Chapter 23
Day 4 - Port of Call, Mazatlán
M aureen and Donal had eaten a leisurely breakfast, after which they decided to watch their arrival into the historic city of Mazatlán’s port from the Mayan Princess ’s railings. So, leaving their table in the morning-sun-dappled restaurant, they made their way out to the deck to find the stillness of an hour or so ago had been replaced by a gusty wind. Maureen’s hair whipped about her face as they found a spot alongside the railings amongst all the other passengers eager to watch the enormous ship being guided into the port by tugboats and for their first glimpse of the Mexican city.
It quickly became apparent that they weren’t docking in a quaint fishing harbour but rather a busy hub where another cruise line’s ship was already moored for the day, along with cargo ships and larger fishing vessels. The scene was an industrial hive of comings and goings. Beyond the coastline, the rugged Sierra Madre mountains framed a glittering city skyline. To the right of the harbour, a large lighthouse stood sentry. Maureen was excited for the few hours they had to explore as she dug out her camera and took aim.
‘Look, there’s the Malécon, Donal.’ She liked how the word for the sweep of coastal promenade stretching as far as the eye could see rolled off her tongue. ‘I’m looking forward to strolling along that. Although if it’s as blowy as this onshore, we’ll want to keep a tight hold of our hats.’ The promenade was one of the longest in the world, according to the Mayan Princess 's daily newsletter.
As the boat juddered into its allocated berth, the crowds dispersed and they pushed off from the railing, going to meet the others as they’d arranged outside the Grand Theatre. Maureen saw Tony mincing past and waved out. She was pleased to see him wave back with equal enthusiasm. He’d meant what he said yesterday, then.
Sitting next to Carole in the theatre, waiting for their slot to be called, Maureen could sense the Australian woman’s edginess. She hoped she’d have loads of news from home when she opened her Hotmail account and was wondering how the family was getting on as they got up and inched out of the theatre. In single file, they went down the stairs to join the orderly line, waiting to pass their bags through the security scanner.
Soon, the party of six were walking down the gangplank, and a shuttle bus waited to take them and as many others who could squeeze on board to the terminal building. Donal told anyone listening that he was keen to wander about the old town. There was a murmured agreement that this sounded grand but, still, no firm plans were shored up other than that and Carole’s input of needing to find an internet café.
A welcoming Mariachi band was in full swing as they stepped off the bus and into the terminal building.
‘Arriba!’ Maureen cried. ‘I wish I had a set of castanets or my tambourine to join them!’ She reached for her camera and passed it to John, who took her and Donal’s picture with the traditional musicians. Carole, Niall and Davey, who’d not had much time for souvenir shopping in Cabo, had already moved off to admire the colourful wares at the smattering of well-located market stalls. It was impossible to exit the terminal without walking past them. Smiling vendors greeted them as they stopped to browse.
By the time they stepped out into the hot sun, where lines of taxis were whisking tourists off to explore the delights of Mazatlán, Maureen was the proud owner of eight woven friendship bracelets. She had four on each wrist, having haggled the colourful accessories down to a mutually satisfactory price. Carole, who’d been to Bali on holiday, knew the need to bargain back and forth. However, Niall, John and Davey needed the rundown on not accepting the asking price. Maureen reminded them of her trip to Vietnam with Moira, where the art of haggling was necessary in the markets. ‘Only don’t get carried away because these people have a living to make,’ she’d added, recalling her conscious-pricing moment in Cabo. Then, as though Moira was haunting her, she could almost hear her youngest daughter’s voice in her ear as she wandered along with the beads from all her new necklaces clacking about her neck.
‘You’ve not learned the art of not buying things that will look ridiculous back home though, Mammy,’ she was saying in Maureen’s head.
‘Go away,’ Maureen said.
‘Did you say something, Mo?’ Donal asked. Or at least she thought it was Donal. It was hard to tell, given he, Niall, and Davey looked like the three Amigos, all wearing matching straw beach sombreros.
‘I was talking to myself, Donal.’
‘Grand.’
Maureen shifted the carry bag from one hot little hand to the other. Her family was never far from her thoughts and she'd bought six Huipils, the traditional white cotton blouses with splashes of embroidery, for all the grown-up girls. She couldn’t wait to take a family photograph, picturing the girls in their chaste blouses and blue jeans.
She’d sort the lads out next time around. Perhaps they’d like a t-shirt with Mazatlán printed on the front like Donal had stuffed into the carry bag, announcing his desire to own a t-shirt from each of their three destinations to wear on rotation throughout the cruise. Or better yet, white cotton shirts! Then everybody could wear white tops and blue jeans for the family photo. Carole, more timid than Maureen despite her previous experience, had paid too much in Maureen’s opinion for a pair of silver dangly earrings and a leather purse. John, however, had been a duck-to-water bartering for the leather belt with the big silver buckle that looked very cowboyish and would work well for their Haybales and Hoedown evening. Maureen would put him right if he opted to wear the belt with his chino trousers. It was a look that wouldn’t work and, given that his daughter wasn’t here to tell him, it would be up to her to say it was a fashion crime.
Given the volumes of people milling about the Malécon, there was no chance of getting lost. Davey had his nose buried in the guidebook he’d brought. Every now and then, he’d emerge from it to give them an insight into the city they decided to wander into rather than take a taxi, much to Donal’s angst. The consensus had been they could do with stretching their legs and working off the sins of the Lido Buffet, not to mention all the cocktails they’d consumed.
Maureen frowned while watching the man she loved, who was a few steps ahead. She deduced he was the Amigo in the middle from the waddle, thinking how he looked like he’d an unfortunate case of the chafing. He was still suffering for his gym sins. She bet Kenny didn’t strut about bandy-legged on his holidays. Ah well, at least the cruise passengers they’d been brought on board to entertain weren’t likely to recognise him as frontman for The Gamblers under his sombrero.
Their group followed the lanyard-wearing trickle, trooping toward the old town. It wasn’t long before they left the gusty but cooling wind blowing down the rocky shoreline for a sleepy square. The squalling gulls were replaced with nosy pigeons.
‘Plaza Machado,’ Davey announced proudly as though he were the Mayor of Mazatlán, coming to a standstill in the square where the smell of grilling fish and cigars clung to the air. There wasn’t even a whisper of breeze rustling the palm tree fronds or leaves on the trees offering blessed shade in the square. The plaza was surrounded by pastel colonial buildings home to shops and cafés whose outdoor tables were covered with red chequered cloths. Children played in and around a Rotunda, and old men sat under leafy arbours and played chess. The atmosphere was convivial and welcoming.
‘I’m parched,’ John announced.
‘We’ll not find a better spot for a cool drink and people-watching than this,’ Donal said.
Niall and Davey were already moving toward a café with an empty table big enough to accommodate them.
Maureen, however, had seen a sign for an internet café in one of the lanes spidering off the square and she nudged Carole, pointing over at it. ‘Shall we?’
Carole called out to Niall, ‘Would you mind getting me a lemonade? Maureen and I are going to head over there and use the internet. We won’t be long.’
‘Not a bother,’ Niall said, oblivious to what hung on the line for Carole. Once she had Carlos’s mobile number, she’d have no excuse for not calling and trying to make peace. Donal echoed Niall's sentiment when Maureen put in her order.
The two women were assailed by a fog of cigarette smoke from three young people at various terminals chuffing away and an underlying whiff of something greasy as they stepped inside the café.
‘At least it’s cool,’ Maureen muttered, sorting out payment with the bored young woman behind the counter. They had their choice of computers, and Carole settled in front of one of the screens while Maureen sat at the monitor beside her. The women got busy entering their details.
Maureen saw she’d had several messages come in since yesterday. One was from Aisling, and the other was from Roisin. Rosemary Farrell had been in touch, as had Donal’s Louise, but there was nothing from Pat. She wished Donal had come to the café with her now, but she supposed she could ask for Louise’s message to be printed off. She was eager to read them all but knew she couldn't concentrate until Carole checked hers and, while waiting, she crossed her fingers under the desk.
‘Rob’s sent through the mobile number,’ Carole said a second later, seemingly reading Maureen’s mind.
‘Grand.’ Maureen didn’t want to give Carole wiggle room because putting it off wouldn’t make it any easier. ‘What’s the time difference between Sydney and Mexico?’
‘Um, let me work it out. Okay, so it’s one o’clock here which means,’ Carole's voice trailed off, and her lips moved silently. ‘It's seven in the morning in Sydney. I don’t want to ring when Emma’s likely to be home, though,’ she was quick to add.
‘Fair play. I saw a phone box near the terminal. You could always try ringing in a few hours before we return to the ship.’
Carole nodded but said nothing.
‘I’ve a few messages to read if you want to find the lads for that lemonade.’
‘I’ll wait,’ Carole said, ‘I’m due to write to a couple of my teaching friends anyway.’
The hours spent in the charming city of Mazatlán, where they’d not ventured further than the old town, had flown by. They’d been spent in a flurry of more souvenir shopping, photograph taking and generally soaking up of the different sights, sounds and smells of a foreign port. The group were cleaning up a late lunch of fresh fish and discussing the city's majestic, yellow-hued cathedral when Davey shot out of his seat. He gestured for the rest of them to do the same or they’d miss the cliff divers at El Clavadista.
It was too warm to be herded along, so they were all grumbling, doing their best to keep up with the drummer, who could move surprisingly fast when it came to some things. However, all moans of hot and bothered discontent ceased as they reached the rocky outcrop on the Malécon in time to see an adonis arcing through the air, a bronze bird soaring briefly before diving into the frothing surf below. A gasp sounded from the crowd, followed by cheers and applause when the diver bobbed up and swam over to the base of the rocks. Several spectators surged forward to press money upon him, and Maureen pushed Donal forward.
‘Look up there.’ Carole, standing next to Maureen, pointed to another young adonis waiting at the cliff's top. Once sure he had the crowd’s attention, he paused to pray before taking his turn at the point where the rock dropped away, adding to the ‘will he, won’t he?’ suspense.
‘That’s nothing to be sniffed at you. Sure, it's forty-five feet; they’re jumping off. According to my book, it’s all in the timing,’ Davey informed them as Maureen hissed he was to put his hand in his pocket this time for the diver. Another young man was already clambering lithely up the rock face.
Maureen cupped her hands either side of her mouth and called up. ‘Be careful!' Then, turning to Carole said, ‘Think of their poor mammies sitting at home wondering whether they’ll come home from work. I can’t imagine waving Pat out the door, knowing he was off to make a living by jumping off the Cliffs of Moher for tourists. Donal, take the camera. I can’t look.’ Maureen passed the camera and covered her eyes, but she couldn’t help herself; she had to peek.
A throng of weary cruise ship passengers filed past Maureen and Carole, who’d waved the lads on ahead to the boat, explaining Carole had a call home to make and Maureen would wait for her. The two women were standing outside a phone box on the Malécon waiting for the woman yabbering away inside the booth to hurry up and end her call. The wind had dropped, and the sun was still hot. Maureen fanned herself with the bag containing the postcards. Once she was sitting in the shade on the Lido Deck with a Blue Lagoon, she’d write on the cards, filling in those she’d promised to keep updated from her various groups about the delights of Mazatlán. She could post them tomorrow from Puerto Vallarta.
First things first, though. Right now, Carole had a life-changing phone call to make, and the longer they stood here getting hot and bothered the more anxious the poor woman was getting. She’d make her thumb sore chewing on her nail like so. Maureen thought that a pianist needed her hands in tip-top form, decided enough was enough and, reaching forward, she was about to tap on the window impatiently. The woman chose that moment to hang up and bustle out of the box, pausing to hold the door open for Carole who froze. Maureen gently steered her toward the booth, thanking the woman with a Mayan Princess lanyard around her neck. She nodded and hurried off toward the terminal.
‘I’m here if you need me,’ Maureen said as Carole wedged her foot in the door.
‘What do I say?’ Anxiety was imprinted on her face.
‘You say what’s on your heart,’ Maureen replied.
‘What’s on my heart,’ Carole repeated, removing her foot and closing the door, leaving Maureen chewing on her own thumbnail. She watched as her Australian friend slotted her visa card into the machine and picked up the phone, tapping out the digits scribbled down on a piece of paper.
‘Good luck,’ Maureen silently mouthed.