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 Travel & Outdoors | December 2007 
Mexico’s Other Coast: Move Over, Cancun
 Judy Wiley - McClatchy Newspapers
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 |  | Old Mazatlan reminded me of New Orleans, with its colorful buildings, narrow streets and wrought-iron balconies. |  | |
Mazatlan, Mexico - The room wasn’t much, but the view from the balcony was such a postcard. Tall palms framing the blue, forever Pacific. I instantly forgave the El Cid Castilla Beach’s cement headboards, the chipped marble floors, even the “vacation program“ pitch that came before I could even get to my room.
Diners at a mixed-vegetable and roast-beef-type buffet were laughing under a tented pavilion that looked out over the sea. The younger crowd was hanging at the swim-up bar. The older crowd was passed out, books on their bellies, around the pool. Paradise, on the all-inclusive plan.
This city on a peninsula north of Puerto Vallarta has 16 miles of beach, a good chunk of it occupied by the Zona Dorado, (the Golden Zone) named for its tawny sands. Old Mazatlan, about 15 minutes from the Zona Dorado by taxi, is a trip to the past, its restoration bringing the city hope for the future.
In fact, Old Mazatlan is an excellent reason for a vacationer to forgo the usual trip to Cancun and try Frontier’s new nonstop flight to this city on the Pacific, a route just started this year. After the two-hour flight and a 30-minute van ride, you have a choice: Relax beside the ocean in peace (even the hotel beaches were pleasantly unpopulated) or head downtown for cafes, shopping, maybe an opera. And then, there’s the Centro Mercado, which I’ll get to later.
That first evening, all-inclusive paradise came to a literal screeching halt at about 9 p.m. The screeching was trumpets kicking off what proved to be a long and loud evening of banda tambora, the music of choice here in the state of Sinaloa. I love Mexican music, I really do. But banda is Mexican polka music, complete with tuba and percussion instruments (the tambora is a drum), and I don’t love anything with a tuba right under my room when I’m trying to sleep.
I went off to the front desk and apologetically wondered whether I might move to another room. With typical Mexican graciousness, the employee said he didn’t like it much either but that you could hear it everywhere in the hotel. Then he found a room on the 15th floor and showed it to me. And gave it to me at no extra charge, even though rooms in the tower are more expensive.
I could still hear the banda tambora in my aerie, but it was distant enough for sleeping, and the bed was even a little softer.
Next morning, I was sipping rich, dark Mexican coffee under a giant palapa when I heard a woman pitching the El Cid Vacation Program to an older couple a few tables over.
A lot of the guests I saw in mid-November were clearly in town to secure a timeshare or buy a condo outright. Mazatlan attracts fond regulars — a Minnesota couple in the shuttle from the airport estimated they’ve been here at least 30 times and were celebrating their anniversary that week. At this time of year I also saw a lot of Mexican families on vacation and a few conventions.
Terri Velasco, who was delivering the vacation program spiel that morning, grew up in Arizona, but she has lived in Mazatlan for 27 years. She sniffs at Cancun. “It’s much more pricey and much more commercial,” she says. Plus, she says, this is the shrimp capital of the world.
Unlike Cancun and some other Mexican resort cities, Mazatlan (which means “land of the deer”) was here before the tourists. The Nahuatl tribes settled here first, and then the Spanish established a port in 1531. The population today is around 700,000 — it’s not a sleepy fishing village, nor has it been for centuries.
The long history makes it worthwhile to spend at least a day away from the resorts, in Old Mazatlan.
To get there the next day, I consulted a young American named Axel Ritter who was a bellhop at Castilla Beach. I had planned to flag down one of the many pulmonias, open-air vehicles that careen up and down Mazatlan’s busy streets. But that would have cost $10 (American) each way. Axel suggested taking the bus for 80 cents each way. Sure, it stopped a few times, but that was OK. The route follows the malecon, a wide sidewalk that stretches for miles along the waterfront, punctuated with statues against an expansive view of the water.
The bus dropped me off a few blocks from Plazuela Machado, the smaller of two plazas in the city, and the one where restoration of a grand old theater has started a renaissance.
Couples strolled around the palm-shaded square; Americans with maps looked for galleries ... and a pickup loaded with machine-gun-bearing soldiers in camouflage cruised past. I stopped a clearly American tourist couple on the street to see if they knew the reason for the machine guns and they laughed it off, suggesting maybe the federales were looking for the two of them. I never learned what the deal was, but I apparently was the only one who cared.
Old Mazatlan reminded me of New Orleans, with its colorful buildings, narrow streets and wrought-iron balconies. The revitalization is not complete — walk a few blocks too far and you’ll find rubble and run-down buildings. But there are several shops selling sophisticated art and decor, handmade jewelry, eerie leather masks.
Along one block, doors were open at the Angela Peralta Theater, and a crowd of teenagers lounged and talked on the steps. I went inside and up the stairs, where another pack of teenagers was peering through a series of French doors. I got to a window and looked. Two dancers hovered near the floor in a low, graceful embrace, either in rehearsal or part of a contemporary dance class.
The 130-year-old theater has a resident dance company, Delfos Contemporanean, and a school of contemporary dance. The hall inside, which you can see for $2 during the day, is a stunning performance venue, all red velvet and dark, ornate wood. One nearby room housed a small gallery with a long grand piano gleaming beside a window.
The performance schedule is busy. I had missed La Boheme a few days earlier, and Delfos Contemporanean was to perform that night.
I admired the hall’s exterior from a marble-floor courtyard outside for as long as I could, but the tropical heat and humidity were driving me toward a non-all-inclusive lunch in the shade.
Altazar Ars Cafe is a bistro on the “Cheap” list in MTV’s guidebook, which also noted that “moody, disaffected types” would be present. Sure enough, a blond guy reading a big book full of extremely small type over a bucket of Coronas was disaffectedly telling people not to sit at his table.
A cruise ship had just disgorged some confused passengers, and a man who seemed to be one of them came over, looked at the pile of shrimp on my plate and asked what I had ordered. Bless his heart. Anyway, the garlic shrimp was divine, drenched in butter with bits of toasted garlic.
I would need it for the adventure that awaited. After some quiet contemplation in the amazing Catedral Basilica de la Inmaculada Concepcion, completed in 1890, I headed to El Mercado.
I make it a point in Mexico to try not to buy anything until I’ve been to the mercado. Shell necklaces, striped blankets, braided friendship bracelets — all those things that seem absolutely necessary in a vacation- and heat-induced stupor — are always much cheaper at the mercado, sometimes half the price asked by vendors in or around a hotel.
I was already worn out from marching around the plaza, so I took a pulmonia for $3, and then walked the perimeter of the huge, open-air, covered market. I passed a newsstand selling novelas and magazines; a vendor of plastic dolls; a stand selling cold drinks; hundreds of people jostling down the sidewalk. I found a break in the crowd and darted in.
Off to my right, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy who looked massive, or like he was wearing something massive. I turned and saw that he had an entire cow, skinned and gutted, across his shoulders. I was rendered speechless and staring. I, the daughter of a cattle grower, finally squeaked out, “Vaca?”
After I walked past the pig’s heads — ears, snouts and all — I hurried away from the produce department and found the bargains I expected: a great Frida Kahlo shopping bag for $4.50, compared to $10 from a vendor near the hotel; earrings for $2; a blanket for $7; etc. Lots and lots of vendors were ready to bargain.
By the time I left, I was hot and sweaty, and I couldn’t quite forget the smell of the meat department (I still haven’t). But I had found bargains, so nothing else mattered, and I had escaped the sanitized version of Mexico back at the Zona Dorada.
It was harder to leave downtown than it was to get there — I kept being on the wrong side of the street from the buses marked “Playa,” so I finally paid a pulmonia to take me back.
I was still full of shrimp at dinnertime, so I skipped the buffet. The banda tambora wasn’t playing that evening. About all that was happening back at the hotel was lots of people drinking all-inclusively at the bar. I relaxed on my balcony. The Pacific Ocean lulled me to sleep later, even 15 stories high.
Paradise regained, and even better without the buffet.
IF YOU GO
• GETTING THERE: Frontier’s flights are Mondays and Thursdays. Neither was full when I went. Flights in January were $315 round trip. I found a sale in November and paid $274. Once you’re at the airport, there will be numerous shuttles and taxis outside, and I never found the one I had supposedly booked. It’ll cost you about $25 to get to your hotel, or you can split the cost of a van with another traveler, which I did for $13.
• WHEN TO GO: Longtime Mazatlan resident Terri Velasco, who has worked at the El Cid resorts for 24 years, says Easter is the worst time in terms of crowds. Mexican schools are out then, and lots of families come to the coast. The best time, she says, is November-April, which avoids the rainy season, the summer heat and the crowds.
• GETTING AROUND: The pulmonias, open-air vehicles, are everywhere, and the prices start at about $3 for a five-minute hop down the Zona Dorado. For a trip downtown, take the bus. It’s 80 cents one way compared to $10 for a pulmonia. Taxis also are widely available. Bicycle rentals also are available and would be fun on the malecon, the waterfront promenade.
• STAYING AND EATING: Go for the fresh shrimp wherever you see it. For those who don’t like shrimp, Mazatlan is supposed to be known for its beef as well, although I didn’t sample any other than on the buffets.
• GOLF: The El Cid resorts have 27 holes, including a Lee Trevino signature course. Guests and country-club members have preferred access and rates, but other golfers can play, subject to availability.
• SWIMMING SAFETY: The hotels have lifeguards, and they put up red flags when the water is unsafe. This is serious. The waters off Mazatlan can have a dangerous undertow at times. I am a strong swimmer, and I nearly drowned during a previous visit because I was pulled out to sea and didn’t know to swim parallel with the coast until I got away from the riptide.
• OTHER WATER ACTIVITIES: Vendors along the beach offer parasailing and sailboat rides, and most hotels have boogie boards and kayaks. Surfing is also popular in Mazatlan, but not at any of the beaches I visited. Deep-sea fishing and whale-watching tours also are offered. You can book through your hotel.
• ANGELA PERALTA THEATER: The schedule includes everything from opera to a fashion show by top Mexican designers. Go to www.culturamazatlan.com. |
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