Puerto Vallarta

The highway (read; two lane road clinging to the sides of a mountain) eventually drops you down into old Puerto Vallarta (PV). This area has the look of an old town initially designed for business and the locals who would support those business but now caters mostly to tourists. It's actually kind of quaint compared to the new tourist drenched part of the city. In old PV there's a little charm left on the restaraunts and old hotels. Money is certainly creeping in with a good number of pricey, sophisticated spots to eat and sleep and just a couple of big corporate joints to remind you that soon even in the heart of the Amazon you could probably find a McDonalds.

We set up camp in one of those old hotels. The lobby looked promising with a pool in the courtyard and comfy chairs to lounge in. Our motorcycles parked amongst the chairs and tropical plants added an air of sophistication which was truely lacking.

Thirty bucks buys you a stark but reasonably clean closet to rest your road weary head. What made the room so special to me was the bathroom. Particulary the toilet which was crammed so tight into the smaller closet making up the bathroom that my left knee was jammed against the wall in front of me, my right leg was hanging out into our room directly in front of Alfred's bed and my head rested comfortably against the cool, painted cinderblock wall.

That night we wandered the streets in search of discount beer and had a plate of wonderful English style fish and chips served up at fish joint run by a Brit.

Since we had a free place to stay near PV, with heavy heart we checked out of our cubicle the next morning in search of Bucerias and our apartment home.

Bucerias is North of PV by about 30 miles. We were in the Southern end of PV which gave us the opportunity to see a little bit more of the town. What I saw I didn't like. American stores lined the main road through town. Home Depot, WalMart, Charbucks, KFC, McDo, even a damned Chili's! was there in case you forgot what real Mexican food tasted like. I swear we are ruining the world. Forget the bombs we drop indiscriminatly it's our unstoppable consumerism that has the biggest impact. Besides you gotta get rid of bombs somewhere. Not in my backyard is my rule.

It took some doing but we eventually found our one room duplex apartment. Sparsely furnished and minimumly (is that a word?) decorated, it was to us four star accomodations. The room however did come equipped with a bag of smelly herbs in the freezer. Now, I don't partake nor do I comdemn those who do. It was a nice touch just the same.

We spent the next couple of days wandering around our new home and not surpisingly I was not impressed. Not because it was filled with tourists (mostly Canadians) but because for a tourist hotspot is was very rundown. I was hoping for something in between. A place which looked like Mexico but without the trash, rubble and debris which is omnipresent. An odd note about Canadians. We were told by several people, locals and other North Americans that the Canadians are incredibly cheap. It was fun to get a local bartender or waitress going about our friends to the North and listen to them vent. I like Canadians, I mean they're practically Americans. In fact, if they look at us the wrong way George W. just might bring his version of democracy and nation building their way. So, my Canadian friends, if you have a beef with being cheap, tip your waitress better.

Around the corner was a slick veghead restaurant which screened movies twice a week in an outdoor screening area. On my last night in Bucerias the movie to be shown was "Babel". For $5 bucks you get a movie and a $5 voucher towards anything on the menu. I was jonesing for a real Margarita so I cautiously asked our server how they were made. "Fresh squeezed lime juice, cointreau, anejo tequila (I went with Cazadores) and just pinch of sugar", was the reply. Being a self confessed "foodie" I've now taken my food snobbery into the realm of mixed drinks. In the last few years I've discovered it's almost impossible to get a good mixed drink anywhere. Bars and restaraunts have become obsessed with commercially made mixers which hardly resemble the original which inspired them. Margaritas and their recently popular cousin the Mojito suffer the most from this travesty. Sweet and sour mix should be denounced in the United Nations as one of the greatest crimes committed against humanity in my lifetime. Or if that's too strong at least a resolution recognizing the S&S mix as the single worst cocktail concoction since arsenic was banned from cocktail drinks. Having said all that the waiter's answer was right on and a real margarita was ordered. One last note on the subject, you can get real margaritas in Mexico if you ask. I was having dinner with a couple from California where I queried the waiter on the subject. We ordered several Margaritas for the table and I could tell the couple felt as if I was trying to be prententious or difficult. This changed when the Margaritas arrived. The couple was shocked to find how good a real Margarita is. They were used to making theirs at home with commercial mixes. My work was done, another palate saved from the dumming down of American tastebuds by American food conglomerates.

Back to the movie; The screen made from discarded sheets was strung between two coconut palms. We sat on homemade low set cloth and wood chairs embedded in the sand. Air conditioning provided by the Pacific breezes was just right and our ceiling of blue black heavens sprinkled with shining gems provided by a most brilliant God, created the most enjoyable theater. There I was thousands of miles away from home watching a Hollywood movie (it's acutually a Mexican movie, it's true, look it up) drinking a curls your toes good Margarita, with those same toes curling in the sand. That's living folks. I recommend you do it.

Such was my last night in Bucerias. The next day Sandi would be flying in. Check in soon as I'm intent on wrapping my account of my time in Mexico.