This is a wonderful review of my last book, Hotel Belmar: The Ghost Has the Key. If you did not see it on Vida Maz, enjoy it here. And I hope you buy the book!
Cerro de la Cruz in Mazatlan, Mexico
The Legend and the Promise,
the History, Memories, Science, Tradition, and an Invitation to See For Yourself!
The Legend of the Enduring Cross From the Sea
There was in Mexico a legend that sailors told about the cross of the sea. It so happened that in the first century AD, a bearded man arrived on a small boat to the coast which now-a-days lies at Santa Cruz Huatulco, Mexico. He was carrying an enormous log that resembled the shape of a cross.
The Zapotec and Mixtec Indians watched in amazement as the foreigner raised the log in the middle of their settlement, and they became grateful as he taught them how to live fruitfully. Long after the mysterious man left in the same small boat he had arrived in, people remembered and told the story, until it became a legend. Quetzalcoatl they called him, while Catholic sources called him St. John the Apostle. But it was later, after the port prospered from his teaching, that the Cross of the Sea legend grew wings. In 1587 the pirate Cavendish attacked, looting the town of all its riches. Only the cross remained. He tried to destroy the sacred log in several different ways with no success. The cross was attacked with knives and axes, but it didnt get cut. It was set on fire, but it didnt burn. Finally, it was tied with ropes and chains to Cavendishs ship, in order to pull it down into the ocean, but the ship stopped, unable to move the cross from its mooring! Over the years the cross endured and the legend also.
The Promise of the Sailor from Mazatlan
(Story often told to explain the sudden appearance of the Cross)
Almost 200 years passed. In 1762 a sailor from Mazatl¡n was caught in a terrible storm at sea. As his boat pitched and took on water, he feared that he would never reach his safe inland harbor for the sea became hungry and began to devour the ship. The sailor fell to his knees and prayed to the gods of sailors. He asked Zeus to quiet the thunder and call in the lightning, and he asked Poseidon to let him outrun the storm. But the howling winds drowned his prayers and the sirens of the sea sang to him of death in their arms.
It was then that the sailor remembered the legend of the enduring cross and in desperation , he cried out to the Virgin of Guadalupe who in 1531 promised a special love for Mexicos people. Oh Mother, My Mother, Queen of the Sea. Ask God to save me, and I will raise a great white cross on high over Mazatlan. One so big and beautiful that people will remember the spark of divinity that lives in the hearts of all. Even those who do not believe will know that Mazatlan worships more than silver, gold and power and that the devil does not rule over this city, my Mazatlan.” And Mary heard him and whispered her request to God who accepted THE PROMISE. The winds sighed. A sweet breeze came to blow the sailor safely to Mazatlan Harbor while the storm raged behind him. The ocean bore her gift of giant timbers, washing them gently ashore at the lofty bluff of Cerro de la Cruz. Then to keep his promise, the sailor worked his trade. With mallet and chisel, he shaping the beams into a cross, painted it white, and used the pulleys and ropes of a sea faring man to set it up on high. It appeared as if by magic for all lost souls at sea, or blowing in the winds of perdition. It stands today upon Cerro de la Cruz to remind us of hope and the power of prayer.
The History of the Cross on the Cerro
Mazatl ¡n was called the Islands by the pirates because fingers of the estuary ran between the high hills so that Cerro de la Cruz was an island towering above a passage of water from Olas Altas to the inland harbor. Historians say that in the year 1806, this land was no more than a wild and solitary forest, all covered with tall trees, lagoons and marshes. The sea washed onto the beach of Machado square and formed an irregular beach to the current Municipal Market. The cross shining white up top the promontory, was the landmark sailors looked for to find their way to the inner harbor. It was also a vantage point from which to look for warships come to capture the port. At first, there was no land passage to Creston and no El Faro ( built in 1879) up top. The cross of Cerro de la Cruz was the beating heart of Mazatl ¡n.
A Memory of Growing Up Under the Cross
“We were tough little kids that loved to play war 
and to do that, in our barrio at the bottom of Cerro de la Cruz we had a gang we called La Padilla. It was not easy to join La Padilla, our gang. We would take little kids who wanted to join and first tie them up and dress them in girly ruffles and make fun of them. Then, we stuffed jalape peppers up their noses and made them slaves. In daytime, we just went out back of my house to play in the rocks. We knew the devil hid out there. We could smell him, especially after a storm with thunder and lightning. When we saw an iguana staring out thru the brimstone, we said the devil was showing his face. It proved you were brave if you dared to go there at night. But if you did, well there was that white cross up high above us in the light of the moon. We all knew that was why it was there, 
our protection when we were afraid.__Jorge Puente
Science
Being curious, we formed a crew of like-minded adventurers and found our way through various barriers to the top of la Cerro de la Cruz. Our goal was to determine how the hill was formed and so we asked Mick McCarthy, a geologist to join us. Don Ramon was able to secure the permission to bring us with him. He has been the keeper of the cross over many years. Plastering, painting, redoing the concrete moorings and steps, all at his own expense.
A lovely young lady biochemist came along to see the experiments with acid that Mick used to test the stones, and her mother came to translate and to represent the community of faith that would visit the cross on May 3.
Don Ramon is the president of the neighborhood of Cerro de Vigia. He and others of those living so near, have witnessed faint blue light emitting from the rocks on more than one occasion. Mick explained that is indicative of burning sulfur dioxide gas escaping from deep fissures in the lava, most likely along the fault line. The lady who opened the entrance gate described feeling the earth shudder slightly now and then. Mick said that animals will exhibit odd behavior before a tremor, like dogs perking up their ears and being a little agitated, or chickens suddenly scurrying around. Horses are perhaps the most sensitive to deep seated movements in the earth that are imperceptive to humans. He offers details such as rock type and physical description of fault lines to anyone interested, saying that would be his way of adding a grain of sand to the arena of geographical knowledge about Mazatlan. We learned the rocks were colored red by mercury, green by copper, yellow by sulfur, black by lava, etc. The hill was formed like a chimney for molten stone as tectonic plates moved against one another. On close examination, each rock had millions of tiny bubbles that would hold drops of water. Lightening would be drawn to strike fire and cook the minerals smelling of brimstone. Being a lover of stories, I figured that made it the perfect lair for the devil beneath the hill crowned by the cross.
Tradition
There was a time when the traditions of religious processions was ended in Mazatlan. The church bells did not ring. It was forbidden to even use terms like Adios which means Go with God. Worship and prayer was held in secret in what was known as those dark days.But like the lava that boiled up to form the hill, the love and passion of the people seek expression. They want to honor their land and the ways of the heart. So since 2011, Don Ramn Zamudio, has worked to bring back the beloved traditions once practiced. He thought even tourists would like to come, see and join in as they do in Europe. And since Mazatlan is the place of parties and fiestas, he reminds everyone that for 200 years people pilgrimaged to the hill, and placed an offering. The religious celebration at the cross ended in a great convivial tamaliza with music, including the blessing of objects held sacred to bring . It is seven years now since Don Ramon began to restore what weather, earthquakes and circumstances have wrought against the white cross. He is a fervent promoter that tradition not be lost.
An Invitation
“Come visit the cross on the hill on May 3rd from the 10:00 hours onwards. Everyone, residents and tourists. Here in Mazatlan where party is king, let us gather together in a procession to honor that spark of divinity that lives in the hearts of all and is symbolized by the shining white cross it is my privilege to tend.
Each time I ascend the Cero de la Cruz and stand looking down at my beloved city, I am filled with love and joy. There is peace here. Shelter from storms. I feel grateful and more alive than I can tell. I feel one with everything.”
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Hotel Belmar: the Ghost Has the Key
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The Author will have books at the First Friday Art-walk in Mazatlan. Come to the Quilt show at El Cid. Click here to read reviews.
Until then, going fast. Call 981-8072.
Other books by S.K.Carnes
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Early Tourism in Mazatlan: Part 2
This is part 2 of Early Tourism in Mazatlan: A distillation of Henry Edwards remarks about the visit he and his wife made in 1872. Â The English born actor, traveler, entomologist, writer, and founder of the Bohemian Club of San Francisco told his experience in English which was translated to Spanish, which I translated back to English. I hope non of his rye wit was lost in translation! The pictures are just to jog the imagination. Even in those days there was a variety of bands.
The First Night in Mazatlan
The National Hotel is a large adobe building, with about twenty rooms, built in the shape of a square at the center of which is an entirely open space with curious trees and bushes. In this open square surrounded by lattice is our place to dine along with the mules, and also their owners. The bedrooms in this establishment are about sixteen to eighteen square feet and almost the same height; with brick floors and walls grouted, in whose corners large spiders and cockroaches make their home during the day, to go out at night to hunt what they can find. Spiders, despite being so formidable looking, are harmless; and cockroaches, although they fly
in swarms, are terrible only to people who have nerves weaker than ours. In fact, I must say that I liked them since I was able to continue my study of entomology without the usual expeditionary walk, and I am happy to announce that I have discovered at least one new species of cockroach in our bedroom.
It was to this room that we retired to rest after our first long walk through the city (did I say rest?) Oh, how little that word applies. To the lover of a comfortable bed in which the softness surrounds him, that numbs him to the world, Â and that the next morning, compels him to doze a little more, emphatically, I would say “Do not go to Mazatlan”. There are no beds, the so called things that deceive you are puny iron cots on which a piece of canvas covered by a simple sheet extends; in that one lies down. Then comes another sheet, a kind of cover that looks more like a curtain than anything else; that rests on one. And that’s it: there is no mattress, no feathers or blankets. The pillows are round and hard as if they had been made from wood, and even for the hardest, most impenetrable head, an impression is impossible to be made.
Then, in addition to this solemn mockery of a bed a resting place for which every tired mortal cries and enjoy son each cot thousands of fleas make their residence, and they sting and bite with fury all night long totally evading vigilance and laughing at your attempts to catch them. These are not like civilized, fat, welcoming, healthy-looking fleas that grab you honestly and give you a chance to catch them. These are small, vicious and so active that they give you an ostentatious bite and then jump a mighty jump to bite into another part of your body. It is said that an ordinary flea is able to jump two hundred times its own height, but I am sure that these proportions have to be much higher in the case of Mazatlan fleas, since they are smaller and jump much farther than any flea I have seen (speaking as an entomologist and as an adventurer of places unknown).
During the intervals in which these tormentors rested, swarms of mosquitoes gave variety to our entertainment and diverted our attention. These mosquitoes attack without the slightest noise, they land on your face as lightly as a snowflake and suddenly when the beak enters your flesh, then your hand strikes a terrible blow, only to fail, and then you realize that in the future you would prefer the mosquito bite. Despite fleas and mosquitoes fatigue finally overcomes you. Morning brings with it pain in every limb.
The first night in Mazatlan was without a doubt exceptional.
We were condemned to experience so many things: the crowing of roosters, which started from sunset and continued until well after dawn; the dogs began to bark in chorus and did so at intervals all night; even worse, occasionally a man with a barrel organ was hired by one of the porters, and other noisemakers by the residents of the docks, so that for their own special gratification, Â they all came to assail us with their miserable notes and even a whole band arrived to serenade some lady on holiday, and rattled until daybreak. For those occasions, it is normal to invite the musicians to the house and have them cheering inside, but if the celebration has begun in the street, that custom is dispensed with and they proceed to greater libations with trumpets and tamborazos until the brightness of the new day sends them to home. These constant interruptions coupled with hard beds and miserable bugs make Mazatlan an uncomfortable place to sleep and justify the warning, which I have given to anyone who loves his bed, to get away from this city. Even more, when we grumbled about our interrupted rest, they always told us:
- “Oh! They will get used to it. We all sleep like this in Mazatlan; It is too hot to sleep on beds or mattresses and, as for fleas, they are not worse than those of other warm countries; They always give problems to newcomers. ”
And they gave us other comforts like that.
High Culture in Mazatlan
The people of Mazatlan are not entirely lacking in entertainment. There is a small theater, or rather a room with a stage where occasionally dramas and other plays are presented, which audiences greatly enjoy. The theater of Mazatlan boasts of having excellent local artists; The style of acting in vogue is the modern conversational school. The theater is decorated with excellent portraits of some of the most eminent dramatists in Europe, among whom I noticed Shakespeare, Moliere, Lope de Vega, Cervantes and Byron. There are many customs connected with the drama in Mazatlan which are unpleasant for the foreigner. In the first place, all the men smoke during the entire show, wrapping the place in a cloud of that mist that was so offensive to the nose of his majesty Jaime I, God preserve it. Now, the function, which is announced to begin at eight o’clock, rarely begins before nine o’clock, while the waits between acts are simply intolerable. A work of three acts, which could easily end at ten o’clock, in all cases lasts until eleven thirty, and sometimes much later. But Mexicans are never in a hurry, and “only a little time” and “tomorrow” are the words most frequently used in their vocabulary. I should also mention that, except for particular occasions, function programs are not printed. Advertising is done by a band that parades through the streets during the day.
The ladies go to the theater in modern American suits, discarding their own graces, and turning the overflow into a vile imitation of the worst fashion of their neighbors, spoiling the appearance of their long, undulating hair, by those horrible excrescences called chi±ones; moreover, they destroy their characteristic clear olive complexion with paint plasters and pearl powders. The poorer classes are great lovers of the theater and will live from nothing, they will walk barefoot for weeks, in order to save their treasured two reals that will give them access to their favorite fun. They seem to be happy with every joke of the actors, and applaud every point with an infinite enthusiasm and good humor.
We found the nights in Mazatlan a little lonely, and one time when the theater was closed, we visited a Great Panorama that professed to give us correct representations of the main cities of Europe and the United States. Because of the trumpets that accompanied the announcements, we expected something at least tolerably good, but what we saw was a miserable world, lit by two sizzling oil lamps, and consisting of a series of holes with magnifying glasses, through which we saw the wonderful portraits collected at great cost by its owner. The only accompaniment to this miserable scam was a lousy hand organ that, after scenes, from time to time stopped despite the vigorous manipulation of its owner. And suddenly, just as it had stopped, it started again, but six bars in front of where it had stopped. But the worst of all was the view of San Francisco. Well, I’ve never been to Lisbon or Palermo, and therefore could be deceived by the appearance of these cities, but I do know something about San Francisco and when I saw an impossible city in which a large elephant parades in the suburbs while at his side a giant ostrich stalks him, I began to think that the views of natural history of the owner of the Great Panorama somehow had mixed, and I began to wonder what ideas the new generations of Mexico would form about the natural conditions of the golden state. We left the Great Panorama with haste and did not return on our stay.
Keeping Up Appearances.
The streets of Mazatlan are crooked, narrow and poorly paved, but they are, like the houses, kept scrupulously clean. An ordinance of the city obliges each owner to paint the house once a year or at least to clean it and decorate the exterior, which is usually done at the end of the rainy season. We had the advantage of seeing the city with its new dress, whose decorating process had just ended. It is also mandatory that each owner sweep their sidewalk and half the street every morning; every day carts take away dust and trash. It is forbidden to throw dirty water into the streets, under a fine of five dollars. These rules are strictly enforced on the main streets, but not in the suburbs where these sanitary regulations have no effect and dirt accumulates in large quantities.
Watch for more excerpts from “Three Weeks in Mazatlan” by Henry Edwards to appear in later Blogs that deal with the streets, the buildings and the squares of Mazatlan in the good old days.
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Buy Now:
Hotel Belmar: the Ghost Has the Key
is available on Amazon in paperback and e-book formats at:
https://amzn.to/2pOpoMI
The Author will have books at the First Friday Art-walk in Mazatlan. Come to the Quilt show at El Cid. Click here to read reviews.
Until then, going fast. Call 981-8072.
Other books by S.K.Carnes
Purchase here
Available in paperback, as an audiobook and e-book. Silver Medal from Readers Favorite
Purchase here
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Early Tourism in Mazatlan
Sail Ho!
In December of 1872, the English born actor, traveler, entomologist, writer, and founder of the Bohemian Club of San Francisco, Henry
Edwards and his wife visited Mazatlan.  His descriptions were peppered with praise, and salted with wry humor as he wrote of his visit to this city and people. Encarnacion Osuna Garate of the Mazatlan Archives sent us “Three Weeks in Mazatlan,” a journal of Edward’s experience. This blog-post and the next post are distilled from Edward’s description of what Mazatlan was like to visit for pleasure instead of for conquest.
First Impressions of Mazatlan: It looks good from a distance!
“It was a picture full of strange and dreamy beauty that is found only in tropical climates, and that gives the spirit a sense of almost oppressive sadness; that fills the heart with drowned longings for a better understanding of his secret love; and suggests to the soul a vision of that better and brighter land ‘beyond the heavens’ which is the support of our earthly pilgrimage. The first plane of the painting is formed by groups of low houses with flat roofs curiously painted white, blue, pink and yellow crowned by giant palm stems moving their arms in the soft breeze, with a facade illuminated by the transparency of the tropical sea; while beyond there stretches a series of broken hills crowned with a dense and curious vegetation – a purple mist crowns its summits and in the distance mixes with the dark. Around and above the glorious golden of the tropical dawn. spreads the most delicate purple tints shade the richest crimson; and, surrounded by a greenish sieve of an almost ethereal brilliance, the inclined rays of the luminary that approaches the dull green foliage, illuminate it with transcendental splendor.”
A Closer Look. Vultures Overhead
Far away Mountains, giant cacti and Also the flight of vultures that looms over us like tireless ghosts of those who have already left; groups of gray pelicans and graceful white cranes in the water lend a vivid interest to the stage. The vultures, prized as carrion animals in all tropical countries, here also perform their valuable trades and, being protected by the government (killing them is punishable by a very high fine) exist in large numbers. Its gloomy and dejected, sad and melancholy forms, like Poe’s crow, are seen everywhere in the city and its surroundings.
“Best Described as Unique!”
Musings by Edwards as he travels 2 miles to shore by small craft from the mother ship.
“While during the past ten years, more than two million dollars of various nationalities have been collected for lighthouse rights and almost the same amount for the concept of piloting, there is not a single lighthouse on the entire Mexican coast. Presently, the tasks of the pilot consists of skiffing along three or four hundred yards ahead of the boat he is guiding in, while waving a white flag to show the way. Further south, there seems to me to be a suitable place for such a light house, the island called El Crest Grande. It dominates the area. In its South Western corner, there is a singular cave whose walls are strongly impregnated with sulfur opening into unknown and unexplored passages to the heart of the mountain. A little north on the mainland, rises a high and rocky hill on which are the remains of what was a powerful fortress which by its position offers an important point of defense; with that peculiar carelessness of the Mexican race, the fortress has gone collapsing into decay. At the top of this eminence is the flagpole.”
Who Lives Where?
“The city is built on an isthmus that at its narrowest point is no more than one hundred and eighty meters long. The old section is that of the north and the new section, mainly inhabited by the upper class, is the southern part.”
“The longest street in the city is Calle del Recreo, which stretches for about a mile and passes next to the main plaza. At the western end it reaches a large esplanade facing the ocean, called Los Altos, which is the favorite walk of beauty and fashion in Mazatlan. Here are built some of the best houses in the city, the homes of wealthy merchants and others of wealthy class, furnished with exquisite taste in which a generous and profuse hospitality is extended in the most polite and refined way. The city has three squares, the main one is oblong, as of ninety meters long by forty-five wide. The north side is dedicated to a hotel and the halls of the Mazatlan Club, an institution greatly supported by foreign residents and which, if not for the game of the mont© that is so favored, will provide many hours of pleasure to the visitor who has the fortune to gain access to their exclusive recreations. A corner of the square is occupied by the offices of the telegraph company. A line that has recently been carried across the continent, connecting Mexico City with the Pacific Ocean. However, due to the frequent revolutions it is sometimes impossible to send a message as each group, upon reaching power, thinks it is their duty to destroy poles and cables. Here is an example: in peacetime a message takes six weeks to reach Durango, a city one hundred and thirty leagues from Mazatlan, so with such management Mexico’s telegraph service seems of little public benefit.
On the Porters of Mazatlan
The porters that receive tonnage that comes off the boat and gets deposited on the “dilapidated pier, are counted among the institutions of Mazatlan and the loads they carry seem beyond what is possible. I saw a man carrying seven boxes of claret from a barge to the Customs, a distance of more than one hundred and fifty meters, and on another occasion I found one of them with a piano on his shoulders; but I was already so used to them that I was not surprised by his prowess. These wonderful loads are supported on a cloth that rests on the shoulders, and whose strap surrounds the forehead and is made to support part of the load. A visiting business man shipped wagons and carts to Mazatlan to assist with transport, but the spirit of progress did not prevail. Instead, worried that the carts would spoil the shipping business (early evidence of a Porter’s Union) the local government sent them ‘post haste’ back  to New York.”
Donkey Power
“The only carts that are used now are rough and heavy wooden wagons that have very high tires and very low yards. They carry a chair tied to the rod in the roughest way by a rope, while the head of the donkey pulling it is free of all ties without abridle or a berbiqu. The driver walks next to his mule and directs it with words. It is not uncommon to find a number of these animals coming to the city loaded with a pile of corn on each side of the pack saddle, all cut
almost at ground level, which are joined when reaching up to five meters in height. The loads perfectly envelope the animals and only allows their heads and ears to be seen.
Work-donkeys, without which the Mexican could not exist, are enduring and patient, and have certainly solved the problem of how to do the greatest task for a small amount of food. On rough roads, almost untenable for the human foot, these powerful and intelligent creatures carry their heavy loads carefully and always safely going to the most dangerous places, rewarded only by what they harvest on the road or occasionally by a handful of corncobs at the end of the day. Still, the handler guides his donkey with words and not with the whip, and there always seems to be a good understanding between the animal and its owner.
One day I witnessed an incident very illustrative of this fact. A small mule carried a cart loaded with boxes of wine and when turning a corner he got too close to a post placed to protect the sidewalk, which caused the vehicle to stop suddenly. The driver instead of whipping the animal and cursing him, as is common in other places, in the most carefree way took out a cigar, lit it, leaned against the nearest portal and started smoking. Between puffs, he rubbed the animal, and laughed with good humor about the attempts the beast made to free himself from the pole. I would translate what he said something like:
‘Isn’t this nice, this mess you’ve gotten us into! But do not ask me to help you. Figure it out. I’m not in a hurry. Etc etc.’
He laughed all the time while the animal pulled and pulled so hard to knock down the post. The poor animal seemed to understand everything he said, expressively raising his ears and then lowering them; he seemed to understand the difficulty he was in, and pushing the cart back suddenly, turned and feeling free of the post, he marched triumphantly with his load. His master followed along slowly as he lit another cigarette and applauded the execution. I applauded too and, walking towards him, I extended my hand saying:
‘ Bravo, friend! That is better than whipping him.’
However, I forgot that he did not speak English. So I tried to speak in Spanish. However he understood me even less. With that I concluded not to try anymore. He offered me a cigar, gave me the usual salute of Adios sir and went lazily and happily down the street behind his mule.”
Next Blog: More about Mazatlan in the 1870s as Henry Edwards tells about the National Hotel where he and his wife stayed, how he furthered his studies in entomology without leaving his room, the first night in Mazatlan, and what the entertainment scene was like in the good old days.
Buy Now:
Hotel Belmar: the Ghost Has the Key
is available on Amazon in paperback and e-book formats at:
https://amzn.to/2pOpoMI
The Author will have books at the First Friday Art-walk in Mazatlan. May be sold at Saturday Market. Click here to read reviews.
Until then, going fast. Call 981-8072.
Other books by S.K.Carnes
 Purchase here
Available in paperback, as an audiobook and e-book. Silver Medal from Readers Favorite
Purchase here
Description Here
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Keeping Body and Soul Together
Finding the Staff of Life
By 1600, less than 10 percent of the Totorames and Cahue Indian population had survived the brutality and diseases spread by the Spanish across Sinaloa. So, who rushed to fill the vacuum? Like it was the pot at the end of the rainbow, scalywags, sons of biscuit eaters, adventurers, money changers, miners, gypsies, tramps and thieves, people of every nation and the indigenous—all came to Mazatlan. Why? Because here was a fabulous harbor very near the gold and silver mines of the Sierras. Then, in 1768, there happened a miracle or so it seemed to those longing for the staff of lifethose who knew that “man does not live by bread (or gold) alone.”
A Miracle?
Voil ! A white cross appeared on the crest of a steep fist of rocks fashioned by nature between Olas Altas, Cerro de la Vigia and the southern harbor. This promontory exists today and at it’s top sits a white cross still. But, to the grimly determined settlers steeped in sacrifice and hardened by pain, to those stuck on a floodplain swarming with mosquitoes, termites, bad water, and banditos, to the many losing-out in their quest for riches and fame, this symbol of the sacred was stunning. Plus, it came out of the blue! It spelled hope that Mazatlan’s harbor flush with hellish mud and blood, was the place to launch dreams and sail away into the golden light of salvation. That’s the promise of religion and it had arrived. So what if someone while improving his lot in life—might have set vigas de madera (heavy beams of ironwood) up-top. Hmmmmm. Well, how would any person have managed that?? Not even the donkeys that delivered the wood could scale such a peak. It clearly was a miracle.
Still today, the site is visited on pilgrimage to the Holy Cross on the first days of May.
Or Not?
Our team of ghost bustin’ history dusters are pulling our collective hair out over this happening! We are buried in books, but words used in the 1700s to describe previous centuries don’t always take our modern translation. Examples: The word “prison†is used without the usual inmates. Could the word prison refer to El Presidio: defined in those days as a fortified base established by the Spanish in areas under their control or influence??? We also find “la alcabala:†perhaps a tax imposed by the Spanish Crown upon its colonies.
So in the interest of nay-sayers ready to poo-poo miracles, we point to a certain Don Jose de G¡lvez, who arrived in the port in 1768 seemingly to review the militiamen in the “prison,” impose “la alcabala” and maybe to set up a symbol of power and ownership for Spain??? Hmmm.
The Miracle of Life—Water!
Now that we have both sides hmmming, in the interest of harmony, we will try to stick to “the staff of life†everyone knew Mazatlan needed more of—water. Sweet, clean water! According to Enrique Vega Ayala “Encuentros con la Historia” Mazatlan Tomo I, p. 62-64, “Nothing is more important to the development of a city than a reliable source of potable water and, for residents in the mid to latter 1800s, potable water supply was often a problem.”
https://mazatlantoday.net/history_of_mazatlan_sinaloa_mexico.html
” The freshwater spring, formed by the runoff from the Cerro de la Neveria was the only source of vital fluid for the first ones who dared to live in Mazatlan.”
We have already examined the role of the donkeys hauling the living and the dead around town. Once again, the donkey’s saved the day. The aquadores “guys with the donkeys,†got water from the springs, and as the need arose, hoofed jugs of agua in from smelly lagoons out of town. Reflecting the rapid growth of the Mazatlan population, in 1820 there were three donkeys and their respective handlers. By 1849 there were 24 . When the number of aguadores reached 40, the citizens recognized a critical problem. Inspired by the cross high over the city, (God’s Law and Civil Justice had not been separated out in those days) the city now had a jail for those who drank four bottles of wine everyday to compensate for bad water. Clearly, in the interest of keeping body and soul together, a better source and distribution of potable water must be found!
Guess what!
Our team is growing! Indeed, we have recruited some learned folks: a resident geologist, to help us clear up troubled waters, and a researcher who is committed to sharing What Happened Here! Guess who they are! Such fun! Meet them in a month. But while our growing team figures out how Mazatlecos kept body and soul together— or didn’t, join us in two weeks on a Tuesday to learn about life in old Mazatlan from the book A Mingled Yarn by Henry Edwards. Thank you Encarnacion Garate Osuna for sending the excerpt called “Three Weeks in Mazatlan.”
To receive a friendly email when Susan publishes here latest Blog post, you can subscribe here in less than a minute.
Buy Now:
Hotel Belmar: the Ghost Has the Key
is available on Amazon in paperback and e-book formats at:
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The Author will have books at the First Friday Art-walk in Mazatlan. May be sold at Saturday Market. Click here to read reviews.
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What’s In a Name: Part 2 Burros and Miracles
Early on
The Mazatlecos, they said, buried their dead on the shore of the sea and not on sacred ground; they did not baptize their children, they did not consecrate their marital unions religiously; they did not celebrate the Catholic holidays; and, only a few went to the Masses 
celebrated upon a portable altar brought to town. With all its wealth this was, at first, a town without a name, without law and without god.
It is interesting to note that in early Mazatlan, the names of the first streets reflected their usage. For example, the streets that bordered the old Barrio of Skulls (Calles Leandro Valle, Carvahal and 21 de Marzo) had Spanish names meaning “Ditch” and “Jail.” (Notice the brevity of language, the “bare bones” descriptions). As the city expanded, tombs, graves and bones were dug up and moved further away from the city center to Municipal Panteon No 1. The new place was designed for Protestants, Catholics, and non -believers (with some sort of division) and it had a nickname: “The Plazza of the Burros.”
In the good old days, people died of many things : disputes, love gone wrong, ambushes, firing squads and war, cholera, childbirth, political ambition, poisoned food and water, yellow fever, the plague and accidents due to rapid expansion and bravado while under the influence. 
This picture by Peter Brougel (Dutch painter in the 1500s) sets the tone for the move to the “Donkey Plaza” from the “Barrio of Skulls.”
What’s In a Nickname?
Pushing the limits of Google Translate and Babel Fish, our team researched Mexican historians, such as Lic. Oses Cole Isuna, Lic. Enrique Ayala, and Antonio Lerma Garay. Bette Schwarz consulted other sources, and we reveled in discoveries that left us more confused than ever. Nevertheless, here are several plausible reasons the plaza got it’s nickname. You decide.
In the newspaper El Correo de la Tarde,Julio 7 de 1899, there appeared this explanation and tribute to the lowly burro: In the early days, the dead were first brought to a coroner by mule or donkey where they were examined as to the reason for their death. If no one showed up to claim them, they were sent to the graveyard on a cart pulled by a burro. The “donkeys” or burros were the economical hearses carrying the bodies of those who had no one, were unknown, etc..”buried on common ground,” “often stacked in one large coffin wearing nothing or only the rags in which they died.” The placid donkey accompanied them on this, their final trip (final— until they got moved again to Panteon No. 2). Indeed, a burro was the last companion of the dead, and sole witness to an end of days.
As you can imagine, a true historical detective like Bette Schwarz was bothered and unable to sleep until she could crack the mystery of “why the nickname?”
*And then the break through!!!Bette read that at the beginning of the 19th Century, “donkey’s on vacation” or enjoying R and R could rest and frolic in a place adjacent to the plaza later named for burros. “Yes. That’s it!”
*Next, we discovered that In 1925, a year after Governor Angel Flores died a terrible death due to poisoning (rumored as the unfortunate result of his political ambition to be President of Mexico) Mazatlan City christened the plaza and school after him. Earlier, when commanding General Flores, President Obregon (a fellow citizen of Sonora) had honored him with the title of “best soldier of the revolution.” It was rumored that naming the plaza after Angel Flores was an opportunity to upscale the plaza that had fallen into ruin.
*Soon there was a rumor that the name “Plaza of the Burros” had turned “derogatory” and was “maliciously aimed” at this “named best soldier” who had fought with and under the revered “Pride of Mazatlan, Sinaloa,” the local, more humble, and better loved Juan Carrasco. This “vile and hateful” rumor was aimed at another rumor that Angel Flores had conspired with General Obregon to kill Juan Carrasco (note the use of flowery language that developed with the importance of politics and politicians). Of course non of these things could be true.
Poetic Truth
The Donkey
By G.K Chesterton
When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet.
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.
And Justice
“The one who comes to a good tree, a good shadow shelters him,” says an old refrain. And strange as it seems a donkey proved this adage true. Gavilán was his name. He was a rich reddish color and sported a white nose. The multimillionaire Lloyd Rawlins bought him in 1895 to labor in his mine San Luis, of Dimas, Durango. Soon Gavilán became the millionaire’s preferred means of transportation in his wanderings in the Duranguense Sierra. But one day Mr. Lloyd decided to return to his home in Los Gatos, California, leaving behind his donkey Gavilan. After awhile however, the millionaire missed the braying of his former partner. “Surely the burro deserved a better deal than he could receive in the mines. Hadn’t he always served willingly?” And so, Mr. Lloyd sent for his donkey to travel first class by ship to San Francisco.
The ship carried 2130 boxes of tomatoes from the Mazatlan region, 70 giant loggerheads that had been trapped in Magdalena Bay, and that donkey from the Sierra de Durango. The millionaire pensioned his loyal donkey. Never again did the cruel weight of cargo rest on Gavilán’s reddish back. Indeed, the happy burro lived out his full life of 50 years in luxury as an esteemed member of Lloyd Rawlins family— and as his friend.
A miracle you say? Stranger than fiction perhaps? In two weeks on a Tuesday, we will see how donkeys figured in the Mazatlan waterworks, learn what happened when the town got religion, and just in time for Holy Week, begin the story of the Miraculous Chapel and Her procession.
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The Author will have books at the First Friday Art-walk in Mazatlan. May be sold at Saturday Market. Click here to read reviews.
Until then, going fast. Call 981-8072.
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What’s In a Name: Part 1. Frozen in Time.
What in a name when it is out of context; when populations and understanding has passed it by and the meaning is frozen in time? Historians differ. How can we be sure? Bette Schwarz is consulting five different books for answers, while Cheryl D Angelo is searching the internet, and the mystery is only growing! But Your Ghost Bustin’ History Dustin’ Team (that’s us) well, we are digging into the names given to the burial sites of old Mazatlan, and who was buried there. The streets had different names too. And what miracle has given the old chapel it’s name? Ahh-who will know? Who will remember? The ghosts of old Mazatlan!!!!!!!
Chapel Miraculous sits high up on Calle Marzo 21 above Rosales street looking down on what was once the first organized graveyard in Mazatlan. But today, that is hard to believe. Indeed a resident coming out of his house at the junction of Calles Canizalez and Carvahal shakes his head when we ask if the 4 block quadrant where he lives was once called the Barrio de las Calaveras Who told you that This place could never have been a graveyard, says he, and he walks away shaking his head in disapproval, grumbling about foolish Gringos. Cheryl and I climb the steep hill up to the church, wondering if we have come to investigate a baseless rumor. But a man sweeping out front has a different reaction. He smiles knowingly and volunteers-ahh to us Mexicans, the shadows have eyes. He goes on to explain that Mazatlan was called the Islands because of the fingers of water that ran between the hills. They made certain routes a better place to canoe than stroll along. People buried their dead on higher ground with intentions that they would forever enjoy the view. “This is higher ground. But when the torrential rain water poured off the hills, well.he turns his eyes heavenward.
Certainly Mexicans loved and honored their ancestors, sometimes burying them under their houses. Stones were often set above the graves-the more rocks, the higher the esteem. There were several native sites where people were buried back before recorded history. A graveyard often grew over top of another.
First the pirates, then the Spanish, held tight to Mazatlan, but in 1822 (after Mexico’s Independence) the port welcomed international traffic. Most cities in Mexico formed around the government buildings and the church square, but Mazatlan bowed to the god of material gain and for a full half century of rapid growth, it developed around enterprise and the Port. The discovery of silver and gold that could be exported through Mazatlans great harbor San Felix, brought entrepreneurs from every nation and these new settlers from Spain, France and Germany brought their religion and customs with them. By 1842, with four to five thousand people calling Mazatlan home, the Church San Jose was completed. There was still no resident priest for this first church. A priest traveled from Villa Union to tend the flock. But in these troubled times, many people died and needed burial. Did the deceased travel all the way to Villa Union? Were they buried in the first organized graveyard at the Barrio, or in the Protestant Graveyard called the Plaza of the Burros?
Even the term burros is questionable. The name “Burros” was used to describe the poor people the indigenous, the Totorames, the slaves who worked the mines. The “Burros” may not have been buried in coffins….Thus the digging up of the skulls and perhaps other bones. Then the plot thickens, for in 1855 Benito Juarez, an enthusiastic freemason, secularized government at least on paper, in the “Law of Juarez. “The term Protestant loosely meant that a Mexican graveyard, called a Panteon was now under government control.
In the mid 1800s, cemeteries were set outside of town for reasons of public health. Mazatl Protestant cemetery was located on the eastern side of the peninsula with the old town on the western side.The graveyard on the Plaza of the Burros became officially the Municipal Panteon No.1. in 1851 when a cholera epidemic killed 2500 citizens, many of them foreigners, most of which held various religious affiliation or no faith at all. What Panteon No 1 lacked in supervision, it made up for in body count as an aging population, constant war, the yellow fever and plague epidemics filled it to bursting. With the expansion of the city eastwards, a second panteon opened on Avenida Gabrial Leyva in 1890.
The city asked families to claim their buried dead for transfer to the new site with a harbor view, but many did not come forward, and their loved ones stayed buriedsort of. The unearthing was described as whole mountain rising up from the entrails of the earth.Afterwards, people forgot. Soon the abandoned graveyard was a grazing spot for burros. Hence the name? With few gravestones remaining, the Donkey Plaza became a sports field in the early 1900s. The land was donated in 1921 and authorities decided to open a park on the site (1924) but neglected  to remind the public of coffins and the under-ground remains. Finally a concrete floor was poured to cover 
everything over. Neat. Impenetrable. A way to finalize the past. But did it work?
Drivers complain that, the pavement sinks in spots. And if that is not distressing enough, there is this from the neighbors: “souls wander between the walls of houses and along the street.Countless stories are told of suspense and mystery, tales of entities in pain, or angry over being abandoned, disturbed and dishonored. Grandparents, students and teachers tell of ghostly encounters. Basketball players speak of voices and laments they have heard in the “unquiet night.” The clock in the once cutting edge tower of the school has stopped still frozen in time.
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The Author will have books at the First Friday Artwalk in Mazatlan. Click here to read reviews. Watch for news of a book signing.
Until then, going fast. Call 981-8072.
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Mazatlan’s Unsettling Beginnings: The First Street
New Recruit Cheryl the Walker D Angelo 
and myself are off to investigate the Barrio of Skulls , the Chapel Miraculous, ghosts, rumors and tales. We have our marching papers, Chief investigator Bette Schwarz has sluiced the Con Agua Report from the internet in her relentless search for the truth. She also holds dear several books by Oses Cole that are probably priceless by now.
As we trudge along, I explain to Cheryl that me and “Babel Fish” aim to unravel research written in Spanish in hopes that our visitors will be dazzled by “tidbits of history” we extract. How great to expand the mind! I’ll say, Guess what happened here? And everyone will love it. Right Cheryl?
When I use that line with Bette, she scolds me about my ghost book, saying if you torture the data long enough, you can get it to confess to anything! Ghosts even I remind her that I am from Friday Harbor. I grew up listening to Joe Friday. Just the facts Maam.” But I say it with a wink. Bette has her eye on me you know, she likes to tell it like it is. And was!
The Grid? What Grid?
Cheryl points out that the streets we are walking along curve, and some of them disappear all together because they are not laid out on a grid but follow the mud line of high tide in the estuaries and the beach. Never fear, our gal Cheryl has her feet on the ground. She has been reading a fascinating thesis written by Dr. Leticia Alvarado Fuentes and is fast becoming an expert on how the original streets were named.
The Midas Touch Wins Out
Yep-Mazatl was great for hiding pirates, treasures and a specialized type of antelope called hooded deer almost extinct now. At the beginning 17th Century attempts to settle in however were twice abandoned, the hills and estuaries dubbed unlivable. Historians say the soil was salty, the water was not acceptable as water goes, lest to ingest it and it smelled bad too. Dangerous bugs, monsters and rats lived in the estuaries. Floods and YEEK! HURRICANES! But in the late 1500’s, silver and gold had been discovered in the foothills to the East. Overland transport to the Port of Acapulco was dangerous and expensive. Mazatlan’s harbor was world class and deep enough for any boat in the 1600s. The place lacked water but had the “Midas Touch” so of course there was another attempt at settling in, and this third time was the charm.
The Principle Way
We are crossing Calle Belisario Dominguez, aptly called Principle. This first trail began with a nascent farmhouse called Puerto Viejo on San Felix Bay (today North Beach)and crossed Mazatlan to the sheltered inner harbor, where tree trunk boats, each carrying up to 5 tons of fruits, seeds and livestock, plowed the estuary trade routes. Villa Union (where the first would-be settlers had built farms) and many other places where there was good water and rich soil for growing things, supplied food and water to Mazatlan. It was a time when the estuaries were primary routes for communication and supplies between tribes and towns. Everyone pitched in, the slaves and Indians that worked the fabled mines married in, and the First Town took the name: Mazatl de los Mulatos. In distant Spain, visitors brought alarming news of disorder, chaos, and terrible living conditions, but like a bad weed, the city sprang up. Urban sprawl spilled fast and faster across flood zones between the watchtower hills manned by the “brown Militia.” It was an out of control race, a material boom-time to “hurry-up” before Mexico thought about regulations and taxes!
Mazatlan! Mexico’s Fabulous Port on the Pacific
People called “mules” were bent double under the weight of precious metals headed out to the world. Every language was spoken except religion. Not a lot of that. Nor was there reliable water enough to sustain a big brawling city. The early folks were not so interested in planning a great city as they were in “getting rich” and maybe “getting out” if need be, especially those from other nations. San Felix was crowded with ships coming mostly from Europe, Asia, and North America; proudly waving flags of England, France, Italy Holland, Spain, the Americas and Ecuador. Commercial houses spawned fabulous fortunes from trade in silver and gold, opium and contraband. And the characters that came to Old Mazatlan ? Salty, uncivilized, fearless, heroic and legendary! I remind myself that they walked these very streets and shiver to imagine such ghosts as they would be. By 1855 the very diverse population of Mazatl was 6773 . Regional markets had grown to include the States of Sinaloa, Sonora, Chihuahua, Durango, Zacatecas, Jalisco, Nayuarit, Baja California and Alta california.Until the railroads gave ease of transport to inland cities, Mazatl was Mexicos most important Pacific port.
What’s Next?
Bette Schwarz is researching the water systems that served Mazatl . And the streets? Cheryl says she is On it!” Stay tuned to hear some tales about them as we head for the center of the old city and the Barrio of Skulls. As for me, I aim to solve the mystery of how that neighborhood got that name. Tune in next week for answers. Just the facts. Well, maybe a little fancy to add some flourish.
NEWS FLASH: The City is going to restore Panteon No. 2 to its original glory. Congratulations go to Joaquin Lopez Hernandez for his “Graveyard Tours” (called by fellow historians stupendous citizen efforts) that inspired Gringos, tourists and the Powers That Be!!!!! Hooray. A city justly proud of Her History!!!!! Mazatl
I have written a song to celebrate!
You Do Not Walk Alone Along avenues of heros 'N Streets that sing of praise Watch tall waves on the seaside Drench the sunset colors blaze El Faro beams and flashes, And the moon and streetlights glow Walk the sacred streets at twilight Walk deep purple streets at midnight And you do not walk alone Rolling echoes of the canons Searing fire from the shells Rise up nation bent on freedom To the tolling of the bells El Faro beams and flashes, And the moon and streetlights glow Walk the sacred streets at twilight Walk deep purple streets at midnight And you do not walk alone The green spark of salvation Whirling skirts and stamping pride Fiestas loud and merry Jest that no one ever dies. El Faro beams and flashes, And the moon and streetlights glow Walk the sacred streets at twilight Walk deep purple streets at midnight And you do not walk alone
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Hotel Belmar: the Ghost Has the Key
is available on Amazon in paperback and e-book formats at: https://amzn.to/2pOpoMI
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ISBN:978-0-9718600 2008 Golden Moonbeam Award. Available from author
Digging Up Bones
“The sea is the largest cemetery, and its slumbers sleep without a monument.” “All other graveyards show symbols of distinction between great and small, rich and poor: but in the ocean cemetery, the king, the clown, the prince and the peasant are alike, undistinguishable.”
George Bruce, 1884, St Andrews
As I walk along the entrance wall of Panteon No 2, I am aware that the real graves are located inside. But all along Ave. Gabriel Leyva, markers of Mazatlan’s heroes form a line that once faced Mazatlan’s safe harbor. City fathers, philanthropists, and notable women are named, their contributions extolled on tall impressive monuments that stand in “honor’s row” along with those who sailed the blue Pacific. Though the waters are now contained by the seawall blocks away, it is a fitting tribute that announces “Who is Who in Panteon No 2.”
I want to remember what happened here!
Even though I like to visit this cemetery, see the symbols and statues over each grave, and wonder about that lifetime, the earliest dates on the stones are from the late 1800s. There must be earlier burial sites since there were some 3000 people at the start of the 1800s. I want to find them and connect the dots. It seems that writing about ghosts in my new book, I fell under the spell of the old. It is dangerous, this “digging up bones,” it makes you want to know the rest of the story.
I am lucky because I now have a partner to work with who is a master at research. Bette Schwarz welcomes me into the fold of the curious wanna know mores. She works at night translating old documents, trying to understand the meaning in the Spanish words. It is map making in reverse, tracing the way back through history to the way it was then. And Mazatlan is so full of way-markers and clues. Lewis Carol wrote in Alice in Wonderland that it is a poor sort of memory that only works backwards. Wow. How timely is the idea that we can learn from the past and maybe do better! And so I am going to walk the route back in time that Bette has laid out for me and test that idea. How cool! Bette tells me that the information a genealogist finds must be shared with others. I like that the kind of redistribution where nobody loses. Its riches all around. She has been reading Oses Cole “Dictionarios,” (2006) and I have articles that indicate:
The first organized panteon in Mazatlan was located approximately between the streets 21 de Marzo, Teniente Azueta, Doctor Carvajal and Canizales and functioned until the mid-1840s. But as the century passed, new people with no memory that it was a burial site came to build farms and then homes in the neighborhood. When digging-in foundations across these four blocks, human remains surfaced,and the place came to be called “Barrio de las Calaveras,” The Place of the Skulls. Finally, there only remained above ground the memorial owned by the Romanillo family.
The first official cemetery (Panteon No.1) was built on the outskirts of Mazatlan, where the livestock grazed the meadow, hence the name La Plazuela del Burro. It was between what is today Germ Evers and Hidalgo streets. It was here on the Donkey Plaza in Panteon No. 1 that one of the most controversial characters of the port was buried: the famous “Picaluga” of Genov©s origin who also called himself “Juan Passador” and according to the anecdotes of that time his tomb was cursed. Here also, The should have been famous Birdman of Mazatlan, Andrew Jackson Grayson was buried in the Protestant section, separated from the Catholic gravesites by a wall. With the opening of the Panteons Nos. 2 and 3, in 1870 and 1909 respectively, the city stopped burials in the first municipal cemetery. At that time the land was owned by the German Welfare Society of Mazatlan, then represented by Federico Unger, who donated the property in 1921 to build a park there in 1924.Today it is covered over by the Plazuela Angel Flores and the school of the same name.
I set off to find all the oldest graveyards, to get a feel of the past, and see how they fare today. And, I’m taking my German Shepard dog Karma with me. You know-in case of ghosts seeking revenge or trying to win out in the battle of life and death!!!!!! Bette quotes a wise person saying we die three times. First at death, second at burial and lastly when forgotten. So who remembers and what’s shakin’ in these less traveled places?
Surprise!
Memory is alive and well but hidden from non Spanish speakers and my untrained eyes. I meet several living in the Barrio who dis-believe tales of graves in the neighborhood, and some who are shocked that foreigners are asking to know such secrets. But the nearby Chapel Miraculous proclaims with it’s processions that “a city without traditions is a city without history. “Let the circle connecting times and hearts be unbroken.”
In my next blog, with the help of Bette Schwarz and Cheryl D€™Angelo ( a kind friend and fellow walker who speaks Spanish and is too polite to say “No”) I hope to crack open this mystery. The strangest thing though€”the deeper I get into these things, the more questions I have! Until next time, then, when “Them bones them bones gonna walk around!”
Buy Now:
Hotel Belmar: the Ghost Has the Key
is available on Amazon in paperback and e-book formats at: https://amzn.to/2pOpoMI
The Author hopes to have books at the First Friday Artwalk in Mazatlan. Click here to read reviews. Until then, going fast.
Other books by S.K Carnes:
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By The Way
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Hotel Belmar: the Ghost Has the Key is finished and available from Amazon as an e-book or paperback. Click here to order it. Go to my website: https://susancarnes.com and click on the “Books” menu to read a synopsis and review of this historical novel.
Joaquin Lopez and I will be giving a Presentation at 3:00 on the 16th of December at El Recreo at 209 Constitucin in El Centro. Please come! The book truly is overflowing with information yet only scratches the surface. As I wrote it, I was constantly energized over new information. But my wise editor warned me not to include one more discovery. “Enough already!” With so much more to say, I packed the “Notes” section of Hotel Belmar, often called “Research” with stories that are books in themselves.
By The Way,
still so many untold tales call to me, promising intrigue and enlightenment. Wouldn’t you like to know the rest of the story of places and people? Ah but let me feather-up the nest before asking you to sign up for further adventuring.
I grew up listening to Paul Harvey’s “The Rest of the Story.” Try this link to hear him again with the rest of the story of a writer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPOizT9WzdI (especially apt in this case.) I am hoping you enjoy this sort of thing. Learning these little secrets is a little like finding a treasure at the base of the rainbow.
And that is what I want to offer. A treasure chest of legends. And the ghost has the key! Subscribe to this blog and I will bring you along across the rainbow bridge to explore the less visited byways of Mazatlan and Friday Harbor too (both places are home to me). And there will be more ghosts in some of the back alleys, hovering about once famous buildings, waiting for you with little known tales of “once upon a time. “
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