Our cab ride from the airport was a quick one: less than 30 minutes from the curb to our beachside hotel in the historic district of Mazatlan. Along the route, my husband chatted in Spanish with our driver and I surveyed the passing scene, glimpsing fleets of shrimp boats by the dozens and streets abuzz with commerce.
This was a compromise vacation. He wanted nature, meaning a wild beach to surf and fish, and I needed culture: a town with interesting architecture, art and a lively dining scene. As we crested a hill and saw the . . .
