worked at tables manipulating the masses of dough that formed the rolls and bakery goods produced there.
We were greeted with smiles and a welcome to come in and look around. Broken English was spoken and as we communicated with cameras, smiles and gestures, they responded with pleasant and tolerant encouragement. Trays of freshly formed rolls awaited the ovens, while the crew worked to create more.
From the baker’s room, we entered a third room where a mammoth wood fueled brick oven was located. There we watched as a man quickly placed the trays of bread into the oven, moved the trays already in the oven to different locations to adjust the cooking process and removed aromatic rolls browned to perfection. There in that ram shackled building with its dirt floors and dubious sanitation that would undoubtedly fail muster on any number of health codes in the States, was what appeared to be a thriving family run Mexican enterprise. It was a sight to be seen and one that took us back to what must have been a similar experience for our great grandparents. We enjoyed a sampling of the delicious and warm rolls “straight from the oven”. The belagios that Bill sought would not be ready for another hour. After our repast of hot buns, we took pictures of the outside and watched as a pretty red hen took possession of our jeep while others scurried about the grounds.
We relaxed and waited in the town square until time to return for our order of beautiful hot rolls. Diane and I waited outside and watched with nervous concern as two little girls (we judged their age as 1 and 3) played unsupervised outside the building and around the flowing water. Finally, a young lady came up the street and ushered them into an adjacent dwelling. As we returned to our coaches we marveled at the disparity of life and what makes the world go round. Travel in a third world country definitely requires flexibility of mind set, tolerance, patience and a sense of adventure. I later confessed to Ken that after my visit to the bakery, my enthusiasm for the hot rolls had diminished. He assured me that the ovens were hot enough to commit any impurities to “death by fire”. I gleefully buttered another roll.
