The New York Times collaborator and Travel expert Freda Moon said on October 2009, that “Mazatlán’s Old Town was spry again”…
On a cool Friday night at a sidewalk cafe in Plazuela Machado, in the center of Mazatlán’s old town, a wedding party of well-dressed Mazatlecos greeted each other with kisses and toasts. They clinked glasses of imported wine, the women wobbling on high heels, the men looking on.
Across the plaza a few hours earlier, the layered rhythms of música folklórica erupted from the city’s Municipal Arts Center. Those horns and drums had been replaced by the wedding band’s jazz saxophone and bass.
Music is everywhere in the Centro Histórico, the resurrected arts district and architectural marvel of this city on Mexico’s west coast. So are galleries, sidewalk cafes and that illusive, prized product of a cosmopolitan city: the so-called creative class — artists, actors, writers, musicians, designers, hipsters, foodies and fashionistas.
Around the plaza are the broad porches and tall ceilings of neo-Classical homes, freshly repainted in tropical colors and restored to an approximation of their previous grandeur. A few houses down, though, there are similarly grand edifices in a state of decay so advanced they hardly seem salvageable.
Behind one set of unhinged and rotting wooden shutters, trees from the patio have grown through the roof. Vines climb the walls and bricks clutter the floor. The remains of domestic life — a television, a bookshelf, a typewriter — are damaged but intact. It’s as if the family that had lived there fled for Mazatlán’s suburbs and their subdivisions too quickly to pack their things.