Mazatlan
I'm sitting in the Hotel Belmar. The sun is setting, the Mazatlan Malecon is getting crowded. There is a brass band playing somewhere nearby, radios are blasting, people are getting drunk and starting to shout. Guys with guitars are arriving, and it's really windy.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOMMgmo-uchyphenhyphenBB3M9qfgMEowpMQ_Gk4-PkQtUnD0kI7DtkeUzZpHu_Dw7OoIITIwpdS8QE1MiRMckSboHzTL-pzv2ucH1CPW2Dg7403S4brZ9K0BaUdy11SnPxOhg38-IWkZE2cwznNjZ/s1600/sm-118-P7054263.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQhab4F4EjJ4vlh3Fy5JYvT_iHK_-8v58flSz0uXyCR7L2NYqpke6blzngTYeXHrD2_ZewZrhVlEeknrOYGTM5Tw-QhJPeHGJpgFr3GiGSxiIPFS60jySE_gspB7Px9EHhMv_GEzCUKeG/s1600/sm-117-P7054267.jpg)
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