Who would have dreamed a train from hell could slice through pristine jungle for two days? We’d have gotten off, escaped, even tried to walk out, except for two problems. We didn’t know where we were, and most of the Mexicans spoke Indian languages, not Spanish. The preceding weeks of restful, carefree travel hadn’t prepared us for this passage.

The huge ceiling fan clicked slowly around, keeping the Central American heat from being overwhelming. We left our hotel room in the late afternoon, as we had in mid-morning, only to be greeted by the same spectacle. Hundreds of people, especially children, mixed with a few mounted vaqueros, rushed to the train station as the engine heaved and black soot belched forth. The rails were in Tapachula, Mexico’s main link with the world. Every day, the townspeople welcomed or saw the daily train off.

It was early July 1972, back in what I call my rambling and adventuring days. Married a year, my wife and I bought plane tickets from Tampa, Florida, to Panama, with a stop in San Jose, Costa Rica. We had no intention of going to Panama, but the ticket allowed us to exit in Costa Rica and show the immigration officials we had a paid way out of the country. It was a trick that allowed one-way international travel.

After a thrilling five weeks touring Costa Rica, it was time to return to the United States. The Tico bus ran from San José to Guatemala City. The trip took three days, stopping each night, and rattled through five countries. Entering Guatemala everyone had to exit the bus while workers sprayed clouds of white chemical dust to ensure no pests harmful to animals or crops crossed the border. From Guatemala City, we caught a bus to the border and walked over to Tapachula, Mexico, where we lazed around enjoying the little town before heading north.

It had been a wonderful trip, adventuresome, educational, enlightening and romantic–everything a person could ask for during a carefree youth. We weren’t loaded with money and had to be careful. Surprisingly, my wife, Pam, and I often ordered shrimp. One could get a ten ounce glass of shrimp for about thirty-two cents. The cost in the states would have been five dollars. But shrimp was cheap in Mexico. The dishes I chose turned out to be barely edible to the American palate or had far fewer shrimp in comparison to Pam’s selections. I endured an amazing run of bad luck as we tried different dishes. At Tapachula, it was the worst. I got a few small shrimp over some so-so rice, while she got the twelve largest sautéed shrimp I have ever seen. The largest loomed in excess of twelve inches. They worked their way down to the smallest at about eight inches. Years later, I can recall her shrimp dinner with great envy and the upcoming train ride that counter-balanced all the wonders we’d enjoyed on our journey.

Strolling toward the station, Pam said, “I’ve never ridden a train. Why don’t we see if we can get one to Mexico City or Oaxaca tomorrow?” We’d taken buses, and safely caught rides with people wealthy enough to have automobiles. This was a much different Mexico than exists today, but a train ride seemed like just the right idea.

It was a challenge purchasing train tickets in Spanish for the first time, but we managed. First class tickets for the three-day train trip to Mexico City cost seven dollars each. If I was ever grateful I splurged for first class, it was this time. I don’t know if either of us would have survived riding second or third class.

At nine a.m. the next morning we walked down the dusty dirt street saying adios to a few amigos we made in Tapachula. I wore jeans and an old mustard-colored tee shirt. Pam was the picture of sexy American youth dressed in eggshell white jeans and a crisp white blouse. She anticipated a luxury ride.

Soon, we boarded. The tropical heat and humidity joined the crowd gathering to wave goodbye to the northbound train. The train slowly chugged forward. Passengers hung from the open windows making last second bargains with the vendors running, with bright, unbuttoned shirts, beside the train. It was a three-day and two-night trip to Mexico City. Because Mexico is so mountainous, the train had to cross from the Pacific to Veracruz on the east coast and then back to Mexico City.

In the excitement of watching the town’s people wave goodbye and taking in our fellow passengers, neither of us noticed how dirty the train was. Ten minutes into the trip, Pam leaned over and an eight inch smudge of black showed against her stark white pants. Dirt and filth would be a problem but not the worst: for the train car quickly turned into a sooty, intolerable sauna. The slow moving train never gained speed and jolted along at perhaps, twenty miles per hour, so slow it couldn’t stir a breeze through the open windows.

Dense, rich, vibrant jungle swallowed us. Thick spaghetti-like vines crowded trees. Waxy dry leaves, glinting from the sunlight, were more ominous than anything a Tarzan movie had ever portrayed. The variety of Mexican passengers, all Indians, the new sounds, smells and sights captivated me. Pam, much sharper, was already viewing her train ride with trepidation. Her quickly darkening white jeans and blouse revealed much more to her.

The quaint wooden passenger seats we had enjoyed seeing and talking about when we boarded changed during the first hour. Antique and picturesque disappeared from our vocabulary. Instead they were straight, stiff planks passing for seats. I was thinking my fat behind is a heck of a lot bonier than I’d imagined, but Pam’s chief complaint was, “They’ve been sprayed with coal dust.”

I ignored her early lamentations by running my mouth in limited Spanish or make-do sign language with the always friendly Mexicans. The excitement was still there. I didn’t care that the second and third class passengers had boarded with sheep, goats and chickens.

My only misgiving, as I leaned out the window to look around, would turn out to be the least of our coming troubles: “Damn, I can’t believe it. The railroad spikes are so loose they’re bouncing up and down.”

Sitting on a hard slat for a few hours has a way of taking away from the jungle splendor, the colorful birds, occasional animal life, and glimpses of lone huts or clusters of huts with native life on display. Perspiration soaked our clothes. Evaporation wasn’t a possibility in the humidity. Sweat plopped forth until enough collected that gravity pulled drops downward. Open windows provided only slight relief in the steamy train car, but allowed the billowing acrid smoke to drift in, further choking the car’s already simmering hot air. Still, they couldn’t be closed as there was actually more steam-heat inside of the car than outside. Occasionally, sparks or fire would drift in delivering a quick burn. After many hours, the shy native women realized our rapidly darkening pale-faces weren’t masking fearsome demons from the Northland. They’d bring babies and young children to our forward seat so the kids could escape the worst of the incoming smoke and debris.

Despite her long brown hair being wet, slick, sticky and stringy, I didn’t agree with Pam’s early mumbling, “We’ve entered the Twilight Zone.” She was certain our fellow travelers stared at us as though we were exotic creatures totally out of place on the jungle train. “They have to be wondering what possessed two rich gringos to get on the Mexican train to hell.”

The truth was: any American in those years was a rich gringo to the natives. Our little bit of luggage and the few possessions we carried were worth far more than the wealthiest of our fellow first class passengers. These were poor Indians, but had enough money to spare their families second and third class passage. But what caught our attention then, as it always did in more primitive areas of Mexico and Central America, was these passengers were proud we traveled with them, a part of them. This was a once in a lifetime experience for many of the riders. We were a story. What we did would be related many times in their villages. Surprising me most was the realization the heat and humidity was taking a harsher toll on our fellow passengers than on me. The rolling oven, passing for a train car, was far warmer than the shade in their villages.

The worst reality of hell train hadn’t hit yet. It was waiting, looming just out of sight. When our bladders were full it launched its final horror. I won’t describe the men’s cesspool as I was occasionally able to get off the train and find a tree during a three minute stop. The women weren’t so lucky. The ladies room was a square, bare metal room at the front right portion of our car. It was like a giant metal shower stall with no light beyond what worked its way through a few cracks to reveal a drain hole in the middle of the floor. All waste was deposited directly on the rocks between the tracks. That bathroom remains the most vile, filthy and disgusting room Pam has encountered. You may think trains are a relatively new invention, but this bathroom hadn’t been cleaned since Methuselah’s great-uncle Fritz was in short pants. It explains why she could enter the Guinness Book of World records for going the longest without relieving herself.

By early afternoon I had to agree with Pam’s gloomy assessments. It was apparent there was no escape. It was a monotonous clack-clack-clack except on those rare steep downhill bursts when the occasional clackety-clack filled the air. The reality was an external nightmare. The next thirty-six hours would be a constant torturous rickety ride, while we searched and prayed for a way out. Despite such a realization, hope never completely leaves. The passengers had gotten over the fairness of our skin. Their children enjoyed the few packaged crackers and sweets we had. The question was could all of us survive the grueling ride? Somehow, we had united. Although we withstood the heat better, they had other advantages. None of them would ride the train as far as us and they could drink the water. Even for that relief we were limited to making the small canteen we had last. If we drained the canteen, it would take hours for the purification tablets to work, so we had to just sip. It was the one item we couldn’t share and gratefully water they could safely drink was the one thing they had in plentiful supply.

The train moved slow enough boys walking the track could run along and keep up with it for a hundred yards. Along the way a few villagers here and there would have their belongings along the track and signal. A village wasn’t required as the train would stop in remote jungle and pick up an Indian or two. But the great thrill, the great hope, would arise when the train periodically stopped at a town having in excess of twenty huts. The goats and floppy eared cows ignored the excitement and continued grazing. But isolated humanity is different, and the natives flooded forth from the surrounding jungle and patches of mango and banana trees to see what great mysteries the train might have brought from the city.

We remained a prized and novel experience to these wonderful people, despite our ever darkening appearance. The occasional hand wiping away sweat revealed the wondrous pale skin that drew smiling, “ yi’yi’yi’s” and great admiration from the villagers. It was just too hot and miserable to enjoy our star status. Instead, it was to heck with the wonderful villagers who had never seen a white man. We were interested in the worldly, experienced entrepreneurs in the village. The guys who had moved up the economic ladder to be vendors might have something we’d need. They lugged out huge, American made metal milk pails, which indicated they’d been manufactured in Wisconsin. The dinted pails were filled with the only type of coffee made in Mexico until around the 1980s, with only a few exceptions. They held tepid, overly sweet coffee with plenty of unpasteurized milk to sell along with a few tamales their wives prepared. There was never a sign of a cold drink, or even a canned drink we could have purchased to help with our thirst. Ice was a dream, but something the people had never been seen or even heard of in these settlements. Still, these stops were frequent, and for a moment or two we could jump off and enjoy temperatures twenty degrees cooler than in the car.

Unfortunately, each stop always gave Pam hope a village would have enough population to support a store and perhaps even a road that would lend itself to her escape.

At dusk the second day we arrived in Veracruz, feeling beaten, battered, dehydrated and distraught. Veracruz felt like the next thing to heaven. We were free, ice was rare but a reality, and we didn’t give a damn about people staring at our haggard appearance. We had an hour layover, and after draining all the lemonade and cold drinks we could hold, I felt better. “Let’s hop back on for Mexico City.”

Her stern, wide-eyed stare brought me back to my senses. We found a hotel where we could soak away six months of grime gained in two days and hire someone to burn our clothes.

The post Railroad Ride Through the Jungle Fifty Years Ago appeared first on MexConnect.

Photo Gallery: Living year-round in tropical Mexico: The dream and the reality

My love-hate relationship with the rainy season

Dreaming of living in tropical paradise year-round? Somewhere with an idyllic sandy beach adorned with dancing palms and crystal clear warm ocean waters? Can you envision waking each morning to the sweet melodies of birdsong and beginning each day with a long, leisurely beach walk? Can you appreciate enjoying a breathtaking view while drinking a cup of hot java and breakfasting on farm fresh eggs, coconut yogurt and a plethora of sweet succulent mangoes, papayas and pineapples — all washed down by a glass of fresh squeezed fruit juice?

Do you aspire to participate in action-packed afternoons exploring the great outdoors, hiking through tropical rainforests, kayaking, snorkelling, scuba diving or perchance deep sea fishing? Or would you prefer the pure bliss of idle afternoons spent swaying in a hammock where no one will call you out for indulging in a siesta? Perchance your tropical daydreams involve relaxing on the beach, taking in the sun’s rays and passing the time away sitting at a seaside palapa restaurant enjoying a cool one and the company of friends?

Conceivably your ongoing fantasy of living in tropical Mexico brings visions of a place where sunny, warm days with azure blue skies are the norm, and traffic jams and long daily commutes simply do not exist. No doubt your fantasy is of a place somewhere where you will never again have to doff a business suit and tie or nylon stockings and high heels. Perhaps, you are a little like I was, always daydreaming of a simple life in a small beach town populated with friendly, welcoming locals, where life proceeds at a leisurely pace?

Currently I am living my dream with my husband in a small rural beach town on the Pacific Coast of Mexico, on the Nayarit Riviera an “up and coming, sizzling hot vacation spot and retirement destination.”

The Nayarit Riviera is commonly referred to as the Jewel of Pacific Mexico, no doubt because it offers non-stop sun, sand and sea, and dazzling beaches framed by ridiculously luxuriant mountains and hillsides. The Riviera Nayarit is located on the Pacific coast of Mexico and extends for hundreds of miles, from the funky town of Bucerias to historic San Blas. Undoubtedly an adventurer’s dream filled with colourful Mexican towns full of friendly, welcoming folk.

My husband and I chose Mexico because — frankly — our fondest travel memories are of exploring this beautiful, diverse country and days filled with laughter, joy, song and music, affable Mexican families sharing memorable meals and drink, breathtaking vistas, and the pleasure of swimming and snorkelling in crystal clear blue-green waters.

We have always felt welcome in Mexico, and the affordability of housing and daily living in Mexico held a strong appeal, as did its proximity to Canada, which would allow family and friends to visit us frequently, with ease.

While choosing the location of our dream home, we considered several colonial cities we had enjoyed for vacations. Our favourites were the colonial cities of San Cristobal de las Casas in Chiapas, and Merida in the state of Yucatan. We ended up choosing a small beach town because it fulfilled our lifelong dream of living in the tropics on — or at least near — the shore. A gorgeous swimming beach lined with tropical palms has always been part of our dream.

We considered several of the smaller beach towns to be found on the Mayan Riviera, including Playa del Carmen, Puerto Morales and Tulum. Why? Simply because of the sheer beauty of the translucent ocean waters and freshwater cenotes abundant on the Caribbean side of Mexico, along with the Maya ruins and a culture steeped in history un equalled anywhere in the world. However, after much discussion, we decided that the Riviera Nayarit was the best overall fit for our lifestyle preferences.

It was a difficult decision for, even after we had decided on the Pacific Coast, we then had to decide between some really appealing small town beach locations such as Huatulco, Zihuatanejo, and Puerto Escondido. We eventually ruled them out because they were a bit remote for our day-to-day living preferences, and not conveniently reached from our hometown of Vancouver, BC.

We started looking at the small beach towns north of Puerto Vallarta and pricing homes on the Nayarit Riviera. We soon learned that prices for homes in the smaller beach towns were very affordable, in particular in the community of Jaltemba Bay. Although the snorkelling in this area is nowhere near the superlative experience it is on the Caribbean side of Mexico, the beaches are drop-dead gorgeous, the clear blue Pacific waters are delightful and surrounding lush foliage is breathtakingly beautiful. The Nayarit coast is decidedly tropical, bearing a strong resemblance to Costa Rica and Ecuador.

We rented a home in the enchanting town of La Peñita de Jaltemba for one month as a trial run and, when we returned home to Canada, we realized that our lifelong dream of living in Mexico was stronger than ever before.

Three months later we had sold our modest town home in Vancouver, Canada and even though we had a sizeable mortgage remaining on our home, we were able to purchase a gorgeous brand new 3-bedroom, 3-bath 3,300 square-foot home with a swimming pool, a rooftop palapa and five terraces in Los Ayala, a small beach town located in the community of Jaltemba Bay, and remain mortgage free.

Our new home is located on a hill and we take pleasure in stunning vistas of the ocean and surrounding tropical rainforest. Playa Los Ayala, the best swimming beach in Pacific Mexico, is just a five minute walk from our home. Sounds great? It is!

Daily life in the small beach towns in the community of Jaltemba Bay is very affordable. Fresh fruit, vegetables, fish and local groceries are wondrously inexpensive, free if you are willing to make the effort — you can pick mangoes, papayas, bananas and almonds off the trees in our neighbourhood. Dining out is so affordable one almost never wants to eat at home.

Internet and telephone service and costs are on par with pricing in Canada, and probably similar to that in the USA. Gas is a little less expensive. Car repairs are cheap but used cars are expensive. Property taxes are ridiculously inexpensive, but you need to fix the roads yourself, build your own sidewalk and buy water for your home on occasion.

Electricity is expensive, and if you decide to reside in tropical Mexico full time, be forewarned that air conditioning is a necessity for most folk, and the biggest lifestyle expense to factor in.

Dental care is inexpensive. Health care is also inexpensive but not necessarily cheap if you expect the same service standards as in Canada.

We wake up to the songs of birds and of course, the occasional rooster crowing, every morning. We fall asleep to the sounds of the ocean and sometimes, a neighbour’s overly loud music. The view from our home resembles the Garden of Eden. Flocks of green parrotlets are common in our neighbourhood as are yellow-winged cacique, hummingbirds, chachalacas, herons, doves and tropical king birds, to name just a smattering.

We adore walking and cycling along the quaint sand streets in town and taking in the colourful sights and experiences of daily life in small-town Mexico. In the town where we live, this includes chickens, roosters, stray cats and dogs, herds of goats, the occasional sheep or pig, coatimundis, and the always enjoyable sight of a local riding his horse through town. The streets are filled with the delightful sounds of innocent children playing barefoot with not a care in the world.

From November through May, the tropical climate suits us perfectly. The days average 20-25 Celsius and are perfect for every outdoor activity. The evenings are also perfect at this time of year ranging in from 12 to 16 degrees Celsius. It rarely rains and I am still surprised to wake up to a brilliantly clear, sunny blue sky each and every day. June is hot and dusty but certainly liveable.

Here comes July

Everything changes come July. You cannot possibly know until you have experienced it first hand, just how hot and humid the summers in the tropical coastal towns really are. It is an entirely different world when the rainy season begins. It is a beautiful world, but it says a lot that most Americans and Canadians choose to return home for the summer months. Why? It is simply too hot, for most folk.

The temperature of a summer day may be similar to a hot summer day at home, say 30 to 35 C but, when combined with a humidity reading of 70 to 90%, it feels like 40 to 45 C. Just the slightest effort results in rivulets of sweat pouring off of me. Jumping in the pool or having a cold shower provides temporary relief — five minutes tops.

Shopping at the local market and shops is equivalent to a workout. Walking a few blocks feels like a one-kilometre sprint and necessitates a complete change of clothes. Changing one’s sweat-soaked undergarments two to three times a day is not unusual. Early mornings and evenings are the most trying, simply because during this time of day there is no breeze, not even a puff of cool air!

Certainly the convenience of air conditioning makes the heat and humidity bearable and one can sleep in comfort, but it truly is too expensive to run twenty-four hours a day. Open windows and ceiling fans work well enough during the daylight hours and, during the months of June and July, you can usually get by with running on the air conditioner from about 9 p.m. until 2:00 a.m. In August and September, most year-round folk need to run the air conditioner from about 9 p.m. until 6:00 a.m. to sleep comfortably.

Before you to decide to move to tropical Mexico, know this — if you choose to live in small-town Mexico, you can count on experiencing power outages and brown outs during the hottest time of the year.

What to do? During the day, it’s relatively simple — head to the beach.

However, during the evening when the low temperature is 24 to 27 C and the humidity is 90% you, should know that sleeping outside in a hammock, draped in mosquito netting as your only protection from lightening and thunderous rain, is far preferable to staying inside and suffering from heat stroke. Of course you could always buy a gas generator for these times — something my husband has so far failed to do!

That said, quite a few expatriates say that the rainy season is their absolute favourite time of the year. Why?

To experience the sheer exuberance of the tropical flowers which begin blossoming in May; and the never ending green vistas to be found in every imaginable hue. The rainfalls refresh long-parched freshwater rivers and waterfalls, which are a delight for swimming. The beaches are deserted in the rainy season, and all activities involve a sense of being one with nature, walking, swimming and kayaking in peace and solitude.

The storms that come with the rainy season are an event! Deafening, the thunder roars throughout the valley and rolls across the roof tops of homes like a freight train. Sheet lightening illuminates the sky so brilliantly it is surreal, almost psychedelic. Forks of lightening which emerge from miles up in the sky extend to strike the ocean, followed by deafening war-like boom. The raindrops fall at an incredible pace and intensity, inevitably resulting in water roaring down the once quaint sand streets that, come early morning, resemble a pig’s playpen and are no longer navigable by car because of the ruts the rains tore through the roads and foot-deep mud.

On occasion the rains are so intense the streets resemble a raging river verging on a flash flood. If you happen to enjoy the luxury of a swimming pool in your home, expect to be up in the middle of the night at least two or maybe three times, to drain the pool so it does not overflow and add to the roaring water already running down the streets. Not many small rural beach towns have the luxury of sidewalks, so be prepared to walk through puddles and mud.

Eventually, the intense sun emerges for the day and restores everything to normal. The next day the cycle begins again.

Did I mention the insects?

The rainy season begins with the incredible onslaught of critters that arrive in multitudes… It starts with the screeching song of the rain birds, or cicadas, which are actually insects, not birds at all. Their caterwauling continues for days until the rains finally arrive, putting an end to their piercing but unique symphony.

Next up are the termites that come to drop their wings and die, and the big bottomed ants that also arrive in multitudes only to mate and die, presumably in a blissful state. Beetles of every shape and size emerge from the earth and several of these critters look like they came out of the movie Jurassic Park. Colourful lime green crickets, emerald green jewel-like bees and slender dragonflies are the more beautiful of the rainy season insects.

The rainy season is the beginning of the never ending battle with the ultimate home squatters — ants. It means going outside briefly and with extreme caution at dawn and dusk if you do not wish to endure the relentless bites of no-see-ums.

During the rainy season, we fall asleep to the constant droning and chirping of insects, and in the morning and evening after a heavy rain, the raucous croaking of frogs overpowers the songs of the local birds!

A couple of things we do miss occasionally are sidewalks, and the convenience of one-stop grocery shopping. Yes, shopping at ten stores is fun when you are on vacation and have nothing better to do. An all-day shopping trip for groceries and essentials not found in small rural beach towns is fun the first few times, but this soon becomes tiresome.

Would we choose small rural town beach again? Yes, but primarily because we have the convenience of Puerto Vallarta close by.

Our next adventure, we hope, will be a colonial city in the cooler climes of Mexico.

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Photo Gallery: Los Ayala: undiscovered gem on the Nayarit coast

Los Ayala is situated at the foot of the Sierra de Vallejo Mountains. An undiscovered gem, Los Ayala is an authentic Mexican beach town and a fishing village. It is just now beginning to be discovered as a tropical beach destination by foreign tourists. The setting for the town is reminiscent of the Garden of Eden. The surrounding vegetation is dense and thick, including a thousand shades of green, hundreds of dancing palm trees, giant lime trees, mahogany trees, and an abundance of papaya, mango, banana trees.

Los Ayala is also a bird watcher’s paradise where flocks of green parakeets soar above the many variety of palms. Common to the area are amiable pelicans, frigate birds, prancing egrets, inca doves and white doves, tropical king birds and even the occasional lone eagle.

The half-mile long beach of Los Ayala is a palm fringed cove, perfect for swimming with soft, silky gold specked sand, a gradually sloping shoreline and crystal clear waters. Most days, the waves lap gently at the shore and, with the right weather and tide conditions, the blue Pacific water takes on a Caribbean green hue, and the calm water resembles a lake, offering perfect snorkelling conditions. Locals say with pride that Los Ayala has one of the most beautiful swimming beaches on Pacific Mexico’s coast.

At the south end of Los Ayala beach, the shoreline is rocky and dotted with caves that tempt visitors to explore a little. Los Ayala is said to be named after a group of bandits who sought refuge here many years ago (Los Ayalas), and the locals speak of a “Golden Door” hidden within a cave entrance, behind which lies a lost world and a magnificent treasure, still to be discovered. Los Ayala used to be called “Beach of the Mermaids,” which seems a more fitting appellation for this tropical oasis, far removed from bandits.

A ten-minute swim around the south end of the beach takes swimmers through some passable snorkelling, ending at the secluded and beautiful beach called Playa del Beso (Beach of the Kiss). If you continues swimming and head around the next bend, you end up at Playa del Toro (Beach of the Bull), an even more secluded beach where your only companions are birds, fish and the odd fisherman. Snorkelers frequently find themselves gliding through schools fish. If swimming is not your forte, it is an easy ten minute hike to Playa del Beso, and just another twenty minutes to Playa del Toro. The hike to Playa del Toro goes through the beautiful Nayarit rainforest.

The beach of Los Ayala is generally quiet and tranquil, but it has been a favourite with Mexican families for decades and still bustles with activity on weekends, holidays, and especially Semana Santa. “Holy Week” in Los Ayala is not for everyone, as the beach is packed and competing bands play music day and night, but it is definitely is off the beaten path and worlds away from the more heavily touristed beaches. The shore is lined with palapa restaurants serving delicious blackened fish and prawns cooked in a hundred fashions. It is very inexpensive to eat here and a pleasure to dine barefoot on the sand at any of the restaurants. Beach vendors sell pineapples stuffed with fresh fruit, and the locals carry large trays of muffins and sometimes even more tempting donuts on their head, displaying perfect posture and balance. The beach bustles with fishermen selling fish to the locals early in the morning, while the tourists delight in watching the amiable pelicans vie for the scraps.

The small town of Los Ayala even boasts an internet café, a coffee shop serving great cappuccino and espresso, and a disco called “Green Please” which features female impersonators.

Los Ayala is a magical Mexican beach town. Come, stay a while.

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Unlike Cozumel with its abundance of dive shops, Cancun is home to only ten. But, as I discovered, this city has much to offer a diver looking for a unique diving experience.

Located twelve miles from Cozumel on the mainland, Cancun is home to some of the best diving found anywhere. While many people know that Australia has the largest reef system in the world, not as many may be aware that Cancun has the second largest reef, stretching from Cancun south all the way to Honduras. They have given the shape of this reef the name of “Alacran” which means scorpion.

While Cozumel is famous for its walls, it has very little marine life. Cancun doesn’t have the walls, but there is a tremendous amount of marine activity. According to Dan Beadoin, owner of Blue Peace Diving, one can find over 250 species of fish including dolphins, eagle rays, schools of jacks and African Pompanos.

Cancun is also home to the longest system of caverns in the world. The locals call them “Cenotes” which is a Mayan word for cavern. These dive sights offer some truly spectacular opportunities for up close and personal aquatic life contact.

Some of the most popular tours on Cancun are the shipwreck sites. There are two U.S. Navy WW II vessels that serve as artificial reefs. These include a C-55 Gun Ship and a C-58 Minesweeper. Additionally, the Mexican government sank a tugboat called “Ultrafreeze” offshore to help promote undersea exploration.

Although dive centers on this part of the Caribbean Coast are not as plentiful as Cozumel, they do offer a full range of services. One can find all levels of instruction from first timers to advanced professionals. Some local operators boast that they can offer high levels of service using small, high-speed boats, taking smaller groups and using Global Positioning Systems (GPS) to pinpoint the many unique locations.

Cancun is a young city, being only about 30 years old, but it truly has something to offer everyone who loves scuba diving and snorkeling as well. One of the best snorkel locations is called Xel-Ha , (pronounced Shell-Ha). Located about one hour south of Cancun, this large protected habitat has an enormous snorkeling area where one can see all manner of sea life including some very large fish. The waters of Xel-Ha have a unique combination of saltwater from the Caribbean and freshwater from underground rivers of the Yucatan. Add to this a dolphin pen, a Mexican buffet and even hammocks for that late afternoon siesta and you have a great experience for the whole family.

From exploring a Mayan reef to night diving or hovering in an underwater cave, Cancun has enough wonders to keep an inquisitive diver busy for weeks. So the next time you are thinking about Mexico, consider this often overlooked city for your next underwater adventure.

For more information on Dive Centers and Charter services on the Caribbean Coast go to https://search.freefind.com/find.html?id=3133929&pageid=r&mode=ALL&query=cancun.

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The rugged Baja California peninsula and the Sea of Cortez, or Gulf of California, have been bewitching hardy visitors for decades. Some of the early fans were John Steinbeck and Earl Stanley Gardner, who took time out from Perry Mason to produce a magnificent photo book on the Sea of Cortez and its villages.

Until the 1973 completion of Mexico Highway One, which opened up travel to standard vehicles, most northern visitors arrived by boat or in expensive expeditions by charter and private plane. Today, oases like Loreto and Mulege, long favorites of fisherfolk, are open to anyone with a car or the price of a commercial plane ticket, but the eastern Baja ambience hasn’t noticeably changed since my first trips in the ‘60s. It still attracts campers, hikers, backpackers and others seeking serene days and nights without discos.

The 1,059-mile highway zigzags back and forth across the predominantly desert peninsula, from Tijuana to Cabo San Lucas, and has brought considerable growth to remote settlements. Aero California serves Loreto from Los Angeles, California, and from several Mexican cities, with one flight a day in and one out. Considering that, the airport facility looks a bit over-built, and it is. There was a time when FONATUR, the Mexican tourist development agency, planned a grand resort at Nopoló, just south of Loreto, and built the airport to match.

The resort is there, complete with golf course and international tennis center, condos, houses and hotels, paved streets surrounded by manicured lawns and plantings — but almost no people. On an afternoon drive through Nopoló during the Christmas season, we saw perhaps half a dozen people, and a huge number of obviously empty residences. The locals say Fonatur just lost interest after putting in the infrastructure. That could have been because Loreto is, after Chicago, the windiest place I’ve ever been.

‘Is it always this windy?’ I asked a man at the airport.

‘Oh no, señora. Only from November to March. Then the wind stops and it’s like an oven.’

Possibly not the best climatic choice for a luxury resort, but Loreto’s an attractive and interesting town of about 9,000, with a helpful tourist office, a small museum focusing on mission history, an extremely popular self-serve pancake restaurant with outdoor tables on the plaza, a Bancomer, and some very good seafood restaurants. The restaurant Sin Nombre on the malecon, run by Americans, caters to tourists with generous helpings of not-too-spicy Mexican and U.S. fare, and a large-screen satellite TV. Loreto is also where you find rental jeeps, in an office on the malecon about two blocks north of Sin Nombre.

Eighty-four miles north (about two hours) is Mulege, a bit hillier, a bit more sheltered, a bit shabbier, never the recipient of government favors, and probably the better for that. The tiny private planes still land at the landing strip of the luxurious Hotel Serenidad, just south of town.

The Serenidad is a magnet for isolated Baja residents seeking a sociability fix, and famed throughout the region for its Saturday night pig roasts and dancing, and for its spacious but cozy bar, where visitors and area residents mingle for cocktails and TV news before dinner and conversation or chess games after. Couches flanking the fireplace were the sought-after seating during the nippy holiday season.

The Serenidad has a few conventional rooms in a wing near the swimming pool, but most guests ask for the outlying clustered cottages with verandas, (and some with two bedrooms) where the help piles up the piñon wood nightly for the very necessary in-room fire. It’s the kind of place you keep returning to, obviously, and many of the verandas spilled over with large family groups, playing table games, admiring the lazy Mulege river and the ducks that bob on it, or watching the shiny little planes land.

The town offers pretty fair souvenir shopping, a laundromat, a dive shop run by an American woman who arranges trips, several pleasant-looking small hotels and guest cottages, a few nice restaurants and a couple of U.S.-style markets. Most places accept credit cards, which is a great relief when you learn to your horror that there’s no bank or ATM machine in the town.

Pelicans fill the skies over the beaches that scallop the shoreline between Mulege and Loreto, and the beach settlements are a tribute to sportsmanship and stewardship. Visitors have constructed toilets and trash disposal bins, and make a point of maintenance, both on the beach and at the occasional secluded hot spring hidden among the rocks and brush. Clearly, the visitors think of the semi-permanent camps as their vacation homes. There are also some housing developments, both detached homes and condos, on the Gulf beaches.

 

Published or Updated on: December 1, 1997 by Sophie Annan Jensen © 1997

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“If you’ve ever traveled the mainland side of the Sea of Cortez, just south of the town of El Golfo de Santa Clara, you may have had lunch at a beach restaurant called “Johnny’s Place,” which is located on a long stretch of sand known as “Johnny’s Beach.” You might have wondered about the name; after all the name Johnny doesn’t sound very Mexican, now does it? Well, it turns out that Johnny’s Beach was named after me! Let me explain.

Back in 1963, I bought a new 4-wheel drive International Scout and got into off-road adventures. Naturally, Baja became my playground, and I managed to squeeze in an extra-long weekend once a month to explore the roadless wastes. Nothing was paved south of Ensenada in those wonderful days.

After many miles exploring the mountains and deserts of Baja, I decided to toodle over to the mainland to see what was happening there. Before long I found myself zipping along a newly paved highway south of San Luis, headed for a place noted on the map as El Golfo. Curiously, the map didn’t show a road here. Suddenly, the pavement came to a halt smack in the middle of the desert. Now I knew why there was no road on the map; it was still under construction. No problem, I dropped into four-wheel-drive and took off, grinding out my own trail over treacherous sand dunes and bouncing through steep canyons.

Several hours later, the little fishing village of El Golfo appeared before my weary eyes. In those days it was just a dozen or so adobe houses and one bar. I pulled up in front of the bar and wondered if they had cold beer. The villagers flocked around, curious as to who I was and how I arrived. “The road washed away a month ago,” they exclaimed, “How did you get here?” This miracle seemed to call for a celebration, so when I went inside to have a beer, almost the entire town squeezed into the bar to join me.

“Why are you here?” they asked. “Why would you drive through the desert to get here?” “What is your name?”

I explained that my name is John, or Juan. Before long they were calling me Juanito, or Johnny. But explaining why I would leave the comfortable, paved highways of Califa to traipse through the Sonoran desert was difficult. People who work ten hours a day, seven days a week, have trouble with the concept of leisure time, or hobby. The closest I could come was adventure. We all had more beer, with the fishermen toasting to las aventuras de Juanito, or “Johnny’s adventures.” This went on for some time into the night, with newcomers being informed of “las aventuras de juanito.” Since I was buying the beer (at a civilized price of 25 cents a bottle), the celebration lasted into the wee hours of the morning.

One of the celebrants was the chief engineer of the road construction project. He bought a round of drinks and told me of his work. In addition to building the road, he confided that he was also surveying some property which he was going to claim as his and build a large resort hotel there. The property included several miles of deserted beach. According to him, this would be the beginning of the next Acapulco. The next day, I bid adios to my friends, declining an offer of more beer and another celebration.

About a year later, I received a letter from my engineer friend. He insisted that I visit him in El Golfo; he had a surprise for me. He not only had a surprise, but he promised to bring a hooker from San Luis as an added enticement to make sure I came to visit. I might have accepted his invitation were it not for my wife’s none too subtle hint that this would not be a good plan. Reluctantly, I declined. He followed up with another urgent letter, saying I had to come, that he would bring six girls if one wasn’t enough. This did surprisingly little to soften my my wife’s opinion of the trip.

About six or seven years later I happened to be in the region, and decided to drop in on El Golfo. The paved road had changed it incredibly. It was no longer a village, but a small town. As I approached the outskirts, I saw a large sign advertising a resort called “Las Aventuras de Juanito.” Throughout the town were signs with arrows pointing toward “Johnny’s Beach” and “Johnny’s Hotel.” I followed the signs to Johnny’s Beach and saw where my friend had indeed started to build a resort, but he obviously ran out of money before getting very far. A few crumbling buildings and foundations indicated where the “new Acapulco” might have been. The only things standing were a restaurant called Johnny’s Place, plus a couple of sad-looking motel units which were already falling apart.

When I last visited El Golfo de Santa Clara a few years ago, I asked local people if anyone knew how Johnny’s Beach got its name. The replies were a shaking of heads. “No, señor. No one knows why the developer picked that name.”

Well my wife knew. And that’s why I didn’t get to attend the grand opening of my namesake resort. She was probably right though, six girls might have been a little much.

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Sweat dripped down into a little pool at my stomach, which had been enjoying too many chilaquile breakfasts. The stifling heat and humidity of Zihuatanejo had stupefied my friend Kim and I into submission until we glimpsed a chalkboard scrawled with the words “Snorkeling Trip Today” in the Hotel Paraiso’s lobby.

We had gawped at the crocodiles in the fetid creek next-door, overpaid for sarongs at the “Artisans Market” down the beach, and drank our weight in piña coladas, having succumbed to the charms of our waiter Elias. A little exercise certainly seemed in order. We paid 25$ US each to Yohana in the lobby, and were directed to meet Pepe the dive director at 11:00.

The sun was almost directly overhead, and verging on SPF 50 requirements when a short, stocky man met us on the beach with snorkel gear. We had another passenger for the trip, Daniel, a French Canadian with a sideways smile and a bad haircut. I had great hopes for some good Spanish conversational practice with Pepe, but he was sullen and slurred his words together to the extent that I was asking, “Como?” with every other sentence. We splashed our way through the turquoise Pacific surf into an antiquated wooden dinghy, which reeked of fish remnants, and roared off in a blue-tinged haze.

After several futile attempts at chatting with Pepe, I turned attention to the ride. We journeyed south towards Manzanillo Beach, said to be the best snorkeling area in Zihuatanejo. The waters of the sandy Playa la Ropa, where most of the big hotels are located, are much too cloudy to see any fish save the occasional alarming sting ray ghosting along the bottom. Passing a stark white lighthouse which seemed rather incongruously plunked onto the southern point of Bahia Zihuatanejo, we were told that the hearty hike required to get there is rewarded with a fabulous sunset. It sounded way too taxing despite our desire to work off the tortilla casserole we’d been stuffing down daily at breakfast.

Our journey to Manzillo Beach took about half an hour. The sandy beach was nestled between two sets of rocky headlands. Pepe chucked a rusting anchor overboard – the pocked ocean bottom in this area is unfortunately a testament to the scores of dive boats anchoring – and donned a dive suit. This prompted nervous inquires about jellyfish (called malaguas, or bad waters – from the rain and fresh water overflows that lead to their proliferation), which Pepe laughed at. He said there were no jellyfish now; he only wore a suit because the water was “too cold” for him. Whew. We squeezed into snorkel fins and masks, and dove overboard.

My very first sensation was a curious prickling one, as if a million tiny needles were dancing on my skin. I promptly decided I was having an allergic reaction to the salt water and determined to ignore it. A large white blob drifted by. Then another. It didn’t take long to discover our folly in listening to Pepe. I thought longingly of my dive suit lounging back in the hotel room. There was nothing to be done but to grimly kick forward. The jellys weren’t anything close to man-of-wars, and they seemed to be congregating near the boat, so I took off for the rocks and was visually rewarded with the riot of color and movement that comprises reef life.

Nothing in nature is more perfect than tropical fish. Every tiny detail is exact, and their diversity breaks all artist taboos of color and shape juxtaposition. I couldn’t identify them by name, but bestowed upon them my personal nomenclature: cute little yellow ones, cute little electric blue ones, bigger black ones with yellow, bigger blue ones with yellow. Pepe dove down into the rocks and prodded a moray eel. Bright blobs of anemones shuddered at my touch. The undersea garden rewarded us with its exhibition of hundreds of different creatures, some mobile, some stationary.

We bobbed about the waves for an hour and a half. Then regretfully Kim and I dragged away from the reef back through Jellyfish Row, and ungracefully heaved ourselves into the boat. Daniel, who had spent all of about 10 minutes below, had obviously found the whole process too demanding, and was arduously tanning on the side bench. We munched on the overpriced, uninspired box lunch we had bought from the hotel’s kitchen, and noticed that our little paradise had become a bit crowded. While we were swimming below, a large catamaran had moored nearby and deployed an outsized, unruly contingent of tourists onto the reef. It was time for us to head back.

Our discomfort from the jellyfish stings seemed to amuse Pepe, much to my chagrin. He kept saying something that sounded like “ooreena”, while making hand gestures and laughing. I dredged up a memory of a Hawiian trip from some 12 years ago, wherein the guide had told us that the only remedies for jellyfish stings were vinegar and urine. Aha. We turned redder than our sunburns. The boat surged forward and we swamped some hapless swimmers on our way out of the bay.

Playa la Ropa shimmered in the afternoon sun. Elias was waiting for us on the beach, white teeth glistening and drink menu in hand. Obviously fearing that we had grown weak with hunger on our sojourn he stood ready to ply us with drinks and appetizers. We thanked Pepe, who gave a curt nod and strode off. Having no vinegar, we decided to forego the folk remedies for the jellyfish stings. It was back to the beach chairs for us, facing a tough afternoon of sizzling Zihuatanejo sun and soothing piña coladas.

WHEN TO GO:

Ocean breezes in Zihuatanejo keep the temperature at about 78 degrees Farenheit (25 C) year round. Temperatures in the 80s are common, but the mercury rarely rises above 90 (32 C). The months of June-September tend to be quite rainy. Bring a light sweater for outdoor evenings.

HOW TO GET THERE:

AeroMexico, Alaska Airlines, Continental, and Mexicana service Zihuatanejo/Ixtapa. Flight time from Los Angeles is approximately 4 hours, or 2.5 hours from Houston. Estrella de Oro bus line provides service from Mexico City and Acapulco – contact your travel agent for information or try www.estrelladeoro.com.mx (site is in Spanish only).

WHERE TO STAY:

Hotels in this area run the gamut from the luxurious La Casa Que Canta, which has private pool suites starting at $485/night, down the scale to the Hotel Paraiso, a beach bargain at $80/night for all rooms during the high season (mid-December through the end of April). Low season prices are usually 20-50% less. www.zihua.net and www.zihua-ixtapa.com are good starting points for information on accommodations, transportation, and activities.

SNORKELING TRIPS:

Playa Manzanillo has a nice reef area with lots of fish, and waters are usually calm enough for children. Most hotels offer their own scuba and snorkeling trips, but these are usually open to non-guests as well. It’s easy to hook up with a tour by finding a tour on the tourist circuit in downtown Zihuatanejo. Most are about $25/person, without lunch. Shop around for the best price if you have the time.

OTHER ACTIVITIES:

Zihuatanejo’s main beaches, Playa la Ropa, Playa Principal, and Playa las Gatas boast a range of sun-n-fun activities, including parasailing, banana boat rides, boogie boarding, deep-sea fishing, and sunset cruises. Seafood restaurants can be found along the beaches, and in downtown Zihuatanejo, approximately 1.5 miles from the major hotels of Playa la Ropa. A seafood dinner will probably cost less than $20/two, with drinks. The Artisans Market, right on Playa la Ropa has overpriced sarongs, silver, pottery, and blankets, for shoppers reluctant to leave the beach area. For more reasonable prices, head over to El Centro. Be sure to check out the handicraft shops at La Marina, next to the basketball court on the seafront, which offer handmade hammocks, woolen rugs, tablecloths, and embroidered cotton clothing.

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Sayulita: bohemian surf town on the Nayarit coast

Sayulita: A quintessential Mexico beach town on the Riviera Nayarit

Sayulita beach is stunningly beautiful, and most visitors are completely captivated by its charm. The two-mile long beach boasts soft fine sand, warm blue waters, perfect surfing waves and is adorned by rich tropical foliage and swaying palms, fulfilling most people’s fantasy of a tropical oasis. Indeed Sayulita is commonly referred to as “The Jewel of Nayarit.”

Sayulita visitors come from all walks of life. You will meet the friendly hippy who chose to miss his flight home as well as the rich and famous searching for an off-the-beaten track vacation destination, who add a definite touch of glamour to the town. Even the stray dogs in Sayulita seem to be hipper than the rest of the strays in Nayarit, many adorned with jewelled collars.

The charm of Sayulita is that it remains a true Mexican town, with a mix of cobblestone and sand streets frequented by friendly locals, dogs, chickens, roosters and a large expatriate population who happily coexist. But it also offers the tourist — especially the younger generation — a hip, trendy and charming destination off the beaten path. Indeed, the town of Sayulita offers an eclectic mix of Mexican people who happily reside among a large population of Canadian, American and European and Japanese expats who call Sayulita home for at least half of the year.

Sayulita offers great surfing. The town hosts a number of tournaments and tours throughout the year, attracting surfers from all over the world. In fact, surfing is a way of life for Sayulita, and young surfers with toned bodies bedecked in the latest fashions appear enthralled by Sayulita.

The south end of the beach is populated by tourists, who recline on deluxe lawn chairs or under the shade of a palapa, taking in life at this beachside paradise while enjoying a cool one. This end of the beach can be a little crowded with tourists, vendors and surfers during the height of the tourist season. However, to avoid the crowds, one simply needs to walk a little way towards the north end of the beach, which is always quieter.

Sayulita offers visitors a wonderful variety of trendy upscale boutique stores with sand floors where clerks in the latest bohemian fashions sell rare imported black pearls, authentic Huichol creations, blankets from Oaxaca, and the hottest “Sayulita Fashion.” Sayulita also offers a lot of activities for the adventuresome, active and young and heart — ATV Tours, group hikes, yoga retreats and even services like acupuncture and massage therapy.

We love to visit Sayulita whenever we have an expatriate craving for lox and bagels, rye bread, chocolate chip cookies, bran muffins, or simply a deluxe dinner on par with some of the finer dining one might expect to find in San Diego, San Francisco or Vancouver. Don Pedro’s on the beach is our favourite place for dinner for its unbeatable beach setting, excellent service and cuisine, and because they serve the best chocolate mousse and crème brulee in Mexico. Of course, the prices are a little higher in Sayulita then in other beach towns along the Nayarit coast, but are well worth it, and still far less expensive than dinner at any comparable establishment, north of the border.

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Puerto Vallarta is steeped in enchantment. Its charismatic history reaches back some 600 years before Christ. At that time this vast untamed area was called Xalisco and was ruled by King Nayarita, known as the god of battle. He fought to keep his lands and his precious cove – now called Mismaloya – in his dominion, as it was thought to be the most splendid spot of the kingdom of Xalisco. Further history includes the mystical peoples of the Colhoa tribe from Aztlan, the Toltec as well as the Mexica, who all migrated to the lush lands of ancient Puerto Vallarta and who also created the historic trail to the Aztec Empire in the valley of Mexico that is now Mexico City.

The naming of the sparkling azure waters the frame Puerto Vallarta is also imbued in mysticism. In 1524, Francisco Cortés de San Buenaventura and a small band of conquistadores found themselves on the brink of battle with a horde of Indians. The Spaniards were outnumbered and turned to prayer to assist in their fight to extend their conquests. Among them was an old monk who carried a flag with religious inscriptions and a medallion depicting the Immaculate Conception. Just as Cortés was about to give the order, a miracle occurred. The banner of the Holy Cross was illuminated by a brilliant ray of light which formed a halo pointing to the Holy Virgin. Both the Indians and the Spanish were awestruck. Realizing they had been “touched by a divine grace,” they withdrew from battle. To commemorate this event, Captain Don Francisco Cortés de San Buenaventura named the site “Valle de Banderas,” and today the bay is known as “Bahía de Banderas” – the Bay of Flags.

For the next three centuries the Spaniards settled and named the areas around the bay. They would anchor off shore and fill their galleons with a treasure in gold and silver before making their way toward home. However, pirates were a hazard and many never made it back to Spain, dying instead in battle. The fallen conquistadors were buried on the sandy beaches, thus Playa de Los Muertos or “Beach of the Dead” was aptly named.

In 1918, the city on the Bay of Banderas was officially renamed Puerto Vallarta in honor of the Governor of Jalisco, Don Ignacio L. Vallarta. Nearly 50 years later a renowned Hollywood director, John Huston, came to Puerto Vallarta to film his classic movie, The Night of the Iguana. He brought with him a notorious cast: Richard Burton, Ava Gardner, Deborah Kerr and Sue Lyon. Burton brought with him his paramour, the married Elizabeth Taylor. Their very public love affair in the remote Mexican village not only plunged Puerto Vallarta onto the world stage, but also ignited the flame of romance and intrigue that still smolders in the sunsets along the The Bay of Banderas. Today, Puerto Vallarta is a world class vacation and residential location, complete with a modern infrastructure that accommodates a vast degree of lifestyles and dreams.

Just what is it about Puerto Vallarta that captivates so many visitors that they feel compelled to buy property and live here? What exactly is it about the Bay of Banderas that draws people to it’s shores? Is it the land and the sea or is it some kind of magical mystery? These are the questions we put to some new homeowners that purchased property this year along Costa Vallarta.

Liz Miller, a former publisher from Los Angeles, has been visiting Vallarta since the mid 1970s, dreaming of the day when she could make her escape to PV.

“I am extraordinarily happy with my decision to live here year round. Puerto Vallarta has retained the elements that I first fell in love with – the jungle, ocean, mountains, and the sweetness of the people here. However, with the new infrastructure of restaurants, gourmet foods, shops, cable TV, computer access… these make all the elements of the good life without the smog and traffic,” Miller says.

Miller bought a three-bedroom, three-bath, hacienda style condominium in Alta Vista with sweeping views of the city and bay, which she appropriately named Casa Orquidea Blanca for the exotic pure white orchids that bloom just outside her living room windows.

“I fell in love with the building, the lush tropical plants, the funicular, the view. I knew what I wanted was what I found to exist in Vallarta 30 years ago. This building encompasses that feeling. Yet, I also wanted a streamlined house, so I gutted the interior to make my own space and create my own signature style,” she explains.

Her now finished unit has an open, breezy, patio living concept. She feels the condos new openness works well for her growing collection of paintings and sculpture from local artists.

“I believe baby-boomers have been traveling to Mexico for 30 years, so it’s not a difficult decision for them to choose Puerto Vallarta for a future home. I have noticed an uptick in prices, however real estate here is still an amazing value when compared to the U.S., especially when you factor in lifestyle. I don’t see living here as running away from something so much as running toward something: a life of art, culture, community and friends. Being here is about as close to paradise as I can imagine being,” Miller says.

For Richard and Susan Schmidt of Portland Oregon it was a “climatic escape” from the rainy weather of the Pacific Northwest. After a five-day visit, they decided to purchase a condo in a building where they have other family members as neighbors. Perched above Playa Conchas Chinas is their turnkey, fully furnished, two-bedroom, two-bath, Villas Banderas condominium with uninterrupted views of the bay and shoreline.

“We were just so taken with the whole atmosphere of Puerto Vallarta, the city itself, the tremendously nice people, the ambience. It is a real city, not a created destination – a functioning city. We like this area of town because it reminds us of Italy and it’s not a huge development that could be anywhere in the States. We like it here because we know here we live in Mexico,” Susan says.

An innovative purchase agreement has the Schmidts and two other partners possessing full ownership in their own “timeshare”-like arrangement. Each owner has the unit every other month. For the Schmidt’s this is a perfect fit as they own a geosynthetic construction product company and are still working full time. While they are here, they use computers, faxes, land and cell phones to keep in contact with their business. They believe this part time ownership will eventually lead them to full time ownership of another property, but this gives them the opportunity to own a home while commuting back and forth.

“It’s a very easy flight from Portland and since, we pick up a couple of hours when we go back, we can arrive at a reasonable time for work the next day. Puerto Vallarta is much more convenient than Hawaii or the Caribbean for that reason; it is easier to get here. We have a car here and are still road-connected and could drive home if we wanted or needed to,” Richard adds.

“We also enjoy the ability to drive up and down the coast to all the small beach towns for the day as well as traveling to the colonial towns in the interior of Mexico and to Guadalajara,” Susan confides.

Being a business owner, Richard Schmidt was not concerned with his investment, feeling even more secure with the change in land use clauses and trust ownerships.

While the Schmidts don’t think anything of a six-hour flight, the Rabago family makes their way to their PV home via a six-hour drive from Guadalajara. Lic. Miguel and Gabriela Uriarte Rabago purchased a three-bedroom, three-bath Bay View Grand ocean front penthouse this year. When asked why they chose Puerto Vallarta over other areas in Mexico, their reply was that they enjoyed the local people, the lush vegetation, the variety of restaurants and – because they own a sail boat – the marina.

The Rabagos have visited Puerto Vallarta all their lives and plan to own a home here forever. They enjoy the strong sense of community as well as all the activities. They believe the versatility of the city and its many facets draw diversity. These are just some of the reasons they decided to make Puerto Vallarta the place for their second home. The couple also confesses strong confidence in their investment value here.

“We appreciate the large variety of options and the huge sense of security you feel in the city. Compared to other cities with similar characteristics, Puerto Vallarta is an excellent option, besides having the access to an easily rentable property,” Miguel adds.

Lic. Miguel Rabago has a business as a public notary whose associates handle many real estate transactions and practice family contract law in Guadalajara and Puerto Vallarta.

“We were contacted about the project by a friend and came to see it. I felt it was an excellent opportunity, we picked the unit that worked the best for us and purchased it. We feel that we have indeed escaped to Puerto Vallarta. We treasure the time we get to spend here in our new home and we are both are happy with our decision,” Miguel explains.

One of the most important factors for all of the people interviewed was the wide variety of real estate options from one end of the bay to the other. From villas to mega-resort communities, high-rise oceanfront homes to marina locations, in the jungle, along the water or the more arid areas north of downtown, buyers found that Vallarta offers a wealth of residential lifestyles.

When Michael Carlson, Robert Dry and their daughter Stephanie Marie first decided to purchase a “piece of paradise” for themselves, they set out on several “shopping trips” to become familiar with the unique neighborhoods and the amenities that each area had to offer.

“Our search took us to Punta Mita and Mismaloya, which, while beautiful were [not] what we wanted. It took us to Nuevo and Marina Vallarta. However, when we found Conchas Chinas, we knew that we had to search no longer and when we walked into Casa de Los Angeles for the first time, we knew that we were home,” says Dry.

Casa de Los Angeles is a private villa with panoramic views of the bay and jungle. The villa has three ensuite bedrooms with private balconies, a rooftop terrace with palapa, a pool and a 4-story entry and all of the amenities one would expect.

“We are owners of Prudential California Realty in Marin County, California, so we are not strangers to the purchase of real estate. The real estate market in Vallarta appears good and shows superb appreciation. The added security of our owning the property in trust with the bank only strengthens our feeling of security in owning property outside the U.S.,” Carlson says. Carlson and Dry also manage several properties for vacation rental in the U.S. They see their P.V. Villa as an extension of that management business. As they become more and more comfortable with life in Mexico, they both can see themselves living here full time.

“The opportunity for business seems strong with an economy that can only improve. In Puerto Vallarta opportunities abound without the structured environment of the U.S. We also find P.V. to be alive with cultural diversity representing a variety of lifestyles and tastes,” said Dry.

“For us it’s a convenient location is a short flight from San Francisco and we have the luxury of last minute departures. Vallarta is a town that we are proud to say is our second home,” said Carlson.

Apparently then, it’s not one magical thing but rather a host of impressive choices that keep people sufficiently intrigued with Puerto Vallarta to purchase their dream vacation or year round home here on the shores of the Bay of Banderas.

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“Every Child is an artist.
The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.”
Pablo Picasso

Art of every description is exhibited in Puerto Vallarta, from bohemian and Huichol to expressionistic and figurative. You’ll find a variety of media: watercolors, oil, acrylic, felt pen, pencil, charcoal, gold leaf, mixedmedia, ceramic, bronze, terra cotta, clay, iron, even latex and enamel. If it can be painted, sculpted, made into collage, cast or thrown, it is exhibited in the galleries of Puerto Vallarta. National and international artisans alike bring their work here. Artists whose work has been enjoyed for years, up-and-coming artists, as well as scene-bursting new discoveries all display their most recent works. They’ve mastered the art of maintaining their creative child, while growing up.

The public is invited to attend cocktail receptions during frequent “Art Walk” inaugurations. With maps in hand, patrons stroll from gallery to gallery, enjoying art walks in the downtown and marina areas. There are over 90 such art openings each season in Puerto Vallarta. Each exhibits the latest works of the honored artist.

The galleries of historic “Viejo Vallarta” or Old Town, such as Galeria Vallarta, Uno, Arte LatinoAmericano, Rosas Blancas, Pueblo Real, Pacifico, and Galeria Café Des Artistes, exhibit fine works by accomplished artists. Look for Daniel Ruffert’s strong, earthy paintings of the Mexican landscape, Angeline Kyba’s colorful acrylic scenes of Vallarta life or Antonio Acosta’s stunningly vibrant still lifes.

The unique Pueblo Real opened its doors in 1997. Housed in an historic building, it contains five galleries that frame a center courtyard café. Here, the public can view several different types of art as well as watch artists work and teach.

The talented Andrade family: mother, Guadalupe, and sons Esau and Raymundo, each present their latest works at Puerto Vallarta galleries, showing their interpretations of their Mexican heritage. One can also find Vladimir Cora’s new works, a series of exciting abstract images.

The galleries of the south side, Gallery’s Dante, Pajro, Muvieri,and Indignia, offer a diverse look at art again this season. Here, the public can see the newest in classical and contemporary sculptures of the talented Quintero, Octavio Gonzalez and Gabriel Colunga. Historical Mexican Indian tribal art, Mexican dance masks, folk art, rural Mexican antiques, and the beautiful bead and yarn work of the Huichol Indians can also be seen.

At cocktail inaugurations, you’ll find art work of Puerto Vallarta’s finest artisans, such as the timeless beauty of native Mexican and American people painted by Marta Gilbert, Rogelio Diaz’s energetic, and spontaneous mastery of modern abstract painting, the quiet countrysides of France and the lively market places of Mexico, painted by the famous expressionist Evelyn Boren.

The fine art galleries of Marina Vallarta, Arte Del Las Americas, Puerco Azul, Galeria Em, Galeria Flores, Centigram and the newest addition, Pladi, present the works of such great artists as Daniel Palma and his kinetic and ingenious sculpture, made from natural materials, Melinita Hooper’s colorful and expressive paintings, many of which depict her favorite theme, “all that is Mexican;” and the tropical colors and abstract translations painted by local artist, Brewster Brockmann.

Collectors of fine Mexican crafts and art items have a chance to obtain the work of local and international artisans such as Santo Lucan Neri, Kim Wilson, and of course the whimsy of Lencho. Wearable art such as gorgeous silver jewelery, and delectable pearl adornments are always a popular exhibit at the Marina. Exquisite etched and stained glass art is also exhibited. The work is done at Galeria Em in Puerto Vallarta by a team of expert glass handlers. These wonderful pieces are of the highest quality and beauty that exists anywhere.

The public also has the opportunity to see the popular work of Luis Castellano. His lively expressionistic paintings continue to be best sellers. Octavio Ocampo is also represented — his latest “metamorphic art,” an ingenious style of optical illusions, painted into his compositions. Ian Xavier Sanchez gives us his fantastic watercolors, painted with youthful exuberance and vitality.

Art Season in Puerto Vallarta also gives visitors and locals a chance to see the work of the masters such as Dali, Picasso, and Diego Rivera as well as the mesmerizing large-scale portrait pieces of Fernando Sandoval. Puerto Vallarta’s Malecon is enhanced with the triumphant new sculptures of Alejandro Colunga. The works of several independent artists are presented at various venues. Maggie Flocco, Caroline Bartlett, Meridy Voltz all exhibit their new work to receptive audiences.

In Puerto Vallarta, we are fortunate to be able to enjoy the fruits of many artists. It is a Mecca for those who collect, study, or just take pleasure in viewing the esthetic.

“Art Season” begins in November with the first of the Downtown and Marina Art Walks.

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