It’s funny, you hang around Mazatlán long enough, and things that at first seemed kind of weird gradually start to become normal. Imagine, a place with more VW vans than Berkeley, California and not one Grateful Dead bumper sticker. You find yourself jaywalking through traffic with a plastic cup in hand, grazing a moped with four kids on it, dodging a flame swallowing juggler competing with a balloon sculptor for coins. An open air taxi full of plump sunburned teen-agers races past leaving a trail of screams, giggles and empty beer cans. Four wizened old timers in faded suits stroll by, carrying guitars, an accordion, and a cello. A barefoot beach boy is riding a girl’s bicycle up the left side of the street, drinking Coca Cola from a plastic bag through a straw. Three schoolgirls in plaid skirts walk along arm in arm, also sipping Coke from plastic bags. An unfinished go-cart takes a left turn from the right hand lane, miraculously squeezing by a bus full of sightseers from the Love Boat, as it lurches back and forth to make a Mazatlán U-turn, oblivious to the futile honking of those cars stuck behind. You flag down an air-conditioned Mercedes bus, and it stops in the middle of the street. You climb aboard, drink in hand, and give the driver, who is wearing a cap with an illegal leaf on it, a fifty peso bill and he nonchalantly counts out your change while steering with his

knees. Now, back where I come from, these things would tend to attract attaention from passersby, maybe even from the police. Here, nobody bats an eye, it’s all business as usual, about as everyday as seeing a young woman carrying a baby. Conversely, things that once seemed perfectly normal back home now are hard to imagine. Like being asked for ID to buy a six-pack when you’re well into your forties (“I’d card my own mother”). Or seeing five-story parking garages filled with thousands of people emerging from BMWs wearing suits and carrying briefcases. Pick-ups with gun racks. Parking meters, meter maids, “don’t walk” signs, and traffic courts. Public libraries. Some things I miss, some I don’t. It’s all a matter of what you’re used to. I hail from the Great Northwest, where what the Mazatlecos call “scaffolding” we call “kindling.” The land of snowcapped mountains, a few remaining old growth fir, mighty fished-out rivers and possums galore. The scenery is world famous. But when I arrived in Mazatlán, I was thrilled at the sight of pelicans and palm trees, which I now realize are as common as pigeons and rhododendrons. Some things tarnish as the newness wears off, but a Mazatlán sunset will never lose its magic. I still get excited every time I see that last glimmer of melon turning lime green as it slips beneath the waves. Life is good here. A bit crazy, but you get used to it.