El Mirador, or Lookout Hill, is one of three very high hills that offer a magnificent view of Mazatlán below. The road up the hill began behind my house, wound back and forth until it reached the top, and then descended onto Olas Altas beach.
The climb to the top of El Mirador and back down took forty-five minutes. It was a great work-out for my legs and my nalgas, which had never been in better shape.
I sometimes climbed the hill alone, early in the morning, huffing and puffing all the way. Later, in the evening, Neto and I walked the road together, reaching Olas Altas in time to see yet another beautiful Mazatlán sunset. We always ended our ritual with the Buddhist prayer for our friends and family: “May you be happy …May you be healthy …May you be free from worry.”
The road was peaceful and quiet in the mornings, with very little traffic to interrupt my solitude. Occasionally I would see other hikers or men riding to work on their bicycles. I was curious as I saw beautiful homes along the way. Homes that obviously once belonged to Mazatlán’s rich and famous. Homes that were now neglected and abandoned by owners who had long since disappeared. Who were these people, who let the jungle take over their gorgeous homes and property? I wondered.
There was more activity on El Mirador later in the day, as vendors set up stands at the top of the hill to sell hats, rosaries, and shiny wooden palm trees to tourists coming from the cruise ships below. In the evening, taxi drivers congregated to drink beer and tell stories, blaring loud music from their radios before going home to their families for dinner.
The view from the top of El Mirador is picture-perfect. It stretches for miles into the ocean. Caves in the hillside, once used by the Spanish to guard the harbor, and later used by Mazatlán soldiers to defend their port from the French, now provided shelter for homeless men and their pets.
I took the picture at the top of this blog early one morning as I trudged up the hill.
The homeowner had just ushered seven cats out of her house and into the street to spend the day. Some of the cats hurried to get back inside before the door shut tight. But they were too late. They would have to spend the day being outdoor cats, lounging in the sun and picking up garbage from the street when they got hungry.
The next time I walked past this house all seven cats were still there, along with six newborn kittens. Unlike the once beautiful houses along the route, these cats weren’t abandoned. They would be allowed back inside before dark.
On another walk, this time coming home from my Spanish lesson, I saw a cat procession. At the head of the parade was a female cat, obviously in heat, screeching and waving her hips at the male cat, who followed close behind her with a grin on his face.
Walking behind both of them was a woman with a handful of rocks. Every time the female cate let out a scream, and the male cat licked his lips in happy anticipation, the woman yelled curses at both cats and pelted them with her rocks.
I don’t think La Señora hit either one of them but it wasn’t from lack of trying. Her method was not good kitty birth control but it obviously released some pent up frustration on her part.
There was always something interesting going on behind my home, along the path to El Mirador.