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THE SOUL OF PUERTO VALLARTA

by Duane Grandbois

�Of course I�ve been to Mexico, spent a week there one day in Tijuana back in 1976, I would love to host a trip to Puerto....what? Vallarta?

Puerto Vallarta�s signature Banderas Bay, up until the early 1960�s was primarily a calm fishing haven from the high seas amidst what was developing as the Mexican Riviera.� This definitely wasn�t Acapulco where all the action was, I mean Elvis never did a movie `Fun in Puerto Vallarta�! It�s a fishing village. But after my first visit to the donkey adorned cobblestone streets that still accentuates Puerto Vallarta, I knew I would someday return, not for the beautiful bay, the hot Mexican sun or the endless streets of souvenir shops, but for something mystical, yet right under our noses. Like discovering the elusive true meaning of Christmas, I was to later witness something more profound, significant and delightfully authentic which went against all the strict recommendations of seasoned tour hosts.

�Cheers� accompanied the jet engines as they wined in the February Canadian air; cheap plastic champagne glasses were raised with equally cheap champagne and orange juice teetering in them. It�s 7am, it�s flight time and we�re off. Our group of 10 happy campers, some already happier than others taxiing for take-off to the heat and frivolity of Mexico.� When we step on Mexican soil we were going to be revved up to party mode, some of us oblivious to the actual length of the flight. I would estimate about 90 minutes later snores had moved in like a Vancouver fog gently silencing the `cheers�, allowing the attendants to finally sit down. Except for Roy. Roy, we would soon discover, was like a talking Energizer Bunny, who somehow without trying, could turn a chess game into a hard hat area.� �Where�s Roy�? Would soon challenge �Buenos dias� as my expression of frequency on this trip.

Should armed military guards escort you on the tarmac to the terminal after you deplane?�� Maybe they�re waiting for Roy. That�s not funny, these guys were a very somber lot, or maybe just needed some fiber in their diet. I made a point of being just behind Roy as we went through customs not unlike a mother would a child in an expensive china shop.

Enter Paco, grinning ear to ear, his tour sign electrified with welcome, albeit florescent orange. This charming man for the next two weeks was to be our lifeline to the fun and festivities we all paid good money to experience. Nobody thought to ask his last name. His badge just said Paco and that was it. Paco would, unbeknown to him, also show us the time of our lives doing something he wasn�t required, nor as a liaison remotely expected to do. Any tour guide can show you the sights and sounds of Puerto Vallarta, the vacation destination. Paco opened our eyes to the luxury of Mexican culture and tradition, where luxury is not necessarily defined by material possessions, but like a lot of us by family, food, fun and friendships. Speaking of food you won�t believe what Roy ate.

Born and raised in Puerto Vallarta, educated in San Francisco, Paco was as personable as a man can get. His warm sincere smile complimented a command of the English language that made my command of Spanish sound like so much calculated gibberish.� His daily mandate was to meet me in the lobby of our modest, comfortable hotel and present the possibilities of entertainment and excursions, and that was it. Ours was but one of a few on his morning hotel run, but by the second last night of our stay he would have such a profound effect on us that one sweet, wealthy, widow in our group was ready to sponsor him and his wife to move to Canada and a new life.

Oh we had many different and exciting possibilities made available to us, one of which involved a very beautiful and scary for some, trip to Yalapa. The trip would culminate in a breathtaking natural waterfall accessed only by a horseback caravan with not so breathtaking horses. There we were, greeted by very overpriced botanas and weak margaritas. The way I look at it those munchies and drinks got up here the same way we did.... It�s only pesos. Upon arrival, I reminded Roy to `hold the crushed ice�; he didn�t siting its inviting `rainbow color� resulting in numerous stops on the way down for Roy to hit the bushes. I later found out why these dozy animals did what they did daily. They were fed at the top and were allowed to drink at the bottom. It was necessity. My wife, no Calamity Jane, said she would climb the path on all fours if she had to, rather than sit on that teetering, knock-kneed poor excuse for a horse should she ever come back here again.

I love doing things away from the agenda, so a free day was welcomed. You learn very quickly hosting a holiday for people you don�t even know, (and although you consider yourself pretty adaptable) a few still remain difficult to warm up to. One couple, about to be married, shared with us all their disagreements as we shared a rented open-air Jeep for the day. My purpose other than �turn here, turn there, watch out for the donkey, how can seagulls do that when they�re flying� was to change the subject for our company in the back. Much to my wife�s chagrin, I drove into a small fishing village many miles out of town and began to converse with the children playing on the street. We played catch, threw a little dice, (the kids were playing craps), and generally interacted. My 3 amigos nervously stayed in the Jeep fully expecting a gang to come and rob us. My suggestion to lock the doors drew a trio of disgusted stares. So I thanked the kids for the fun gave them each enough pesos for a pop and beetled off to the safe confines of the big city.

In addition to soaking up the postcard Puerto Vallarta, I had decided to try and slide in a few non-scheduled functions. My group was quite conservative, but accepted the opportunity to be a little adventurous. Have you ever wondered what it is like to eat where the locals do on their nights out?� I like the Hard Rock Cafes and Planet Hollywoods as much as the next person, but Paco and I agreed it was time to go behind the main streets of Puerto Vallarta.....So what if he�s a close friend of the family and may get a peso or two for the reference.

This was like walking into somebody�s home; in fact it was just that.� �Zoning?......We don�t need no stinking zoning� was the first quotation that came to mind as we paraded up the walkway and into this modest abode. We were greeted by the whole family and led upstairs to the roof where we were to begin our exclusive meal. My eye caught two youngsters excitingly playing a video game on TV as the group squeaked up the stairs. Now the game they were playing would be the 1977 Plymouth station wagon of the video game crowd by our standards, but it was their first, sent to them by a wealthy uncle in Mexico City. My son had mastered this game many years ago and as luck would have it taught me a few tricks to advance levels. After a brief introduction I was invited to sit in and play. A few months earlier I had the daunting task of taking Spanish lessons at the College from a former University Spanish Professor in Bogota, Columbia. Her command of the Spanish language was flawless and proper and we�d be taught the correct way to execute the language. In fact during a few struggling audible lessons she remarked that I indeed was `executing� the language.....The class laughed in agreement. The kids thought I was very polite and proper and even questioned if I was a teacher!� After the tears of laughter cleared from my eyes we continued playing. I explained to them that I am a radio announcer and that I play music and talk on the radio. Well now I�m their best friend.

�Senor, your wife has asked me to tell you to come upstairs and be sociable�. Right; the group........I went upstairs and with the others enjoyed a very tasty and honorably served dining experience. So let�s go through what constitutes a great vacation dining experience for our group. An excellent meal, check, traditional background music, check, and a nice view to compliment our dining experience...........Umm, nope. This was in a modest residential neighborhood, and we were on the roof. Our surroundings consisted of a bird�s eye view of the neighbor�s back yards. But you know as far as I was concerned it was a privileged view. I was treated to see how ordinary Mexican people functioned in the privacy of their own back yards. It wasn�t pretty by our standards, and maybe not even by theirs. But it�s all they knew. Then I catch one of my newfound friends cautiously peeking around the corner. You see in this scenario, kids are almost nocturnal creatures set only to appear after all have left to clean and contribute their part to the family dynamics. Nervously he motioned me to come over. So I excused myself, while my group became more and more appreciative of the ambiance as the margaritas flowed.� �Look at that lady down there, she�s outside washing her clothes with a scrubboard.... my Grandmother used to do that, I have pictures�, one of our group observed.

�So now I find myself downstairs with my TV buddies explaining once again how to advance to another level. They apologize for the intrusion knowing full well that they would be in big trouble if their parents found out. Quickly I showed them the trick explaining that I too would be in big trouble if my wife caught me down here again as well. Kids laughter is so infectious. I gave them both a 10-peso tip in advance of their clean-up duties. I know they�ll quickly turn it over to their parents. That�s what Mexican children do. I would go back there in a heartbeat.

Let me tell you about the night we made Paco an offer he couldn�t refuse. I had managed to get out of him in casual conversation, that he was recently married and his charming wife Maria was expecting their first. Paco didn�t make mucho dineros as a tour liaison and his wife had a modest income answering phones for a timeshare company. Paco on occasion would tease her about her job, as entry-level timeshare employees are not regarded as significant in their own country. They got by, however saving for the new baby was difficult; a move to a better house in a nicer neighborhood also proved to be more costly than planned. We decided to throw them a housewarming party. Eagerly we all contributed to a nice gift for them and also brought food and drink. All we needed was a house and some tunes. The party was a huge success; we all laughed, danced and munched our way into the night. Contemporary Mexican music filled the air as the conga line spilled (literally) out the door and into the neighborhood. The party atmosphere was infectious attracting many neighbors to join our fledgling, but festive line. �Where�s Roy? �Roy, there may be street vendors in the area, don�t eat anything, we�ve got lots of food in the house� I expressly remember saying. Roy explained to me that he never had grilled Iguana before; tasty, but the sauce was so hot the guy ran in the house and got him a glass of water......from the tap. Roy spent the rest of the night brushing up on his Spanish, reading magazines in Paco�s bathroom.

It was here and now that I was once again fortunate enough to peek inside the soul of Puerto Vallarta. Next door were four beautiful, doe-eyed little girls playing with a skipping rope. I hadn�t skipped since I was a kid, which became perfectly clear upon accepting their invitation to join in. But it all came back to me and away we went. The girls taught me a skipping song as we played for about an hour. Adults seldom, if ever, play like this with children, Paco would later inform me. I managed to get all my newfound amigos to pose with me for pictures. Try that in any North American neighborhood and you may hear �Henry, quick call the Police, there�s a pervert out in the front yard skipping with the kids�

Maybe it wasn�t so much the soul of Puerto Vallarta I discovered that night, but rather the soul of the Mexican people. Soul is ultimately seen through the eyes of children I discovered. They�re not unlike our family unit when you get behind the `vacation destination�. The funniest part of the night was when we had to get back to our hotel and Paco insisted on giving all 10 of us a ride home.... In his Volkswagen! �I can only take five at a time so I�ll make two trips amigos�! �He did. Picture six tipsy, giddy, revelers in a Volkswagen rumbling through the cobblestone streets of Puerto Vallarta singing only the chorus of `La Cucaracha� at the top of our lungs.

Our final parting memories of Paco and Maria saw them standing at the airport window, clutching their gift waving adios to us. Who carts gifts along to an airport? My wife and I went back 10 years to the day and searched out our old hotel. �Do you by any chance have a Paco working here?� �We have three senor, but they�re in school now.�

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