Next day, a last walk around old Mazatlan.

The cathedral, which I later realized was a strange, non-traditional design; in front of it, a park with a gazebo for concerts, 19th century style.

One home had a radio which played music loud so all the neighbors could enjoy it. Everyone's door was open. There were no windows.

In his hut, the oysterman shucked the oysters into glass tumblers, poured in a bit of chili and lime juice, and handed them to each of us along with a spoon. I had never eaten raw oysters, and then and there I developed a lifelong taste for them. But within a week, I was very ill with dysentery. Fred's took longer, but it finally caught up with him.

That evening, however, was a lovely experience. Pepsi was offered. Children came to look at us. We were feeling very good as we walked back to camp along the dark beach with the radio music gradually fading into the sound of the small surf.

Almost certainly the estuary was polluted. With a small opening to the sea, it would not often be flushed out.

He invited us to his home to have some of the oysters.

We went, in the gathering dark.

His home was a hut on the beach nearer to town than our camp. It was surrounded by eight or nine similar huts, each with a lone lightbulb in it, with power stolen from a pole a hundred yards inland.

We walked back along the shore, and I found this odd rock profile where we came to the Sea of Cortes.

The oysterman was generous and friendly, but he got me in trouble.

At the end of the afternoon, with oysters in the sacks, we walked back out to the Sea of Cortes as the tide dropped.

To the oyster beds
Do I appear hesitant? I should have been.

Our view of the estuary, a huge shallow lagoon up the coast from Mazatlan.

We stopped on a small rise from which we could see the huge estuary. My traveling companion Fred Chez is nearest the camera. The taller oysterman was discussing something with his shorter friend. He was the one who knew where the good oyster beds were.

While camped on the beach, we spoke with two men walking by
carrying empty net sacks. They were on their way to the northern estuary
to gather oysters, and invited us to walk with them.
They led us up this track, northward away from Mazatlan.

Just north of the town was this huge beach. There was nothing on it. We camped there.

Mazatlan was a small town. The cathedral is at right.