My first and last visit to Mazatlan

What mahogany? What tile? What swimming pool? What ambiance? Do you mean the broken window? The wire’s hanging out of the ceiling from around the broken fan? The closet doors hanging from their hinges? And no way to lock the door of the room itself.

I was more than disappointed. This was the first time in all of my travels to Mexico that I planned ahead of my trip. Making a reservation in Old Town Mazatlan, unfortunately, I believed the advertisements. Against my better judgment, I made a reservation while still at home. As it turned out, I couldn’t get out of Hotel Belmar fast enough.

Leaving my bag in the room facing the sea, I set off to find a new hotel. I walked and walked until my sandals rubbed red burning blisters into my feet. The sun burned my face. I wanted to cry.

Nicholas, the hotel clerk, was nice. When I said, I wanted to find a new hotel, he said, “Stay, stay”. But I was desperate not to spend my very expensive vacation in the Hotel Belmar. And to top it off, the only beach near the hotel, was a small patch of sand, dark and surrounded by boulders, littered with plastic garbage. It was not even worth exploring.

The malecon swarmed with people. Locals were cooling off in the sweltering heat. Vendors were selling grilled corn on the cob, skewered through on a stick, smothered in butter, and sprinkled with Tajin. Others sold shaved ice, ice cream and soda. Children, covered in wet sand, were squealing. Teenagers were shouting at one another and boom boxes were playing Banda music at top volume.

“I can’t stay there. I chanted inside my head as I walked. What will I do? How will I change hotels? What’s even available? How can I find out? I need water. What am I doing here?” I feared to stay even one night, where the lights flickered in the dark room and the rusty  AC unit ground loudly.

So far I didn’t like what I’d seen of  Mazatlan. A four-lane highway runs between a strip of hotels and the beach. The beach is steep, a thin strip, broken by huge outcroppings of boulders. This isn’t even the hotel district. This is in  Mazatlan Vieja. Right then, I missed my family. What would they say if they saw me now? I was way too hot and my feet were being rubbed raw.

I wished I had picked Acapulco. Acapulco I knew well. I could have gone to Pie de la Cuesta or Zihuatanejo or any number of places that I loved. My dream of buying a small hotel felt crushed, and I certainly wouldn’t be buying anything here.

I hailed a pulmonia. These are small, open-air jeeps with a canopy and music blaring. “Where can I find a cheap hotel?”, I asked the driver in Spanish. These guys get a commission for bringing tourists to particular hotels that they are affiliated with. I also know from experience that when I let them know that I’m fluent in Spanish, they’re going to run into the hotel before me and tell the clerk that I am fluent in Spanish, so there’s no talking among themselves, thinking that I don’t understand what they’re saying.

The driver knows, he says, of a cheap place. It’s called Olas Altas. (High or Big Waves). I’d been traveling in Mexico for a long time, and I knew what hotels go for. But it was peak season, and this is right on the highway with the beach right across those four lanes. Cars were whizzing by and it was quite noisy and dusty. But I was at the point of collapse. Right then I’d pay just about anything.

I wanted to pay $30 a night, but they were insisting on $81. I’ll get a deal, they continued to insist,  if I stay for the whole week. I’m embarrassed to say, I paid over $400. This was unheard of in my experience, but as I said, I thought I might keel over if I didn’t find a place to eat and sleep and soak my damaged feet.

I paid and promised to be back shortly. I hopped on the pulmonia again, back to Hotel Belmar. When I told Nicholas that I was leaving, he was none too happy. He made me pay $100 pesos, for the molestia (for the trouble) I guess for showing me the room. It appeared to me that I would have been their only guest. At this point, I would have paid almost anything. Just get me out of here, I thought. I took one more look at the pool, which was covered with a green slime, and was happy to be gone. I think at one time, this was a very cool and trendy hotel. The bones were still there.

Nicholas kept saying, “Piense bien. Tiene que pensar bien.” You better think it over, he was saying. I said, “I’m sorry, but this is my vacation and my money. Adios.” Did he think that I really could have stayed? So back onto the pulmonia. I hopped on and off I went to Olas Altas.

When I arrived, I instantly dropped my luggage in my room and stripped to the skin. I was as red as a beet, I could hardly walk. I couldn’t wear shoes. I had two or three blisters on each foot with at least one that had burst open and was bleeding… and I’m too hot.

Olas Altas  was just okay. The rooms were new with air conditioning, the beds were comfy. And across the four-lane highway, was the beach and I could see the spectacular sunset.

I also could see the big red signs saying that there would be no swimming because of dangerous currents and the massive waves. I would have to go searching for a good beach for swimming.

I threw on my swimsuit and threw myself into the pool. I floated in the pool until I felt myself calm down. I was in bed by 9:00 pm. I was tired to the bone and had not had a drink of water or anything to eat all day.

I drug myself to a table by the pool. There was a small restaurant in the hotel and I immediately downed two bottles of Pacifico before drinking glasses and glasses of water. I ordered caldo Tlalpaño which was a soup of rice, avocado, and chicken. I believed it was the best soup I’d ever eaten. And then I had a platillo Mexicano, 1 sope, 1 chili rellano 1 tostada, 1 quesadilla, guacamole, and frijoles.

I didn’t stop until I had my fill. I rested my head in my hands and almost fell asleep. It was time for me to go to my room. I fell into bed and as soon as the traffic died down on the highway, I slept like a baby, listening to the giant waves crash on the shore.

Tomorrow I’ll eat breakfast at Pueblo Bonito. They want to sell me this place, but right now. I don’t want to be sold anything ever.

I spent the rest of the week in Mazatlan staying at Olas Altas. Unlike all of the other times that I’ve been in Mexico this was not fun, not comfortable, not interesting, not anything. I never found the beach that I was looking for… someplace to swim.  I did find some good places to eat, which is easy to do in Mexico. But I found that the food in the hotel restaurant was the best food to be found.

I understand that there are people who love Mazatlan. They buy houses and condos and businesses, and vacations and retire there even. But after that experience, I never wanted to go back… to Mazatlan that is.