Mazatlán ~ Here I Come!

On Tuesday I board the plane from Denver to Mazatlán. Ernesto and I will spend two months in a beautiful Airbnb condo, about a mile from the beach. Mazatlán is the city where I first met Neto. The city where I bought a big house and remodeled it into a hostel for guests from around the world. A city I have not visited for the past nine years. Two months in Mexico! It sounds like heaven on a cold night in Colorado. I can’t wait to get there.

What am I looking forward to in Mazatlán? I’m mostly looking forward to seeing Neto again and having time to write his story, A Citizen of the World. I’m also looking forward to:

• Eating fresh, warm corn tortillas, homemade ceviche and eggs that were laid that very morning. Drinking homemade limeade and jamaica, a semi-tart drink made from hibiscus flowers.

• Watching beautiful sunsets. Seeing geckos climb nearby walls. Hugging old friends as we meet again.

• Listening to mariachis on the beach. Hearing Mexican music fill the air from open windows. Trying to understand Spanish words and phrases that I hear in stores and on the street.

But mostly, I’m looking forward to watching Neto surf the waves of Mazatlán. He is a smooth, graceful surfer who catches waves that most people shy away from. When he comes out of the water, people on the beach are eager to shake his hand. They call him, Ruco, which means “old man” or even “old fart.” In his case, it is a sign of respect that a man his age can outperform all the younger surfers in the water.

But first I need to get through Security and Mexican Customs. I pray that I don’t have to open my backpack in Denver or my suitcase in Mazatlán. I typically don’t take many clothes and I only have the shoes on my feet. I need suitcase room for more essential items.

What, you ask, is more essential than shoes and clothes? I bring a sharp cooking knife and measuring cups and spoons. Nightlights and flashlights. My own dishtowels and dishrags, because Mexican hosts never provide them. I’m bringing a big container of homemade chai latte mix, plus a coffee grinder and special spices in case I need to make more. Oh, and I’m bringing a lot of socks for Neto to wear.

Although these items may seem odd, they are not as strange as some things I’ve carried across the border in the past. I once tried to bring a big sealed jar of Skippy Peanut Butter in my backpack. It was confiscated by Security, who claimed it was a liquid and could be used to make a bomb.

Another time I carried a water pump for a Ford truck in my backpack. I knew I would be stopped for that one. The security guard was very nice when I explained I was bringing it for a friend who couldn’t find one in Mexico. 

He smiled and said, “You must be a very good friend.” 

“Thank you,” I answered. “I think you are probably someone’s very good friend, too.” And I’m sure he is.

Finally, the item that almost didn’t make it through Mexican customs was a roll of fifty yards of fiberglass, used for making and patching surfboards. Because I didn’t bring a receipt showing I purchased it legally from a supplier in California, I had to have an extended interview with a top official. She told me I must to pay a “sales tax” of $25.00 to bring it into the country. I gladly paid the tax and she let me go.

Ah, life in Mexico! I can’t wait to get there.