SINALOA

As the La Paz ferry 'The Baja Star' cruised into Mazatlan, Sinaloa,
Mexico, the city lay before me in all her retro, gangster splendor.

Mazatlan is like Havana. She is like Miami Beach was in the 1950's,
and early 1960's.
Some call it 'tropical neoclassical'. It's a style that evokes the
1950's, and that time's organized crime - its gangsterismo.

I got a room in Old Mazatlan, and began my search for good, Sinaloa ganja.

First I looked at the beach.

Because of its 20 kilometers of beautiful sandy beaches Mazatlan was
the most glamorous, attractive Pacific beach resort of the 1950's. By
the 1970's, the city was well into a tawdry decline. And yet, it
became the most Mexican of Pacific Beach Resorts. And since Mazatlan
is in Sinaloa it has long been a place occupied by the Sinaloa Cartel,
Chapo's Cartel, one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the
world.

As I was walking the beach, looking for surfers and hippies with weed,
I could see the Miramar Hotel (condominiums) in the Zona Dorada (the
golden zone). This is the place where Joaquín Archivaldo Guzmán Loera,
also known as Chapo Guzmán lived.

Twice Chapo escaped from Mexico's
toughest prisons. He last escaped from prison through a mile-long
tunnel that extended from the prison showers to a construction site.

After living at the Miramar Hotel for about six months, he was
arrested a second time. He was recaptured by Mexican marines and
Federal Police following a shootout in January 2016.

The Zona Dorado was modeled on the Miami Beach of the late 1950's -
early 1960's. It was once a glamorous place. Now nearby hotels are
advertising 400 peso or $20 rooms.

Couldn't find any surfers or hippies with weed. And yet, I found a
large statue, on the malecon, of a Viking pointing. The Viking
definitely looked like he smoked weed. He was pointing towards a
street that went by one of Old Mazatlan's markets.

I walked down the street that the Viking was pointing to, and found a
hot dog place with a big picture of Bob Marley. I went to the two
dudes who were working the place, and told them I was Rastafari, and
from Colorado, and looking for weed.

They were ready to just give me some. And yet, they looked at their
sacks and there just wasn't enough.

They pointed to another street that went down another side of the
market. They told me to walk down that street about three blocks and
told me to look for this dude who went by the name Marcos.

I asked if Marcos was at a particular place. I asked them what Marcos
looked like.

They just assured me I'd find Marcos if I just walked down that street.

I said "ahite".

I walked two blocks and found Marcos.

He was a tweeker. And yet, he was a hustling, very functional one. I walked
past him, and made eye contact. And then I continued walking.

He caught up with me, and asked if there was anything he could help me with?

I told him I wanted two hundred pesos ($10) worth, of good Sinoloa weed.

He asked me if I was a cop.

I told him, I definitely was not a cop. I told him I was Rastafari. I
told him Bob Marley had sent me as I pointed to the hot dog stand with
the picture of the 'Tuff Gong'.

He told me everything would be much easier if I just handed him the
200 pesos and he just would meet me someplace.

I answered, 'no puedo' (I can't do that).

He said 'no problema', but we would have to take a walk.

We fast walked to the other side of Old Mazatlan, frozen in its 1950's
sketchiness, and came to Raoul's place.

He lived in a hovel, that was once part of a car garage. He had the
gray pallor, and demeanor of a full-tilt tweaker. His hovel opened
directly on to the street.

He immediately asked me if I was a cop. Again I said I was Rastafari,
and Bob Marley had sent me.

Raoul wasn't buying it.

But he still got on his motorcyle to get 200 pesos ($10), worth of mota.

Marcos and I waited across the street in the shade. He was interested
in my travels in Mexico. Told me, wistfully, that I had seen more of
Mexico then he would ever be able to see.

Then Raoul returned. He brought his motorcycle on to the street. He
positioned it so we were somewhat concealed by it. He handed me two,
well wrapped 100 peso bags. I smelled each bag.

It was decent mota.

As I reached into my pocket for the 200 pesos these four
boy-children-soldiers, about 16 yrs.-old suddenly appeared on the
curb.
They all had guns. They all had walkie-talkies. They all wore styling,
military-like clothes.

They were making sure the transaction was going to happen with no
problems. If there was a problem - someone was going to get shot and
killed.

I calmly handed Raoul 200 pesos. I pocketed the weed, and started to
turn away. Marcos then asked for some compensation for his work. I
reached into my pocket and gave him 30 pesos (about $1.50).

He thanked me.

I looked him in the eyes to make sure we were ahite.

We were ahite.

I then faced each of the four boy children-solders. I looked them in
the eyes to see if we were ahite.

We were ahite.

I zig-zagged through Old Mazatlan making sure I wasn't being followed.
When I got to my room, I rolled a gordo (a fat one), and smoked it.

There were a few seeds - nothing serious.

It isn't Colorado. And yet, it's ahite.

The Mexican Cartels' reign of blood and terror is a Great Human
Catastrophe. The cartel bosses try to manipulate
popular culture to make it look like they are about robbing from the rich and
giving to the poor. They try to make it look like they are Robin Hood.

This is not true.

The cartels sadistically prey on the people.

They feed on their own.

It wasn't that long ago that buying cannabis was not a big deal. It
was as easy as buying tamales. The same very indigenous, dignified,
grandmother that was selling tamales out of a nice,
traditional basket was also selling weed out of that same basket.

Now, if that grandmother was selling weed, she would be shot
in the head and left in her puddle of blood

In old Mazatlan.

(DISCLAIMER - The events described in this particular 'narrative of
the voyage of the bloody, snake chariot' - see
www.libbyhome.blogspot.com - are not real, in that they are like a
dream.

A certified physician in the state of Colorado has recommended the
author's use of cannabis. This
authorization is based on a condition of chronic pain caused by a
metal plate and two screws that is implanted in his skull.

This metal plate is there because of a hideous, disfiguring head injury - which
ultimately proved fatal - which was sustained while serving in Vietnam
under the command of Captain Richard 'dick' Blumenthal, (see 'The Jah
Department of Environmental Protection (The Jah D.E.P.)
www.libbyhome.blogspot.com) who is now a
U.S. Senator from Connecticut - who will attest to the truf of this
DISCLAIMER.

Except for a brief period of experimentation while in college, the
author has used cannabis for only legitimate, legal, medical purposes.

The events described in this 'narrative of the voyage of the bloody,
snake chariot,' - www.libbyhome.blogspot.com - represent no violation
of the drug laws of the United States of America, nor f(according to a
recent decision of the Republic of Mexico's Supreme Court, and a
recent vote of the Republic of Mexico's Senate) is it clear, they
represent a violation of the drug laws of the Republic of Mexico. -
DISCLAIMER).