Tag: Mazatlan Mx

This week we bought a car for $3400. I’m ok traveling around town by bus. Occasionally a musician will come on the bus through the front door and pay the driver a small fee to play for the passengers. This week a musician strummed a ukulele and belted out a beautiful Mexican ballad. When he finished, he went up and down the aisles, collecting coins for his performance. That doesn’t happen often enough.

Neto has needed a car for a long time. It takes him hours to get around the city on foot and by bicycle. And then, two months ago, his bicycle was stolen. He used to have a beautiful blue 1996 Ford truck but that was impounded when his mechanic left town to live in Brazil. The mechanic’s family had been killed by gangsters and he needed to get out of town in a hurry.  All of the vehicles he’d been working on were locked up behind a chainlink fence and that’s where they still are, unattended and turning to rust. 

I wanted a car to take day-trips out of Mazatlan to some of my favorite places ~ Brujas Beach, El Quelite, Teacapan, and maybe even Las Hacienda, the town where Neto’s mother was born. 

On Wednesday, Neto found a good car ~ a bright lime green 2007 Nissan Tiide. Those models are work horses. They can go long distances and are easy to fix. The car came without a radio (stolen the previous night when it was left outside), gas in the gas tank, a spare tire or a jack. And, of course, it needed insurance and license plates, a lock for the gas tank and one for the steering wheel. 

Driving in Mazatlán is not like driving in Denver. There are potholes and speed bumps on nearly every street and very few stop signs. Drivers cut in front of one another. They dart in and out of traffic. They make U-turns wherever they want and don’t watch for pedestrians. It reminds me of a giant bullfight. Sometimes you are a toreador and sometimes you are the bull. 

Neto’s driving ability has improved with age. It’s a good thing. One time, while taking his mother to La Hacienda in his blue truck, he hit a cow. He claims he didn’t see the cow because it was nighttime and the cow was a dark brown color. She was grazing on the side of the road when BAM! he hit her. Mamacita started screaming and the farmer came cursing out of his house. The cow was not killed but was badly injured. The same was true for the truck.

“You hit my cow, cabrone!” yelled the farmer.

“Your cow is going to be ok. I didn’t kill her.” argued Neto.

“No, but you have to pay me for hitting my cow.”

“How much is it going to cost?”

“6500 pesos.” (About $400.)

“No way. I could buy you a new cow for that much money.”

“Ok. Pay me 6500 pesos, I will sell you this cow.”

“What am I going to do with this crippled cow if I buy it from you?”

“You can take her with you in your truck or you can leave her here with me. I’ll take care of her for you.”

So that’s what Neto did. He bought the cow for 6500 pesos. He named her Prieta (dark girl.)

He continued his trip to La Hacienda. When he returned, he visited Prieta. She was fine.

I’m often asked how I met Ernesto. The short answer is that he picked me up on the beach.

Here is the longer version:

It was April, 2005. I had just bought a house in Mazatlán. A really big house with five bedrooms and six bathrooms. A house full of cockroaches. A house that needed a lot of work. 

I was staying  at La Siesta, a cheap hotel across from Olas Altas beach. I didn’t bring enough money with me and I was quickly running out of cash. I didn’t know how to speak Spanish or how to use a foreign ATM. I was sitting on my bed in my desolate, miserable hotel room when it hit me ~ What was I doing here? In a strange city, in a foreign country, with no one to turn to for help? 

Neto found me sitting on a bench by the ocean, eating a Snickers bar and watching the waves wash in. He was good-looking and charming. He spoke perfect English.

“Hi, What are you doing here?”

“I just bought a house.”

“That’s nice.”

“No it isn’t. It’s a big mistake.”

“Why?”

“Because it needs too much work and I don’t know where to start.”

“Don’t worry. I can help you do whatever you need. Where is your house?”

“Right around the corner. Do you want to see it?”

We walked together down the street to my empty house on Aleman Avenue. I told him I wanted to start by putting a fountain in the courtyard.

“Can you build me a fountain?” I asked as we opened the front door.

“Sure. Don’t worry. I can build any kind of fountain you want. Just show me where you want it.”

Neto came every day to work on the fountain. Soon I realized that he had never built a fountain before and he had no idea what he was doing. He spent days digging holes in the ground and then covering them up again. Then I had an idea. 

“Neto,” I said, “This job is too big for just one person. From now on, I want you to be the foreman. You need to find some helpers ~ an electrician, a plumber, a tile guy, and someone to help you dig the foundation.”

The next day, Neto showed up with his friends, Publio and Pepé, and Señor Blanca, a plumber who arrived with all his tools on the back of his bicycle. They made tremendous progress in just one day. At the end of the day, I walked them to the door to thank them and say goodby. 

“Adiós. Graciás,” I said, as I formally shook their hands. 

“No,” said Neto. “When we leave, you need to say, “Adiós, Guapos. (Goodby, handsome men.) Hasta mañana.”