Here in Mazatlán they still occasionally practice that ancient ritual known as La Serenata, in which the honored loved one is rousted out of a sound sleep in the wee small hours of the morning to be serenaded by guitars. My first chance to personally observe, and even participate in this rite was Dia de las Madres, 1998. It was about 2 AM Mother’s Day Eve, I was watching the ceiling fan in my hotel room when I heard my name shouted up from the street. My newfound musician friends Memo, Freddy and Roberto and a few of their compadres suggested I join them. They had beer, so I did as I was told. Being new to Mexico, or Mexico being new to me, I could not believe it when we proceeded to wander around El Centro creating what some might call a disturbance. After locating the correct house, we’d pound on the door until somebody’s mother appeared in the doorway or on the patio, in her nightgown, to be serenaded. The song sung was “Las Mananitas”: “Que linda esta la manana…” Without exception, all the madrecitas seemed genuinely overjoyed about the experience. Not one of them said, “Shhhh!!! Do you have any idea what time it is?” After we had pretty much covered the downtown area, we piled in someone’s car and drove all over greater Mazatlán, spreading maternal joy. We went to so many houses I began to wonder just how many mothers these guys had. The next time I went on a

serenata mission, Memo asked me to help him serenade a friend’s daughter. ‘Twas her eighteenth birthday, and it seems she would rather hear Hotel California than Las Mananitas. We go to her father’s restaurant/bar, one of Mazatlán’s finest, and he plies us with food and drink for hours until he can lock the doors and we’re off. All the while he’s telling us how much he appreciates our taking the time to oblige him in this manner. Finally, around 3 AM, we pull into his driveway and are instructed to hide in the shadows, behind the pillars on the porch. A few minutes later he comes out with his lovely daughter, blushing and sleepy. We burst into song, and an admittedly ragged version it was. Still, she seemed delighted and asked us to play it again. Her father was so happy to see her so happy he was actually hugging and kissing a mango tree. Before we left he stuffed a wad of bills in Memo’s pocket. I love this town. Sra Brady, who knows about such things, tells me that ideally la serenata should be performed by a mariachi band wearing charro apparel, like in those old Pedro Infante movies. So if you really want to impress your novia, mother, whatever, my advice would be to hire some of the professionals you see walking around Mazatlán all the time. They are always ready and eager to bestow upon your loved one, at a moment’s notice, the romantic tradition of La Serenata.