Two reminisciences in two days: talk about living in the past.
41 years ago, in 1979, Judy and I were living in Phoenix and spent one vacation in Mazatlan, Mexico.
The following excerpts are from SWMBO's recounting of that adventure.
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We drove to Nogales and across the border to the train station to unload our bags. A man in an official-type uniform promised to "watch it for us" until we got back. We were both nervous about that but decided we'd better start relaxing if we were going to make it nine days in Mexico.
While killing time in a hotel bar we had visions of our bags being gone and nobody knew of any "official".
He was not only there, he had put our bags through customs and was ready to put them on the train for us. He escorted us to our compartment and got us settled in.
It was hot as hell (did I mention this was July?) and we went searching for the "club car". We found that was a cooler in the corner of one of the coaches where we bought four cervezas (beers) and went out to the platform to people watch.
When it came time to pull out we found that the air conditioning in our car was not working. It was about 100 degrees in our compartment. I had packed a small cooler with our little supper: a bottle of red wine, sausage, cheese, etc., and NO water!
We had understood the train would make about three stops on our overnight trip. It made about 15. We saw a number of Mexican railyards in great detail.
We arrived in Mazatlan only an hour and a half late and were met as promised. After throwing our stuff in our room we raced to the hotel restaurant for big glasses of orange juice and lots of water.
We found out the first night that the hotel restaurant was pricey and the last place we wanted to eat. Our waiter talked us into a bottle of wine for $7.50. The next day we found an identical bottle at a liquor store across the street for $2.35. You live and learn and we learned REAL fast.
The ocean was so soothing and beautiful we could barely stand to leave it. The beach was a constant moving market. Vendors came by selling rugs, serapes, dresses, blouses, shirts, baskets, toys, jewelry. While I was waiting for Bruce to retrieve some money from our room one of the vendors told me we should definitely come back in March, when "there aren't so many Mexicans here." I told him they didn't bother me if they didn't bother him!
There were many vacationing Mexican families at our hotel and we enjoyed watching them with their small children. The kids' feet hardly touched the ground because some family member or another was always picking them up, hugging them, playing with them.
One day we were in town trying to cross a busy street when there was a screech of brakes and two cars came to a halt. One of them had apparently crowded the other a little and some words were exchanged. Then both drivers leapt from their cars and rushed at each other. Bruce and I stopped dead in our tracks, expecting a fight. Then the two men reached each other, shook hands, then embraced, then shook hands, then embraced, then shook hands, then embraced again. It was the damndest thing we had ever seen. All this time one of the vehicles was blocking traffic. Finally, laughing all the time, the two men got back in their cars and sped away. Cousins, maybe?
In restaurants, the shrimp, the wonderful hard rolls served at every meal, the dish of cut limes on every table. Luxury and wonderful flavors.
We were determined to be better prepared for the train trip home. We had emptied a fifth of whiskey during our many cocktail hours and filled the bottle with purified water from our room. We bought some wine and other goodies, including an ample supply of those hard rolls, and a bigger styrofoam cooler to hold all that liquid.
On our way back north, in a COOL compartment this time, after several beers in the train station I was ready for the nice little private john. I opened the door and found about half an inch of questionable liquid sloshing back and forth on the floor. Holding my breath and wading in I found that after four beers in the train station, I can not hold my breath longer than I can pee.
When the porter came by to make up the beds, I used my newly acquired Spanish vocabulary to say, "Senor, esta mucha agua en el excusado," adding a pained expression. He looked into the little room and then spoke a least two full paragraphs of rapid fire Spanish that basically boiled down to "Hey, it's not my job!"
In spite of that, we slept better that night. By six the next morning we were awake for good and rummaging through the cooler for "breakfast". We were sitting on the lower berth eating hard rolls and drinking water from the whiskey bottle when there was a sharp knock on the door. A man speaking very rapid Spanish and flashing a badge came in announcing "Policia Federale. Inspeccion."
Bruce stepped into the hallway, the man climbed up to look in the bags in the upper berth, talking the entire time. I picked up the phrase, "drugs or marihuana?" I laughed and, "No, no marihuana." He smiled and climbed down. As he backed out of the compartment, he looked at me with the liquor bottle in one hand and the hard roll in the other, did a little bow and said, "Salud!" I replied "Salud!" and kind of saluted him with the bottle.
To this day he is probably telling people about that loca gringa who drinks straight hooch for an eye opener!
That night back home in Phoenix we sent out for pizza for dinner. You have to come down from an adventure - - - - easily.
We loved Mazatlan and want to go again some day.
But not in July.
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We did go to Mazatlan many times after that, during our expatriate years in Mexico.
And we always loved it.
