A CULTURE WEEKEND; ACID AND OIL
In transit at Mazatlán, Sinaloa, Mexico. Tuesday, 29 November 2005

A culture weekend

Ever since arriving in Mazatlán we have been keeping an eye open for cultural opportunities. On our first day ashore in town here (Friday, 18 November), we dropped into the Municipal Arts Academy and were given some tips about upcoming events. That very evening we attended a free open-air symphony concert at Olas Altas (High Waves), a beach not far from the Plazuela Machado. We sat in a neat fish restaurant eating mariscos and occasionally dancing with the other people to the raucus and brassy but rhythmic Musica Sinaloense. The conductor of the televised concert bore the strangely un-Latin-sounding name of Gordon Campbell.

Last Saturday (26 November) we procured tickets for a “Stars of Tomorrow” concert. The tickets said the concert begins at 2000 but there is a “Galleria” at 1830. We assume this means an art show. Arriving in the best clothing our spare boating wardrobe allows (a clean pair of long cargo trousers rates as formal goin’-ashore clothing), we feel rather as if we had been dropped into a film set. For one thing, the Teatro Angela Peralta next to the Plazuela Machado is a modest-sized European-style theatre with three levels of wedding-cake-type balconies around the three sides. The theatre was probably never highly elaborate but the restorers have done a great job with paint to give an elegant yet cozy feeling.

Second, in the foyer there is a modest crowd of almost exclusively Americans in a wide a variety of warm-climate attire from shorts and trainers to long dresses and elegant shoes. Waiters in white jackets are weaving through the crowd offering (pleasant) red wine along with (soggy) crackers covered in (the normal tasteless) Mexican cheese. In no time we have plastic cups of wine in our hands and are standing around feeling like we have crashed somebody else’s party; we try to look like we belong. Eventually a man in a white dinner jacket comes up to “schmooze” (as he calls it) with us. He is formally attired because he is to be the MC for the evening. The whole event and the reception is being sponsored by Amigos de Mexico, a foundation set up by his late foster father, a wealthy construction engineer, to further the arts. Two dancer-choreographers, two singers and three instrumentalists are to compete for money. Clearly the American influence is at work: it has to be a competition for prize money and there has to be fund-raising-related “schmoozing” event. I note that, although the photographer of the works on display in the foyer (a series of underwater photographs of naked or semi-clothed women) is present and is to be one of the judges, there do not seem to be many artistes or even Mexicans at the ball. We could have been in Idaho.

After the MC drifts off to “work the room”, we are approached by a short man in his late fifties wearing a beige jacket over a tie-less yellow shirt. His name, as we discover, is Gordon Campbell. Attentive readers will recall that he was the conductor of the open-air symphony concert. Our conversation is interesting for several reasons but mainly for some insights into music in the Mexican provinces. Gordon Campbell is present because he is also one of the judges.

Before the event begins however, he tells us that the orchestra that he founded some four years ago in Culiacan, a much bigger city than Mazatlán situated about two and one-half hours north of here, will be giving a concert there on the next day, Sunday. He generously offers us a ride in his car; if we are at the Machado at 0700 he would take us with him.

To be fair, the contestants are not fantastic though we are more than pleased to see them on stage and hear them perform. The two young women dancers are interesting and the marimba player, who is the grand champion, is very good. But they are all conservatory students and therefore still have a long way to go. Unfortunately, the standard did not make us hope for much in Culiacan the next day.

But, up for an adventure and up before dawn, we are right on time as Maestro Campbell pulls up in his car. Once out of town we drive north on excellent toll roads. Our route lies parallel to the sea and on occasion we can glimpse if off to the left in the distance. Far away to the right across a wide expanse of flat, ploughed land we can see the blues and purples of the Sierra Madres running from north to south. The air is clear, sweet even, like the air in parts of Italy. Most of the fields are ploughed and awaiting planting but we did see some fields with low shrubs of some sort, possibly jalapeño or bell peppers. While farther north in Sonora there is a great deal of grain farming, this appears to be an area devoted to truck farming, i.e. vegetables. The whole operation is done in huge agricultural units and irrigated with water from the Sierras coming from huge reservoirs.

This prosperous agricultural activity contributes, I am sure, to the fact that Culiacan, although it is not even mentioned in our Mexico guidebook, is a prosperous and pleasant town of somewhere between 50,000 and 500,000. I believe it is also the capital of the State of Sinaloa. Unlike, say, La Paz or Guaymas, the cars look mostly late model, the streets appear to be all paved and there is a pleasant, busy air about the place.

Gordon is to be rehearsing his choirs and orchestra for three hours starting at 1100 in the Teatro Pablo de Villavicienca, part of what looks to be a new arts centre. The concert that evening is at 1800 and is intended as a benefit for work with autistic children. Unfortunately, Gordon has no more free tickets. We decide to attend the rehearsal and think carefully about whether we can afford $50 to go to the main event and be able still to get the bus back to Mazatlán.

Before and after the rehearsal we have a chance to look around the old part of the city with its colonial-style, white municipal palace and typical mid-19th Century Spanish-style cathedral. We also get some breakfast at the mercado; Mexican markets always have lots of fast-food snack bars where you sit on wooden stools at a counter while the cooks chop and fry in front you. The emphasis is on tacos and such but you can also get sandwiches and sometimes sopas (stews or soups).

Back at the rehearsal hall we are surprised to find an orchestra of some sixty people, an adult choir of the same number and eventually a children’s choir of about thirty. We note that Mexican children’s choirs seem to be no different than elsewhere; if you mix boys and girls in one choir the boys don’t stick around. There were only five boys in this choir.

Furthermore, whereas in all the choirs I have sung with in Germany the predominant hair colour was grey or white (at least among the men; the women all dyed their hair), there is in this choir not a single grey-haired person. I judge the oldest person here to be fifty at the most. By far the largest number of singers is in their twenties and thirties. Sometimes, tenors for example, the singers have a less-than-rounded or balanced sound. But sometimes their sound is excellent. Gordon rehearses choruses from Nebucco, Carmen, Freischutz, Lohengrin, Polevetzian Dances (spelling) by Borodin and are obviously well prepared. The children sing the opening chorus from Carmen.

When the orchestra starts playing the overture to Lohengrin I almost levitate for excitement. The theatre is not large so the sound is powerful. Gordon Campbell is not a highly demonstrative conductor. But that orchestra was totally under control, very precise, very disciplined, and they were putting out great vibrations. Quite a number of the instrumentalists, the brass, for example, are Americans and, in fact, we met one young violinist from Toronto. There were a few young-elderly players. But most of them were in their thirties, I should judge. Wagner, von Weber, Borodin, Bizet - lots of big romantic sounds.

The three-hour rehearsal is extremely professionally run and ends right on time at 1400. We had already decided that we would not be able to afford to stay on for the concert and that we would look around some more before catching a bus back to Mazatlán from the Terminal Central in the early evening. The ride takes three hours and costs Peso 150 each. So we said our goodbyes to Gordon and head out, thankful that we had had the opportunity to attend.

We are also interested to hear about music in Mexico. Gordon is originally from the Midwest U.S.A. but spent time teaching music in Argentina as a Peace Corps volunteer in the 1960’s. After playing in a professional brass ensemble in North Carolina, he was offered a job as a horn player with the symphony orchestra in Mexico City. From there, he found his way to various other cities and finally founded an orchestra in Culiacan. From this beginning he went on to find a conductor for the choirs and has built it up within a very short time. Clearly he has a talent for building.

I am reminded that human capital is as important in music as in farming. Cuauhtémoc, where the Mennonites brought special farming skills to an arid mountain valley, blooms compared to the surrounding Mexican farms and ranches. Israel has made the desert bloom. The farms we saw on the way to Culiacan required a lot of investment and know-how.

Similarly, Mexico is very short of musicians, teachers, conductors and even listeners and appreciators of good music. Some human capital has to be brought in if music is to get off the ground. Like many states in the U.S.A., there is essentially no music offered in the schools. So everything has to be done privately although in some cases the states and provinces will assist financially. The important thing is the people. Even more than, say, in banking and financial where it is also important, the quality of the product is in the individuals, not the equipment or the buildings, important as they might also be. It takes a huge investment of time and energy to become an instrumentalist or a singer. There have to be appreciative listeners; children who learn an instrument or sing grow up to be concert-goers and CD-buyers.

From somewhere money has to be found to pay at least the teachers, organisers and leaders. Germany devotes huge amounts of tax money to conservatories, orchestras, operas, etc. and there are radio stations devoted entirely to classical music. Other countries are also active. The U.S.A. raises a lot of money privately although the governments play a big role in providing conservatories, etc. The rest is commercial. Mexico is weak here so any effort at all bears fruit fairly quickly even though making it important in the lives of Mexicans is surely a long an uphill battle. But the Arts Academy in Mazatlán looked encouraging and Gordon Campbell’s efforts in Culiacan have been fantastic. We hope they go on to even bigger and better things. Next weekend the choir and orchestra is doing Beethoven’s Choral Symphony. Great!

Acid and oil

Eddy is the Bosun of the Club Nautico. He is very helpful as an interface between cruisers like us who are new here and speak little Spanish and expert tradesmen and sources of parts. When we decide not to use the city water to fill up our tanks, he picks up the agua purificado in 5-gallon bottles and delivers them to the dock. When I say I am having battery problems, he arranges for the son of a friend of his to come to the dock and pick up my batteries. We are wondering if they will even take a full charge. But Hermano Madrigale (great name), about twenty-five years of age, takes the two 12-volt batteries that we bought in Redondo in September 2003 and basically have used only since coming to Mexico in February, dumps out the old acid, fills them with new, and then charges the batteries overnight. In his opinion, he says, they are probably all right for a couple of more years. It is heavy work lifting them out of the Vilisar into the dinghy, rowing them ashore and then managing the whole process in reverse. But those batteries feel a lot lighter today when I heard that we will probably not have to buy new ones. I am also very thankful to Joe and Bill Wiggins for re-positioning the batteries and main switches to under the companionway ladder. I have lifted batteries out of that old spot behind the Lister engine and installed new ones and I never want to have to do that again. Now I don’t.

That leaves the problem of continuing oil loss. I suspected that I am losing oil around the banjo fittings of the oil filter. I cannot see the filter in operation because the air bag that carries the hot air away from the air-cooled engine to the outside blocks my view when we are moving. But the absorbent pads that I place to catch drips there seem to be saturated at the end of a trip.

Today I did what I should have done long ago: run the engine without the air bag. Within seconds of starting I see black oil oozing in large amounts out of the top of the oil filter canister and pouring down into the bilge. Now I know what the deal is. I shall change the oil filter and tighten the gaskets all round. That will save me the money for a mechanic and the cost of topping up oil constantly. In the background, however, it is good to know that Victor, the local diesel mechanic, is familiar with Lister engines and Eddy knows of several sources in town for Lister parts.

We are planning to leave for points south in a day or two. But we are much better situated here to get help and parts than we shall be in Puerta Vallarta where the anchorages are apparently quite a way from the city. We shall get these things taken care of and leave probably on Wednesday or Thursday.