Part 6 of a series
Driving up from the south in the golden light before sunset, we were entranced with the undulating highway hugging the cliffs and opening out to spectacular views of rocky, dramatic seashore. We passed Mismaloya, where Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor’s steamy romance was captured for posterity in Night of the Iguana; past the little seaside villages where fishermen still cast their nets from wooden boats; plunged into the crowded cobbled streets of Old Puerto Vallarta with its jumbled mix of modernity and antiquity – Starbucks-meets-Maria the Taco Lady, on a grand scale. Later we’d immerse ourselves in the heart of this, but tonight we were headed straight through the city to the hotel zone on the other side, to a soaring white all-inclusive resort on the Marina called Vamar Vallarta.
The windblown balcony of our room on the seventh floor looked out over a mile-long slice of magenta atop a shimmering sea, the last traces of sunset studded with a string of jewel-like city lights. We had time for a walk through the picture-perfect resort to the rocky coast on the edge, and then all we could eat dinner and cocktails at the restaurant on the marina before heading upstairs to the theater, where we were regaled with the whimsical antics of a first-rate mime.
Morning found us on the city’s famous malecon, the boardwalk graced with sculptures and beautiful people set against a brilliant backdrop of sea and sky. We wandered its length, exploring its plazas and picturesque pocket parks, ending up at Planeta Vegetariana, a beautifully muraled vegetarian restaurant called by Bon Apetit one of the world’s best. We were not disappointed.
Refreshed and ready for more, we continued our walk to the very end, where the sea joins with the crystalline waters of the Rio Cuale, one of the cleanest and most beautiful river I’ve seen in all of my travels in Mexico. An island in the middle of the river offers a glimpse of the lives of those who live here, as opposed to the ones who visit; a river walk is jammed with vendors of a thousand varieties of souvenirs.
At the heart of it all, we found La Cuiza, a charming indie-type cultural center with a warm and creative ambiance, named for the winsome, chirping geckos that frequent the place.
La Cuiza’s proprietor, Ruben, invited us to come back that night for the concert of a remarkable woman songwriter would be playing that night whom I’d just discovered at a festival near Guadalajara: Leiden was her name, and I didn’t know it at the time, but she is the Cuban-Mexican niece of the legendary singer-songwriter Silvio Rodriguez. I only knew that I loved her style, her full-throated range, her passion for the music and her thoughtful and frequently clever lyrics, which hinted at a wisdom far beyond her tender years.
Now it was time to find our accommodations for the night. Valmar had been a lovely and restful escape but for our last night we wanted to plunge ourselves into the midst of Vallarta, to know her people and the rhythms of her heartbeat. I had turned to Airbnb.com, a website I’d used before to find rooms rented by locals. Surprisingly, there was the face of a woman who looked like a friend – smiling, with a red kerchief on her head, as if she’d just emerged from a temazcal or sweat-lodge ceremony like the ones we practice in my community. Thanks to my Facebook sign-in, I saw we had several friends in common, so I contacted her. Lucky for me, she wrote back, and we were in.
Our stay with Ana, an artist, poet and sociology professor from Spain, turned out to be the best of all. We had much in common and the conversation was even better than the accommodations in her sweet little multi-story home in the historic Emiliano Zapata neighborhood – not far from the Rio Cuale, La Cuiza and the Malecón.
The next morning we treated Ana to breakfast in the old-fashioned neighborhood Mercado around the corner, and then she accompanied us to her favorite beach, a tucked-away natural marvel just south of town. A lone fisherman was there when we arrived but he soon left and we had the place to ourselves. We nestled ourselves among the boulders and settled in to immerse ourselves in the crashing waves.
Soon enough it was time to take our leave, and we did so regretfully, with many hugs and promises to stay in touch. Back down the malecon, smiling at the vivid and multifaceted, multicultural life that surrounded us – young couples, elderly couples, families with children, single people walking their dogs, old friends and the occasional jogger. Making our way down the street we saw these words painted, stark and black, on the side of a white wall: “Que lo único que muera en mi ciudad es el miedo y la inseguridad” (May the only thing that dies in my city be the fear and insecurity).
It was a cry to the world, along with everything else we’d seen on this journey: testimony to the fact that, oblivious to the headlines that plague this country, oblivious to the multimillionaires with their castles on the sea and the developers with their bulldozers at the ready, life goes on in this country – and what a vibrant life it is.
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