We spent a couple of days anchored in this large bay. There is a port and anchorage up the river but we arrived at low tide and would not have been able to get there. Probably for the best, as the bugs are extraordinary at dusk and dawn in this area of vast, dense, wet jungle. Because the beach tapers very slowly, we had to anchor over a mile from land to have enough depth. At low tide we had to pull the dinghy over 1/4 mile of sand. Fortunately, not only do we have wheels but one of the guys who works at a palapa right in front of the anchorage will help you beach and launch and keep an eye on it while you’re gone all day. Just stay for some drinks when you return – hard bargain!
That late afternoon time is quite interesting as every single palapa starts burning/smoldering coconut husks in every corner of their place, in the sand, under tables and even under your chair. The literal clouds of mosquitoes are otherwise unbearable. We only did it once as Tess was eaten pretty good anyway as was a friend of ours. I get bites too but they don’t itch or leave red welts. Generally, one of every couple we meet is the same – one gets bites, one doesn’t. And science still doesn’t know why?
We rode our bikes into town the last two days, about 10 miles each way. The first couple miles is packed sand, then a road through the jungle with standing water everywhere just off the road and crocodiles galore. The town is well known for its banana breads and vendors. The beaches are miles and miles of palapa restaurants right on the sand. I had an excellent oyster first thing yesterday morning to start our ride in style.
Historically, this was a very important shipbuilding port in New Spain. Everything coming or going to the Philippines had to stop here to pay taxes before offloading in Acapulco (where mule trains would take the goods over to the Caribbean side). This is where Father Junipero Sera had his ships built and where he departed from to found all the missions in California. The Mexican war of independence from Spain began here and one of the rebel leaders died in the fort here, really just a fortified customs house. The old church ruins are what inspired Longfellow’s (apparently) famous and last poem, the Bells of San Blas.
What say the Bells of San Blas
To the ships that southward pass
From the harbor of Mazatlan?
To them it is nothing more
Than the sound of surf on the shore, —
Nothing more to master or man.
They are a voice of the Past,
Of an age that is fading fast,
Of a power austere and grand;
When the flag of Spain unfurled
Its folds o’er this western world,
And the Priest was lord of the land.
The chapel that once looked down
On the little seaport town
Has crumbled into the dust;
And on oaken beams below
The bells swing to and fro,
And are green with mould and rust.
We took an early morning tour of the vast swamp of the La Tovara river with its many crocodiles and birds. Lovely swimming area several miles upstream with warmer springs feeding it and fences to keep out the crocs. Back in town, I had a huge piece of barbecued marlin and Theresa had barbecued lobsters for lunch today. With beers, rice and salad it was $25.
