Settling In

Mark and I have been in Puerto Vallarta for three weeks now. This year our stay stretches from December 1 to March 1, the longest to date. We have been here many times before: this is the eleventh place that we have stayed in. In the earlier years we went to all-inclusive hotels out on the strip around the bay, closer to the airport. Before long, however, we could see that the old town, especially the part south of the Cuale river, called the Zona Romantico, was considerably more interesting and more Mexican – though in a distinctively Puerto Vallartan manner. By this I mean Puerto Vallarta is not exactly a typical Mexican city, not even a typical Mexican tourist area. It is rather a hybrid spot – truly Mexican but with a distinctively North American (as in Canadian and American) flavor. This differs from the hotel zone which tends to be predominantly Americano.

Here in the Zona Romantico (don’t you love it!) both Mexican and North American people live and work and play. There are many gringos who have lived here for years, who speak Spanish and who have businesses of their own. This area is the original core of the town, an old fishing village that received its spur to development shortly after John Hughes brought his celebrity cast to the area for the filming of The Night of the Iguana. Immediately along the shoreline hotels, condominiums, restaurants, clothing stores, nightclubs, silver emporia, and so on, have sprung up, though the beach side and its walkway, the malecon, remain open to all. Its one to two kilometer path widens and narrows along its length, showcasing whimsical sculptures set among palm trees and gardened oases. Particularly in the evening this entire area is visited not only by tourists but by Mexican families, finished work and school and open to enjoying the cool breezes off the ocean and the nightly entertainments in the open amphitheatre opposite the city hall. Kiosks peddle food, drinks, deserts of every description, and toys for the children. Buskers dressed in outlandish costumes compete for the interest of passersby. Artists display their works as others draw portraits or, more often, caricatures. It’s a colourful and wonderous, often noisy display.

During the day the malecon is active though not to the extent I have described. At this time of year the mornings are deliciously cool, the perfect time for a walk. Many are out with their dogs, allowing them to run along the beach chasing balls and playing with one another. Stores are just beginning to open; touts haven’t yet emerged to offer one a free taste of their tequila if you will only visit their shop. There are kids out from quite an early hour, especially now that school is closed for the holidays, riding the waves just off shore with their boards. Overhead flocks of pelicans and other birds circle, then plunge into the water, folding their wings at the last nanosecond, to fish for their breakfasts. A few villagers are out fishing as well, using nets while standing up in small vessels very like rowboats. Off shore we view what looks like a group of people gathered on a small boat, ready for action. At closure inspection we see that it is a group of pelicans taking their rest.

Mark and I usually begin our day with a stroll along the malecon, sometimes going just beyond its end to a supermarket to pick up some vegetables or fruit. Afterward we have a swim in the pool on the roof of our building, just one floor above the ninth floor condo that we have rented. The entire roof area is used for the pool and an extensive area furnished with lounge chairs for sunbathing. A roof over one area provides shade for those less addicted to sun worship. We often are the only swimmers at that early hour – about 8AM. The maintenance fellow, Hermanos, is usually there doing his various chores to keep the pool clean. (Mark likes to chat briefly with him in his fledgling espaniol. Mexican people are incredibly tolerant of our lack of the lingua franca. I’m sure we amuse them greatly.) Because the pool sits in the direct sun for most of the day the water requires very little chlorine. In fact it’s hard to detect any; it feels lovely to swim there; the water is like silk. While swimming we check out the wispy clouds overhead and the enormous black kites that float effortlessly with the air currents, scouting for, I presume, small mammals.

For the first 12 days that we were here we were treated to the festivals leading up to the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the patron saint of this city, but possibly of all Mexico. From December 1 to 12 evening parades line the streets of central Puerto Vallarta. Surrounding villages, districts of the city, various churches, trade union groups, schools, even condominiums like ours are represented on one evening or another. Each group has its own banners, often its own band, sometimes its own float which carries a young girl dressed up to represent the Virgin. The accompanying people carry lighted candles and sing or pray as they advance toward the cathedral at the centre of town. Along the route of the parade are kiosks ready to feed the populous in or simply observing the festivities. Always within the length of the parade are at least one, sometimes more, groups of young people dressed as indigenous warriors, dancing to the accompanying drums, shaking their elaborate feathered headdresses and shaking the hollow gourds filled with seeds that are attached to their legs. The entire scene is one of carnival – a religious but also joyously cultural feast. Everyone from the youngest child to the oldest of us is entranced by the event. It is colourfully, beautifully impressive and yet happy and fun. The Mexican people at their wonderful best.