Hotel Machado

Hotel Machado

A Mazatlan Original

Hotel Machado, Mazatlan Mexico

November, 2008

Well, there we were. Winding down our hours left in Mazatlan and wondering how best to spend them. It was pretty clear we were not going to spend the time aboard Ketch 22. We had been nearly a month aboard in the Sea Of Cortez, and frankly, enough is enough. On the other hand, we were in Mazatlan Mexico, and were looking for something special. The gringo hotels wouldn't fill the demand, and the timing was wrong for a budget special, since Naty and I would be separated for nearly a month as she returned to Del Norte, and I continued the voyage to Del Sur.

Thankfully, we had spent a few days to the south of town, near Machado Plaza, and stumbled upon the quaint and very charming Hotel Machado. The proprietor Jesus and I hit off right away, as I sensed an opportunity to practice my Spanish (practicar es bueno), and he was tired of exercising his English with gringos who had no interest in communicating with him in his own tongue. Unfortunately I was unsuccessful in leveraging his fatigue into a discount for me, but that's the topic of another essay.

The hotel Machado was old, but maintained. It was charming, but oozed a sense of chic modernity, kind of old school, but trendy. Quaint, with Frida Kahla pictures everywhere. Quite obviously, it was perfect for a last night in Mazatlan, after which we would not see each other for about a month. Without getting to deep into the details, what a lovely night it was. The evening started out with dinner at a restaurant across the plaza, and then as Naty had an early afternoon flight, it was back to Hotel Machado, where we eased our way into our first real bed after nearly a month in the V berth aboard Ketch 22. As we slowly lost consciousness, the last faint sounds of the jazz band across the plaza echoed softly into our un-shuttered windows. The next morning, we began waking ever so slowly to the rising sun and a peculiar 'swish swish' sound. Relative silence, then 'swish swish' again. Still drunk from the nights oblivion, I tried to keep my eyes closed to stretch the boundary between sleep and awake as long as possible. Then again, 'swish swish'. Unable to stand it any more, the eyes stuttered opened one at a time and stared out a window at an empty blue sky. What the??? Then it became obvious as a flash of gray and symmetry flashed by the window, the 'swish swish' was the sound of the wings of a flock of pigeons navigating in perfect formation, the 'swish' loud by comparison to the sounds of the city slowly awakening from another night's rest.

Naty left that morning, but I hung around town for a couple weeks afterward and every time I saw him, I wanted so badly to sing out 'Jesus (with a biblical pronunciation) Jesus (with a Spanish pronunciation), how the hell you doing?'. In print, it would look like 'Jesus Jesus, how the hell ya doin'? But phonetically, it would sound like 'Geezus Heysus, how the hell ya doin?'. I never could get enough nerve to pull it off, partly because I wasn't sure he'd have a clue about what I was saying. Oh well. Next time.

tm