An encounter to remember

When my charming but persistent editor asked me to write something about travel, I had to admit I hadn’t traveled for four years. My last travel adventure led me to Mazatlán, where I’ve been stuck ever since. Given that my 3,200-mile journey from northern Idaho to the west coast of Mexico is the freshest in my mind, I’ll recount one of the high points.

Where walking and driving can be hazardous to your health

Some have accused me of being a Centro snob, an urban elitist, an old town agoraphobic. The truth is, I’m captivated by living within the mass of concrete and humanity that comprises downtown Mazatlan. Having spent 90% of my life in sparsely populated places that are dark and quiet at night, my level of continuing culture shock runs deep. However, life in Centro has stirred my juices, elevated my spirit and has become as culturally comfortable as pair of old sandals.

Discerning the deserving from the deceiving

Panhandling in Mazatlán ranges from basic begging to “licensed” donation accumulators with a wide and creative mix in-between. This is a generous city, and legitimate charities actively solicit the public for donations and benefit immensely from the few pesos anyone can give. However, others are dubious in both their pursuit and purpose.

Mini-matadors take the arena for a mini-bullfight

Somewhere around the middle of January, during my darkest days of post-holiday stress disorder, my research assistant suggested we attend a cultural sporting event. When she asked to go to the bull ring to buy tickets, I began to get apprehensive: Was she buying tickets to a bullfight? Don’t get me wrong - I like my steaks rare. It’s just the thought of watching my favorite food source being skewered for sport might upset the delicate balance of my psyche.