The Transformation of Mazatlán into Mazopolis

STOP PRESS

Artists impression of Mazopolis The City Of The Future

"Reneée K Folkenflikdik reporting for MazReal Prods Daily here in the Sinaloa War Room and Breakfast bar in downtown Mazopolis....Stupendous things are about to happen and as I look around I can see 12, no 13, or is it 21, paunchy men drinking coffee, giggling like giddy schoolboys throwing paper aeroplanes around the room and having fun with Whoopee cushions and plastic dog turds. Yes, I am amongst this city's top echelon, the palpable presence of go-getters, movers and shakers, heavy hitters, men of influence, rich bastards and local politicians whose actions in this very meeting will change our lives, YES CHANGE OUR LIVES. FOR THE BETTER and FOR EVER.

 

Hang on, something is about to happen. Yes, Mayor General Grand Vizier Feltoon has just walked in zipping up his fly and the room has gone quiet in anticipation. Anticipation as to whether he has washed his hands. You can only hear a fly buzz and the toilet being flushed. Again. By his toilet-flushing minion. El Mayor is slowly, deliberately casting his metallic gaze around the room. The silence is deafening. He holds his hands up. YES YES YES. We can now confirm he has washed his hands and a collective sigh of relief rotates around the table.

The great man himself has just sat down. Wait, did he just fart thunderously. Yes. No, he sat on a Whoopee cushion and the room has erupted into uproarious laughter. Belly laughter like a pack of hyenas celebrating a bloody kill.

Calm is restored with one hawked glance from his steely eye as I sidle now over to the Major General Mayor and Great Elephant N'Dlovu. Here, let me just shove this microphone down your throat..."

"He shuffles his papers and we all lean as one towards him, his animal magnetism drawing us closer, closer...He is like a bull lion who smells a lioness on heat, his nostrils flare and he begins.."

"Mazatlán or New Mazopolis as I decree it will be now called, The Pearl or is it The Jewel or The something-or-other of the Pacific is to become  The City Of The Future."

"Whoops and cheers erupt like a Vesuvius eruption."

"Cars will fly through the smoggy air, skateboarders will have hover boards, our thumbs will be gigantic, our eyes enormous, our skin green and Superman will be on hand to take care of those naughty people who want to protest about wages and conditions. But do not worry, we will not pay them, we have to make cuts, deeeeeep cuts. Our shareholders demand it. Instead to save dough we will ship in Bangladeshi slave workers afresh from building the Soccer World Cup stadium in Qatar and all those refugees that the Europeans are throwing back in the sea. Yes they will build our city with low paid slave-wages and then, YES, we will throw them all back in the sea when they finish."  

Superman keeping an eye on things over The New City Of Mazopolis.

"I cannot believe it, the rich bastards are dancing on the table, tearing up paper and kissing each other. The Great Wazoo of Waziristan is now screaming maniacally and eating his tie."

"Private monies will soon be pouring in to construct space age constructions that will put all the other great Asian cities of the world and Uranus to shame. Tourists will flock into Mazopolis, our new city of the future and all the profits from the MacDonalds, KFC, Dunkin' Donuts, Taco Bell and the rest of those tasty food outlets and all the other other tourist delights planned will be ploughed back out again into the accounts of the private shareholders and politician's pockets and none, I say again NONE will go to improve the roads, lighting, water and education of those nasty poor people that hold our great city together."

 

NoMaz for the richer expat

"We will create jobs, low paid jobs, jobs for cleaners, bed makers, lift opperators and toilet attendants. Great jobs, big jobs, little jobs. Jobs, JOBS JOBS I tells ye."

"Reneée K Folkenflikdik, ace war reporter and chief bottle wash from the MazReal Prod Daily, can I just ask a question Your Highnessness?"

"Go ahead my fine good looking young man (what are you doing after the show eh?)."

"Sir Mayor, down boy! What will this new city consist of besides junk food stalls and cheap tat stalls?

"Well, young fella-me-lad. Here's a list

of our splendid ideas. I am a bit knackered so I hand you over to one of sponsors whose name I have forgotten. Let's call him Senora Smith."

Mazatlán Spring News

"Siúl i gcúl le haghaidh na Nollag."

Inspirational words indeed from our
guest editor, the great fun-loving, rubicund Oirish drunkard, ex-priest and incomprehensible poet Seamus O'Seamus who takes over MazReal Publications for this long-awaited spring edition of Mazatlán News. 

The irrepressible poet Shaman O'Hoiney takes a swig from a gallon of Murphys.

On My Moind…..

"The only happy poet is a dead poet, only then you cannot change. When I die I will probably come back as a paintbrush."

I found that inspirational quote by Sylvester Stallone stapled to the back of my head when I was thrown off the ship on arriving at the port of dis wun'erful city of Matatloon. It made me laugh because that is how I felt at the time when my head hit the concrete and scraped the tip off my nose. Followed a second later by my cardboard suitcase which split open
scattering it'd contents onto the oil stained surface of the harbour waters. There followed a second later the obscene seafaring bellowing of our delightfully salty potty-mouthed Captain Henry(One-eye)Morganstone. 

"Now stay off my boat you feckin' great gob of Irish gobshite. And don't feckin' come back!"

I didn't know what I had done to deserve this frothing foul-mouthed tirade. Thinking back, maybe it had something to do with his silky skinned cabin boy Ahmed giving me a bed bath once a day while tossing on the ocean wave. Life is full of surprises and the challenge is to head them off at the pass says Clint Eastwood. 

Compelled by curiosity and the fact the Guarda are after me for eating a pair of pants on the Sabbath, I waved bye-bye to the soggy Emerald Isle and headed for a new life wherever the wind and the boat took me and now here I sit penniless quayside whilst a scrapulous dog cocks its leg on my crumpled tweed suit pant leg. 

Questions like "Why me?" "Is Kanye West really the incarnation of a Frean?" "Where is the line between insanity and creativity?" 'Whaat the …….?" haunt me until my head explodes.

However taking this temporary position on the editorial staff of the last bastion of great journalistic expat web rags - MazReal - saved me from utter destitution by them paying me the going rate that gringos pay their Mexican slaves the grand sum of 10 pesos a month. Out of which they take 5 for expenses and Angélica Rivera takes another five to pay her 500 gardeners.

I-don't-know-where-or-what direction I am heading in but understand you are dealing with an Irishman who knocked off War and Piece on the Coney Island roller coaster, penetrating the abtruse Tolstoyian arcana with ease despite enough lurching to spill my bottle of Jameson's 12 year old. Understand also that I was one of the select few who spotted in the Tate Modern's exhibit - The VW Beetle - that precise interplay of nuance and shading that Odilon Redon could have achieved had he forsaken the use of pastels for a car press and laddies ponying up scalper's money for argle-bargle bereft of one up-tune or a single star bangled bimbo and my rapport for the seven lilies is solid. ?

"To be sure, to be sure.." as they say in Derry, you might be confused but isn't that what life is about.

Here to end this guest editorial is an excerpt from my latest poem - Beyond Ichorkipark 

Let us sail. Sail with

O'Malley's chin to Alexandria

while the Beamish Brothers

Hurry giggling to the tower, 

Proud of their gums.

O'Riley dreamed of it too, and

O'Higgins who had his suit

Stolen while still in it.

Civilisation is shaped like

A circle and O'Rouke's head like a 

Trapezoid.

Rejoice, rejoice.

etc etc.

GUZZLE and BOOZE  

Fat is The New Thin : A special report by Antoiynée Mozziman guest Swiss reviewer and Alpenhorn blowing champion.

These 'reviews' and 'observations' do not necessary reflect the views of the full-time editorial.In fact most often we distance ourselves entirely from them.

Being fat has become the norm in Mexico and Mazatlán restaurants are taking advantage of this new norm by increasing the size of portions. It has been reported that skinny people are being violently turned away from many fine establishments because they are just not value for the little money they spend just 'pecking' on appetisers.

"Thin people and wasp waistline women are banned from Mazatlán." screeched Mayor Jim Feltoon tearing his hair out. "Everyone must weigh over 200 kilos or be forcefully fed by water board."

Government public information poster showing the wasp waistline type of people banned from eating in restaurants

more food……………….

The proprietor of Ze Grenoille D'Or (Ze Golden Frog)on The Plaza - "Our diners demand bigger frogs."

Proprietor Genevive Bujold of  Quebecois Restaurant Ze Grenouille D'Or on Plaza Machado and her from the farm to the table frogs.

Chef Angelo Merkel of the German Beerstübbensheitze - Der Leather Lederhössen - on The Plaza "Our diners demand bigger sauerkrauts."

Chef Angelo and his From The Farm To The Table Cabbage

Jésus Christo from the famous wood-fired chicken rotisserie - The Spinning Pollo - opposite the central market -

"Our take-out chickens are not big enough anymore. Gordos and Gringos are demanding whole wood-fired elk." 

He continued with his head in his hands -

"Man am i tired-out hunting in the Sierras all day and up to my ears in guts and skin all night. These gringos need to diet man. Please someone open a lettuce bar."

Doreen Thunderblatt proprietor of The Blind Potato on the Plaza grinningly shows off her from the farm to the table Sinaloa Spud:

" Our clients demand fucking enormous potatoes."

A disturbing recent ad from the Mazatlán Meat Marketing Board suggesting a family of three should eat half a buffalo and play ping pong afterwards.

Kiddies are expected to join in the binge eating fad...

Fresh faced KeekyDee from Thunderpant Rapids gigglingly prepares to get stuck into her 'kids meal' at the El Italiano Risa (The Laughing Italian) on the Plaza. 

Proprietor Anthony (The Fish) Rotunno (currently serving 15 years in Sing Sing for illegal possession of Bensonhurst)was asked to comment on Skype whether his kids meals are to blame for kiddie obesity :

Anthony: Hello Rico?

Rico (the Reporter)Fanducci: Hello?

Anthony: Rico?

Rico: I can't hear you.

Anthony: Rico I can't hear you.

Rico:Is that you Anthony?

Anthony: Hello Rico?

Rico: Can you hear me?

Anthony: Hello?

Operator: Hang up and try again.

Rico: Fuckin' Skype.

Anthony: Did I hear you say fuck to me Rico. I'm gonna kill you when I get out. You hear me? You're dead meat. Your grandmother, uncle and the rest of your Nigerian extended family. Dead Meat!!!!

Hello?

Rico: Hello. Anthony?

La Tram Restaurant on 'The Plaza'

Filthy McNasty, freelance under-the-covers photographer captured these two amazing images of a pig being allowed to enjoy his last sunset before being placed sizzling in front of a diner and a portion of steak, cooked blue, being carried out to a diner at La Tram on the Plaza. The meatiest joint in town.

In fact the chef d'meat is gesticulating to the waiter that the said diner now wants two  portions of the menu favourite - The Half Cow.

When asked to comment, Big Chef Scaramango of Chiapas said "Do you believe in God? And if so, what do you think he weighs?" So saying he took a long luxurious drag on his cigar and stabbed our reporter in the eye with a fork.

Chef Georgio and Johnny Depp look-a-like of The Flying Fish on The Sea Restaurant on The Malcon attempts to hatchet the menu monster fish favourite - Coalacanth a la Late Cretacious. 

'We have to go to extraordinary lengths to please the appetites of Snowbirds. Cretacious Coalacanths are this years fad. What will they demand next year Sperm Whales a la parilla, Venusian Koi, Seahorse on a stick?"

Alcalde Tzar Señor Feltoon had declared that only jolly people of this stature will be allowed to holiday here in sunny delightful Mazatlán. Border guards have been noted. So eat up folks or take your skinny frames elsewhere!

On a lighter note - More Food news and reviews:

Mazatlán Sunday Morning 21st September About The Same Time

Who are the NOBs and who are the SHITEs?

There are two main groups or tribes living in the Southernlands - the NOBs [sic] and the SHITEs*. Both fleeing from persecution in their far-off lands.

A NOB is a collective name for a group of Northernland ethno-semi-religious mainly protestant Christian caucasians of European  origin whose ancestry reach far back into the mists of time. 

Inspired by the writings of ancient NOB blogs from those who had already fled, they called themselves NOBs (North of Border)and began to flee southwards in ever increasing numbers pushed out of their ancestral lands by their fear of the agents of persecution that blight the country of their birth namely the IRS, the high cost of living, prohibitively high rates for a hip replacement and the successive corporate run totalitarian regimes that want them to stay and spend their monthly $1500-$1800 outgoings in their own country not in some Godforsaken, flea-bitten catholic banana republic run by demented commies and their evil cronies.

In Northernlandia the fascist Thought Police have the power to arrest anyone sitting on the street doing nothing. These toddlers were never seen again. It is assumed they are now Soylent Green's high energy plankton served to KFC chickens.

NOBs are finding refuge in a land where the cost of living is cheap, where there are stable communities of their own peoples that they can loose themselves in and where they can pay their dozens of servants a minimum wage close to that of a 16th century peasant. 

By the end of the 20th century and into the 21th century, roughly 1,000,000 NOBs had fled the hostile cloudy lands to the north.

A NOB family celebrating their freedom from the North by raising their arms on Playa Olas Altas

more after the break………………..

August Morning Skies over Mazatlán Sinaloa Mexico

MazReal isn't all about parodizing the lifestyle of expats here in Mazatlán.

Here instead another set of 'What the snowbirds are missing' type photography that only occur in the rainy season during the early hours of the morning between 5 and 6.30 am. The season where NOBs* have retreated back into their temperature comfort zones.

Girk McGirk out again in his pyjamas wandering up and down Olas Altas to get these spectacular shots 

more snaps after this………..

Down At The Embarcadero

MazReal kicked their ace photographer Gerk McGirk out of bed and send him down to the embarcadero to see how the other half lives.

This is what you may see on any given day in September if you dragged yourself out of bed at 5.30 am and went down to the embarcadero where the ferries go to Stone Island. We all know that old people always wake up early and all expats are old so it shouldn't be too difficult.

As a Gringo, you can also be assured, if your Spanish is good, you will understand that some of the fishermen and vendors will relay a few choice words in your direction that will get the others howling. Laugh along with them.

more colourful pics after break..

Mazatlan Summer News 2014 - What Do You Get Up To?

Mazatlán Summer News - What Do Yew Get Up To?

MazReal staff are on vacation in a cabin in Alert Nunavat somewhere in the far north in Canada, chewing seal fat and drinking snow.

Summer in Mazatlán is seriously hot, like fetid baboon breath apparently. There is no joy in the sunshine and there is very little expat outdoor activity. The occasional pink pale face can be seen behind the glass in Allegro coffee shop or Molika bistro gulping down the chilled air like a fish in a bowl. Passing off half the day in front of a cup of coffee or a pulpo carpaccio until they pluck up the courage to venture out into that fug of heat and moisture and sweatily return to their abode keeping to the shadowed side of the street or the sunny side if you are a mad dog or Englishman.

For a NOB* these equate to 100 and 135 degrees F. And sensación termica roughly translates as perceived temp.

(*NOB is an acronym for a person from North of the Border as used  by a popular columnist from an expat newsletter popular in Mazatlán.)

In expat communities around the world gossip and rumours are naturally present but unfortunately some people take immense delight in casually spreading potentially slanderous and vicious rumours without foundation. So we decided to open the doors on these hardy summer expats to get to the truth of what they get up to during this period of jungle-fever heat and storm so as to quash these sometimes bizarre and outrageous stories floating around expatty-land.

Rosina Revelle aka Lil' Oral Annie, NOB, who is an established writer, columnist, opinion shaper and social commentator. She is considered an authority on popular culture and editor of the online newsletter The Blood and Guts of Mazatlán gets down and dirty interrogating elite members of the professional expat business and artistic community on the subject of, in her no nonsense words:

"How do they get through the day to day fug of rumouring and boredom living in a hot foreign country where no one speaks English and you have to pay fucking taxes if you work?"

Spunky Rosina Revelle demanding an answer to her leading question or else! 

Some of Lil' Annie's freelance work includes stories written for popular soccer and film blogs including this tasty personal excerpt from the popular Uzbekistan film blog Filimy Chittichatti.uz :

Please Azizziz keep your Goddamn clothes on….

At a time when lesser actors with better bods are willing to go all the way on camera, it seems like a pretty dumb move to pitch Azziziz against this sizzling bunch of washboard stomachs and bulging fruit bowls. Remember, Ranveer Zulfizar in '.... Rama Dama Dingdong Leela' also did it for Sayyid Umarkhan, making fans wonder whether Nurmukhammed includes a 'nanga-panga-wanger' clause in the contract for male porno stars. And ahem... Ranbir was an 'unexposed' 25-year-old at the time. Azizziz  alas, at a ripe 99, is well past his sell-by date in the bully beefcake steak stakes. No matter what Muqaddas Jumanova, his partner in prime cuts, has to say, this is one stunt that hasn't hit the G-spot of female fans. The naked truth. Nothing butt! And here it comes: Azizziz Schakchnosa Bekzod - keep your friggin' clothes on. We will love you, anyway! etc etc.

….And here another confessional gem on how she lost the World Cup for the Ugandan Asian soccer Fanzine Footie Footie Fan Fan.

"Shameful confession: I lost the World Cup.

Yes, me Rosina Revelle! I could have stopped that goal. I could have scored one myself. I should have bitten someone's shoulder. Or broken my opponent's vertebra. Or stomped his head into the hallowed turf. Or pulled out my AK and shot the fucker in the head. That's the very least one can do when so much is at stake.

Me? All I did is cheer and get slaughtered on 6 bottles of New Zealand Chardonnay (any excuse...but it's important to express loyalty by picking the appropriate continent for your wine)and a bottle of Stoli. By the time, the tenth round of sausages and sauerkraut got passed around, I knew no amount of crying or farting for Argentina would help.

Over on my side, a few ladies were discussing Shakira's boobs and Gisele's arse. We all agreed our boobs and arses lie all the time. We are much, MUCH slimmer! I recalled the words of Dilip D Mucherooni who said, "We have to stop thinking too much. Wise words Dil!

Even though, Mohan Joshi Josh Balasubramanian Chakrapati, that lunch pack hero was not playing in the World Cup Final, I was instructed by the drunken men to serve prawns (no explanation required if you are a Gujarat!). It must have been the prawns! Had we flown in Argentinian Asado and Churasco for the crucial match, Messi wouldn't have messed up. And I would have won. Thank God my husband no longer has to shout 'Achtung Baby' for the next four more years.."

LOUD IS THE NEW QUIET


STOP PRESS

Mazatlán is Officially Party Town Mexico. 

MazReal Move To Kiev Ukraine Where It Is Quieter. 

Bird Craps on Mayor's Car.

Shock Announcement by Mayor 'Handsome Sal' Salvador Garzón : " Mazatlán Is No Place For Virgins."

New Billboard Poster with this warning will be unveiled at all Mazatlán Entry Warnin

Mazatlán was the New Zacatecas for a short while, now it seems mayor Sal 'Sally Boy' Garzón, his right-hand man Jorge 'El Patrón' Unger and his left-hand man Anibal 'The Hannibal' Gonzalez have designated Mazatlán, particularly around Olas Altas, officially Sleaze City. "We want our state name to describe our city - SINaloa Hahahhah." Sal said.

Anyone who lives in Mazatlán knows the mayor has been hosting back-to-back parties since the French invasion in 1209 sponsored by beer. There has been Easter Week, Carnival Week and coming to the end of Moto Week. Next week is Week Week followed by Beer Week, Music Week, Rent Boy Week, Pink Week etc etc till the end of time. That biggie celebrated by Fucking Great Big Asteroid Week . Unfortunately devoid of  sponsorship as Pacifico will already be on that escape rocket to Mars.

Party Town Mexico or Nueva Cancún as we want to re-christen it, is where anything goes and the music is LOUD. 

"We want to be known as the town where the music is the loudest." screamed 'El Patrón' through a megaphone. "Loud is the new quiet." he continued.

Consequently this will be the last post we upload from Mexico as MazReal and it's staff are moving themselves to Kiev in The Ukraine where we are assured it is much quieter. 

The Sal Decrees:

Paseo Claussen will be pedestrianised from the big flag to the metal man playing a piano at the foot of the hill on the other side. 

Every 10 metres will be a band stand playing music every night from 6pm to 6am, 7 nights a week. 

The road will be lined with food stalls, cock-fighting arenas, speak-easies, tattoo parlours, sin-bins, card sharps, juice joints and lollygaggers. 

Every restaurant and beer joint will have to host a band that plays Creedence Clearwater Revival numbers and out of tune Beatles covers at loudness level 11.

Riot police will patrol and will be under strict orders to throw people against the wall for a quick frisking and kicking and batoning if they look suspicious and are seen not be enjoying themselves. 

The streets linking Paseo Claussen to Plaza Machado will also be closed to traffic allowing late night revellers to use it as a public pissoir and route where they can shout and giggle loudly at all hours of the night. 

Locals and Gringos alike who live in Centro Historic will have to prove to Salvados 'Tough Sal' Garzón (also known as 'Tico' to his kids, '14th Street Steve' to his servant, 'Louie Ha Ha' to his wife and behind his back 'Sal The Gofer' or 'Little Sally' or 'Johnnie Sausage' by his secretary and car wash lackey and rent boy Jesús) that they are party animals and if proven to be boring old farts, they will be rounded up and sent to live amongst the rocks on Goat Hill.


 Yes, Mazatlán is designated No Place For Virgins.

A public awareness campaign aimed mainly at women is now underway to demonstrate how to 'floozify' oneself.  As Salvador 'Las Vegas Pete' Garson recently proclaimed :

"All red-blooded Mexican men love a floozie." using trendy vernacular from the prohibition era so as to appear 'street'.

One of the few women in the administration, Esther Villapanda Acosta head of the department for the Token Woman Department was told to take a holiday while the all-male plan to loosen-up women was put into practice with leaflets and instructive guides.

Ace Reporter Dirk 'Dirk' Dirkerson reports:


Instructive Guides after the break.

News and Views For 2014 In New Zacatecas né Mazatlán

Happy New Year!! MazReal staff have returned to the unseasonably warm weather and set up temporary office on the visiting Greenpiece ship Rainbow Warrior thanks to our promise to campaign against the overfishing of fish and to give them the the credit card details we hacked from Snapfish accounts. Having just returned from incarceration in that sucked-dry (editor. Surely you mean fucked-up?) country of Zimbabwe, we are ecstatic to be back in this wonderful city of New Zacatecas or NoZac for all those wannabes who live in NoMa. Yes New Zacatarse (If you didn't know, Mazatlán is now called New Zacatecas, an important point that all the expat publications have failed to pick up on*.)

Dazed and confused MazReal Staff after having being released from "The Black Hole Of  Zimbo' , the notorious jail in Mugabeland.

*The ever-so canny Mazatlán ( now New Zacatecas) Ayuntamiento worried by the prospective lack of tourists because of the lack of beds lacking in the lack of lacklustre hotels and under the orders of the crazed Feloonytoon PAN administration, changed the name to that of the even more popular city somewhere south and east of here in the Free and Sovereign State of Old Zacatecas. 

So desperate for beds are they, that Deer Island is to be turned into an endangered bird and seal shooting hotel with spewing volcano and 24-7-365 Treasure Island Reality TV show featuring ex-carnival beauty queens wearing Raquel Welsh jaguar skin bikinis armed with spades looking for pirate treasure.

"This city of Old Zacatecas (OldZac) gets all the tourists that are meant for Mazatlán, so we are damned well going to change our name to New Zacatecas or NoZac to please our NoMa residents and get them all back even if we have to send the Marineros over to kidnap them gringos at gunpoint." shouted a crazed frothing-at-the mouth official.

"Let the governor of that naughty PRI run state sue." he continued "….and I'll send our aircraft carrier to sort that communist scumbag out." 


2014 news after the jump...

Mazatlán Garbage Mountain

As the end of the year fast approaches and the rounds of parties, boozing and eating begins, we would all like to know where the debris from those occasions go. Well I wanted to know so we at MazReal took a trip to where all our household crap goes if you live in Mazatlán. So for anyone who has not been up the top of this mountain of garbage, very few I suspect unless you had the opportunity of going with The Vineyard Ministries Garbage Mountain Tour to hand out water and a snack, here you go. This is what happens to it…………...

As you can see, there is no need to recycle at source as it is efficiently done here in the stink and heat and these people can earn a few paltry pesos to do it for us. We can only guess who makes the bulk of the recycling money? Not the individuals who do all the work I suspect. However I have a notion but we don't want to go too deep in that direction.

So have a merry Christmas and watch this vid in its full colour and glory full screen by clicking the 1080 HD button.

Produced, filmed, directed and edited by MazReal Productions.

Storm Skies This Season 2013

 more stormy stuff after the break

Mark Anthony And His Mobile Oven

Don't know if you have ever heard on the streets of Mazatlán a loud steamy whistle that sounds like your drunk next door neighbour is blowing his lungs out through a kiddies cheap tin wind instrument for no reason at all? Well, where we are it is Marco Antonio and his travelling oven passing by advertising himself with his steam powered whistle. 

From his wood-fired oven he sells baked bananas and baked sweet potato for 25 pesos a pop. 

 I don't think I have ever tasted anything so delicate and sweet as the sweet potatoes. The same goes for the bananas. Man they're good..

This guy is a genius.

Apparently they are a common sight in D.F. and there are 5 of these mobile ovens here in Mazatlán.

What You Miss If You Are A Snowbird.

All photographs taken from Olas Altas on this day between 6 am and 6.30 am.

Mazatlán during the winter months provides nice sunset skies virtually every day but in my opinion you can see just too much of them. Whereas in the hot summer months during the rainy season you can observe these skies if you get up early enough. These cold grey skies bursting with energy are less frequent and you have to be on your toes because they don't last long due to the strong winds sweeping them across the horizon and when the sun fully rises, the light destroys the drama.

©2013 Matt Mawson