What places come to mind when considering a Mexican Pacific beach get away? Acapulco, Ixtapa, Mazatlan and Puerta Vallarta pop up. Searching for a Thanksgiving relax within driving distance of our home in Chapala, Mexico, we settled on an all inclusive resort, the Palladium in Punta Mita, about an hour north of Puerta Vallarta. Going to the beach for Thanksgiving resembles a pilgrimage among the expatriates living in Lake Chapala. The rates for the all inclusive resorts tumble, as hotels vie for the foreign resident trade for Thanksgiving, waiting for the Mexicans to overflow the resorts during the Christmas holidays. Many North Americans here repositioned themselves in Puerta Vallarta that week, with every travel agency in town offering "too cheap to stay home" packages at the all inclusive resorts that dot the beachfront from the southern point of Puerta Vallarta, around Banderas Bay rounding up to the northern tip at Guayabitos.
Our resort schedule started with a 7 AM tennis match, then our lips sipped iced mimosas, our eyes drifted over the Pacific horizon and our skin soaked up the sun's rays. At day's end, we threw down Long Island ice tea zingers on our private terrace while watching the fireball sink into the ocean.
After two days this routine proved tedious, so we headed to Puerta Vallarta Centro in search of red tiled roofs and picturesque "Night of the Iguana" scenes described in guide books. While on the bus into town, we passed by the unending row of resort hotels strung along the coastline, as traffic swelled. From the window we saw three cruise ships stationed in port that day, but the impact of that fact failed to register. I anticipated "quaint" and "scenic." I imagined the savor of fresh, succulent seafood and the enchantment of a stroll through town. We exited the bus at the Central Market. The expected images stopped right there.
The reality of Puerta Vallarta's 2007 cruise ship season smacked us like a response to a rude comment. Disappointment, displeasure and disillusionment replaced scenic and quaint. Crossing the street proved to be the first dangerous, daunting task. With Calle Mexico one-way into town and Calle Juarez one-way out of town, the cars zoomed by, never a break in the speed or the stream of vehicles. We walked incessant blocks, looking for a traffic light to cross safely. Not one light existed. Pedestrians and cars trying to traverse at intersections were forced to make a run for it, playing chicken with the oncoming vehicles. This process zapped our energy and enthusiasm.
Finally, safely on the side of the street lined with shops and restaurants we started up the malecon promenade, jammed with day trippers from the cruise ships. Every step brought with it an "in your face" assault by a hawker hoping to snag an unsuspecting gringo. "Hey, Missy, I have a deal for you," "How about some diamonds, Señora," "Let me show you our time share paradise, Señor." I wanted to scream. I yearned to wear a sign that read "I am a Mexican resident not a cruise ship patron," but for what use. I looked the part. I hadn't heard this much English from Mexican mouths in the past year. I responded to each verbal plea in Spanish, hoping they would get the message. The confrontations continued.
Next, we experienced the peso sticker shock. Looking for that succulent seafood I dreamed about, we quickly perused menus plastered on the sidewalk. Each one had a human attached, ready to yank any potential customer in through the door. We tired quickly of this game of "Catch me if you can," and left each doorway shocked by the prices. In Lake Chapala, I pay 90 pesos (about $9.00US) for a kilo of Pacific shrimp. They catch it, clean it, freeze it, ship it and sell it for $4.50 a pound. Here in Puerta Vallarta, where the shrimp swim only miles from the coast, the going rate at Bubba Gump's Seafood, an international restaurant chain, staggered us at 245 pesos ($24.50US) for about 8 shrimp That's more than at Bubba's in Miami. Charming, picturesque and memorable eateries, possibly situated in the midst of this hubbub, remained inconspicuous and invisible. In tourist towns worldwide, cost of goods and services reflect inflated prices. The apparent gouging, here, bordered on fleecing and I felt instantly sorry for the cruise ship passengers. Held hostage by this environment, I wondered how many returned to the ship at day's end, thinking this is Mexico? It is a port of call, the same world over. It could easily be Cancun, Tangiers, Freeport or
Honolulu.
Saddened by it all, we traipsed through the town, missing the glee we usually feel when exploring a foreign city for the first time. We darted back and forth, thrilled that we managed to escape injury just crossing the street. We settled on a shrimp burger, unwilling to succumb to the over priced vittles.
The all-inclusive resort suddenly seemed much less tedious, as we headed to the bus stop. The final blow, our departing memory of Puerta Vallarta Centro topped them all. A walk-up stand near the bus stop served cold drinks. Thirsty from all the traffic dodging, we ordered two cokes. "Cuarenta pesos," the Mexican beamed. Seeing my shocked expression, he clarified this, "Forty pesos," he reiterated.
"I know how much it is. Four dollars for two cokes in Mexico, where Coca-Cola is king fits into the category of a crime," I said in Spanish. "This costs five pesos in Lake Chapala, and that's where I am headed very soon."
