MAZATLAN Main Course MAY 2014

MAZATLAN, May 2014

A Funky Monkey and a Spiky Surf

Baja California was a safe, palatable Mexican entre. A tasting plate of mountains, deserts, Gringos, Mexicans, surf spots and endless taco stands… but I was ready for the main course, ready for the real thing. Mainland Mexico awaited me with promise of all this and so much more!

I had a 19 hour overnight ferry to contemplate what lay ahead. Is the Pacific Coast as dangerous as they say? Is Mazatlan a city to fear? Will there be gangs on the beach and gunfire in the street?  Two months previous a string of mid-level cartel players were captured by joint Mexican-US forces and the crackdown culminated in the capture of “El Chapo”, the Chief of the Sinaloa cartel, in Mazatlan. Apparently his drug empire stretched through North America, Europe and as far back as Australia which put him square on America’s most wanted list for a long time.

All through Baja people spoke of his capture and its consequence with mixed opinions but as a general rule they expected it would mean I should find a safer, more peaceful version of Mazatlan on arrival. I only had to make the dash from the ferry terminal to the nearest bus stand if it didn’t seem right so I wasn’t particularly worried.

I twisted away the hours with a Rubiks Cube, a godforsaken little square of frustration! As La Paz and Baja shrunk in to the distance I used my dying moments of Telcel reception to download a page of Rubik’s Cube hints and tips, thank goodness! Let the battle begin. I tamed that cube over and over again in to orderly sides of red, yellow, green, blue orange and white. I had great intentions to learn to solve it by heart but I never quite got there. I’ll save that challenge for another long journey… of that I’m sure there will be many more.

By the time I arrived in Mazatlan I had teamed up with the only other tourist on the ferry and phoned ahead to the only hostel in town – The Funky Monkey. Now just in case anyone is planning to head to Mazatlan I’m going to give a huge plug to the Funky Monkey Hostel. I can say on reflection after many months in Mexico that it’s one of the best hostels I’ve stayed in, no doubt. With a super friendly and entertaining owner to top it off. The place had a swimming pool (seriously), air conditioning (unreal!), and a super cosy lounge area decorated with a mix of Mexican sombreros and shirtless surfers.

Simmo and Reece, two of the shirtless young Aussie lads, introduced me to what would become our holy bible for the coming months of mainland surfing. Now here comes another plug… if anyone is heading to Mexi mainland to surf the Pacific coast then get your hands on “The Mainland Mexico Surf Guide”. The intro might be directed at less experienced US travelers but the surf content is unparalleled for its one-stop-shop info. It has a tidy little overview of all major (and some off the beaten track) surf spots from Sinaloa in the north to Oaxaca in the south.

I sent word to Amy back in Aus (who was packing her bags to fly out and meet me) praying she might find a copy of our own. I still can’t even believe the postal miracle she experienced - after ordering the book online she received it in the post the following day in time to fly out! Es un milagro! Our mexi surf guide would become our most prized possession, much admired, photographed and envied among fellow traveling surfers. Gone are the days of blind travel. The surf guide knows where we want to go and Lonely Planet knows how to get us there. Most coastal surf spots are off the communication grid so we leant heavily on these “offline” gems.

Another guy staying at the Funky Monkey, Tupi, had driven down from the US for a short surf trip and took us around in his car to check out some beaches. On our way along the coast he pointed out the hotel where El Chapo had been famously captured. Found naked and unsuspecting in his bed, bodyguards nowhere to be seen, the drug squad finally succeeded. A little further up we came across a crazy example of cliff diving on one of the city’s headlands. Craaaaazy! It wasn’t a leap from dizzying heights but the landing was a life threatening mix of rough crashing seas and gnarly exposed rocks. I sensed that this cliff was all about the landing, not the dazzling dive itself.

Speaking of gnarly rocks I should mention the surf in Mazatlan. The two main breaks in town are a left and a right that break either side of an old derelict night club on the point. Camarones and Valentinos. The rocks are largely avoidable at mid-high tide however another hidden danger is nestled in the sanctuary of this rocky point. Stupid little sea urchins. Dare I say hundreds, millions… haha, I have no idea how many were in their devious underwater cartel but you could HEAR them clicking their spiny arms plotting against us. We were told some funny stories about drunk people’s unfortunate encounters with them after being at the night club over the years but we didn’t expect to meet any up too close since we were being somewhat careful. On my last day in the water we sat dangling our feet bumping our toes on the rocks as the water surged up and down giving rise to the walls of surf. The ocean sucked from under us one more time then OUCH! I scooped an urchin with my foot and took on board a dozen of its spines. Then OUCH! Simmo scooped one with his hand paddling out. Argh damn it. Ouchy wah wahs. We agreed it hurt a little but not too bad. “Got nothing on a blue bottle sting” agreed the tough Aussies. I pulled out the loose ones and we kept surfing until the pain swelled up from pressing in to the board. I casually checked with Simmo if his hand was hurting… cos I’m thinking oooow mine hurts but I don’t wanna sayyyyyy. I figured girls are allowed to be a little weaker so I paddled in and started digging out some more spines with broken sea shells and sulking, glancing up every so often to see how the boys were going.

Simmo and Reese were both perfect gentleman wanting to carry my board and attempted to hail a cab but it seems three wet surfers weren’t an enticing sight on the roadside that morning. We set off on foot and I hobbled and grinded the remaining spikes in with each step (the one negative of Funky Monkey Hostel was the 30 minute walk through the city from the surf). Much to the intrigue and delight of the staff at Starbucks we had a half-way coffee break to take stock and recoup. Leaving behind puddles of saltwater and sand we limped home where Reese and Simon got a little excited about finally using the first aid kit “Mum packed for us”. Reese whipped out a blade and if you ask me took more pleasure than I liked in the task of picking open the soul of my foot. Simmo sat at the table wincing and digging at his own hand, wise man. Laying on my front by the pool, foot in the air with blood trickling down my leg, I was quite sure I preferred the urchin to Reese’s scalpel. That’s enough of that mate, I’ll take my chance with infection for the rest.

After one false attempt at leaving Mazatlan (the washing lady, bless her clean cotton socks, couldn’t find my laundry), and with a speckled addition of holes in my foot I eventually hopped a night bus south to Puerto Vallarta en route to Sayulita. The promised land of chilled surf, hippy campgrounds and endless sunshine. Sounded too good to be true but I let my expectations run wild nonetheless. Perfection, here I come!