Bert drove me to the Kelowna airport at 5:30a.m. on Jan. 3, 2011. The Westjet flight to Vancouver left at 7:15 and the Sunwing flight toVallarta left at 12:30. I arrived in Vallarta at 7:30p.m. local time, having lost 2 hours in the air. It was dark and the lights of the city were a pattern of gold lame. Then the chaos began. The Mexican government implemented a new law on Jan. 1, 2011. All foreigners must go through customs at their first port of entry to Mexico. This meant that the people on our plane who were carrying on to Cabo Saint Lucas had to get off before the rest of us with all their carryon stuff so that they could pick up their other luggage, put everything through customs, get back on the plane as quickly as possible and finish their flight. We Vallarta passengers waited docilely in our seats until the last of them had gone and then filed into the airport pen. In spite of everything, the lines were still confused and interminable. Then some bright light opened 3 more gates causing a rush that mixed up the two herds even more. It took measures just short of brutal to separate them again. Finally, I got to my favorite part of the customs routine in Mexico, the green light lottery. I got the green and was off to the races. Run the gauntlet of timeshare people, check the taxi prices marked inside the airport, ask a white cab guy outside how much to Hotel Rosita (200 pesos which is 20 pesos more than was marked inside), tell him it’s too much, keep pulling my suitcase along the road as he finally lowers his price to 150, keep going in spite of his calling just because I’m pumped and pissed off, go on and on outside the airport until I regret having been so hot headed, finally see a yellow city cab, ask the price (80 pesos), get in dripping and breathless and enjoy the ride with the open window letting in a Vallarta breeze that cools even me down. He was a good guy, and we had a taxi type conversation in Spanglish. I paid him 100 pesos and walked into the lobby of the Hotel Rosita.
I got a room with a ‘vista al mar’ as I had reserved, but unfortunately it also had ‘el ruido del camino’. I went straight out for a walk along the Malecon, which was wonderful as it always is. But it made me so sad I began to see things and people as more sordid than they were and returned to the hotel, ordered a margarita and took it to the room. Not a bad idea. I drank it on the narrow balcony looking down on the Malecon and the ocean. Since I’d been awake for about 20 hours, I was tired and turned out the light. Then I lay in bed for ages, listening to the cars, the sirens, the cops’ whistles and the incessant music that had such a booming base it felt as if my heart was pounding to get out of my body. There was also the washing of the waves against the shore, which I tried to concentrate on but with no success. I was happy at least to be horizontal with my eyes shut and finally fell asleep around 3:00a.m., I think. I woke just before 8, went out on the balcony and was enchanted again by Vallarta. I took pictures, ate my ‘American’ breakfast of refried beans, scrambled eggs and something I really like, broken bits of yesterday’s tacos mixed with onion, tomato and cilantro. Then I went for a long walk down the beach and back through the town. As usual the walk got ‘the little gray cells’ working. I decided, among other things to approach the desk and ask about changing rooms. Mexican atmosphere is one thing, but no sleep for 3 nights is another. I had wanted exactly the room I got, but as so often happens, when I got what I wanted it wasn’t exactly what I had thought it would be. So I did ask and am now in a bigger, quieter room. I have to go out on the balcony to see the sea, but I can shut out most of the noise. If I’d wanted complete quiet, I’d have gone to the Swiss Alps, which brings up the whole question of cleanliness, but I won’t get into that.
I went to Dick and Ellen’s for a delicious lunch, tomatoes and fresh basil and cheese and chicken salad. As with all my firsts in Vallarta this time, it was wonderful and sad to see them. Their daughter Sarah was there, and I soon calmed down. The 4 of us had a good chat and afterward Ellen and I got on the rattling old tunnel bus and went to a jeweler’s she knows of so that I could get him to make a medallion for Jay’s 30th birthday using some gold Jay and I had plus Jim’s and Jay’s ‘dos pesos’ rings that Jim had had made when we were first here together when Jay was 15. So it goes.
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