Feature Story: Hot Salsa & Beer (What more do you want?)

the icy road was a really intelligent way to pass the time. Sometimes we would play the invisible tug-o’-war prank: a few of us rotten little monsters on either side of the street would pretend to be stretching an imaginary rope or cable across the path of oncoming cars, whose drivers would hopefully hit the brakes, fishtail and maybe even spin outon the frozen pavement, then curse us, or better yet, chase us around for a while. Snowball fight were enjoyable enough as long as you were hitting someone else in the face, not vice versa, though usually the snow was too cold to make a decent snowball. But surely the most unforgettable recreational experience I ever had in the frozen north was on ice skates. When I moved from Colorado to Edmonton at the age of eleven, I naturally brought along my manly black figure skates. Being the new kid at school, I was overjoyed when my new friends invited me to a skating party. Well, as all Canadians know, and I soon found out, in Canada real men wear hockey skates. I don’t know if things have changed in these times of political correctness, but I assure you that back then, any boy wearing figure skates at an Alberta ice rink might as well complete the picture by painting them pink and putting little tassels on them. Even the girls were falling on the ground laughing. Thirty-some years later, I bet my old classmates still remember me as the Yank with the figure skates. To this day, I have never gone skating again. Having experienced all the hellish stuff gives me greater appreciation for the divine surroundings that Mazatlecos take for granted. Viva Mazatlan, where discouraging words like parka, wind chill factor, snow shovel or frostbite are never heard, where skiing is done with the help of a speedboat, and there are no ice skating rinks.