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SHE SAID…
August 10, 2003
Where to begin? Am I glad to be back
in Vallarta? You bet your booties I am! But then, that’s
how it is every year. I start counting the days and
the hours to my return even before take-off, here at
the local airport.
What made this trip different from
those of previous years for me is that we spent very
little time in Montreal, as we had decided to take a
few days “off” to visit Washington, D.C.
(I hadn’t been there since I was a teenager.)
It was a wonderful experience indeed, a real eye-opener.
We also drove through the incredibly beautiful Amish
and Mennonite countryside in Pennsylvania.
But Vallarta is Vallarta. It is warm
(hot?) and beautiful …and it is home. And with
every year that goes by, I realize that this is where
I want to be more than any other place in the world
- despite all the constant complaining. At the risk
of repeating myself, I truly believe that we who live
here should all go back to where we came from every
once in a while, just to be able to make fair comparisons.
“Up there” - wherever
that may be - is changing. It is no longer as cheap
as it was when we used to live there. It no longer functions
as efficiently as it did when we used to live there.
Did you happen to see the price comparisons between
Vallarta and Portland, Oregon, published in The Times
a couple of weeks ago? That was genial! Everyone should
have cut out that chart to keep and show to all those
who are constantly complaining of high prices here,
whether Canadian or American.
What else did I notice while I was
gone? Well, the rates in decent hotels are anything
but cheap and there still aren’t any internet
cafés in either Montreal or Washington.
Also, it is becoming increasingly
difficult to find public pay phones in Canada ...just
like in Mexico. I’m talking about pay phones where
we can put in one or more coins of the local currency
and get a line. As I read somewhere, those phones are
an “endangered species of the urban jungle.”
Phone companies blame the decline on cell phones while
consumer groups blame greed and fret about those who
can't afford a home phone, let alone wireless. Someone
in Canada even wrote an excellent radio play on the
subject to alert the public to the need for telephonic
lifelines among the poor.
In a pilot project, Bell Canada is
using pay-phone locations to set up "hotspots"
- areas where those with laptops can wirelessly surf
the Internet. Yeah, right. In the U.S., Starbucks cafés
have started offering wireless internet access…
but there’s a catch: you have to have your own
$250-American-Dollar card, a running paid-for account
- and a laptop - in order to log on. Silly me. I didn’t
have any of that.
Last Monday, the headline of the
Tribuna de la Bahía’s front page read:
“Taxi rates not backed by government.” No
kidding! When we returned to Vallarta a couple of days
earlier, the plane landed after 7 p.m., the time at
which the taxi wickets at the airport close (and the
rate sheets disappear). Because we had come through
Mexico City, our luggage arrived at the national area
of the terminal. As we came through the glass doors
(unfortunately missing the new infamous OPC “booth”
that international visitors have to traverse - I would
have liked to see what the fuss is all about) we were
immediately welcomed by the usual cries of “Taxi?”
“Taxi?” “Taxi?”
I asked how much it would cost us
to the Medasist hospital (near where I live). The fellow
that looked like a dispatcher answered me nonchalantly
as he kept on walking towards the exit doors. “Three
hundred pesos,” he said over his shoulder. “What?”
I asked incredulously. “You’ve got to be
kidding. Who do you take us for? The usual rate all
the way to and up Conchas Chinas is around $150. Pesos!”
He stopped, turned towards me and said, “Ok. $250.
Pesos.” I said “No.” We agreed on
$200. After all, we did have four large pieces and we
did need a larger cab. But what about other folks, first
time visitors to Vallarta, people who don’t know
what the going rates are because they aren’t posted
when the wickets are closed for the day/evening?
By the way, I did find out one thing:
if you’re really, really, really nice to the immigration
agent in Mexico City, you can indeed get a 180-day tourist
visa. The one we dealt with was a little reluctant at
first, but then he finally gave in. They prefer to issue
90-day visas that can be extended at the local immigration
offices (for a fee) when they expire.
Back to the home front, a couple
of days after our return, I turned on my kitchen tap
only to find out that there was not a drop to be had
from there. I went to check my water tank. It was totally
empty. Followed the pipe all the way to the street only
to discover that the little 3/4-inch rubber hose for
which I had paid SEAPAL to connect me to the city’s
water supply had broken and someone had obviously folded
it over so as to stop the gushing water and not flood
the street. After a few years’ exposure to Vallarta’s
ferocious sun, the rubber had dried up. I tried to turn
the water off but the valve wouldn’t move. Maybe
it was all rusted or maybe I just wasn’t strong
enough. After all, I haven’t been to the gym in
three weeks! Went back to the house for some tools.
Back at the broken hose, as I was trying to reconnect
it, a well-dressed man, in long pants, nice shirt, socks
and laced shoes came by. He stopped where I was and
said, calmly, “It broke, huh?” “Yes,
it did,” I answered. He asked if he could help.
I gratefully accepted. He got down on his knees on the
wet pavement and proceeded to fix the broken line, at
least temporarily. He must have worked for a good three-quarters
of an hour. When he felt that the makeshift patch would
hold, he got up and left, promising to return the next
day to do the job properly. He did, cleanly, beautifully,
masterfully. I think God sent him.
I have the highest respect for trades
people, be they plumbers, electricians, masons, etc.
I agree with what our friend Nacho Cadena once wrote
about them: that we should have a photo of all the folks
who built the home we live in, put or hung in a prominent
place, so that we may give them homage. I agree with
my friend who said that besides all the impressive monuments
in Washington, there should be one, just one, in honor
of all those who built them for the rest of us to admire.
The day after the water incident,
a wicked storm broke out in the evening, the kind I
love so much, with lightning dancing horizontally across
the skies over the bay and thunderbolts that shake us
to the very marrow of our bones. As I was sitting in
my office, I smelled burning rubber. The smoke quickly
filled my office. Went out to check if my car had been
hit by lightening or something like that, only to realize
that the electrical wires a couple of feet from my window
were shorting, causing sparks to fly back and forth
up and down the wire, like little fireworks. I tried
to contact the CFE (the local power & light company).
All their phones were busy. I got in touch with a fellow
from the Regulations Department at City Hall (they’re
the only ones open 24/7). He commiserated with me but
admitted he didn’t have any numbers for the CFE
other than those I had dialed, but he did take note
of my call. I told him that if someone didn’t
come to fix this, the transformer at the bottom of the
hill would blow. It did. Now there are a whole bunch
of us who are without power in my neighborhood.
This is my home. You gotta love it!
One thing’s for sure: you can never say that life
is dull in Puerto Vallarta.
I have bad news for clients of Barcelona
Tapas: Bill and his family are gone on a month-long,
well-deserved vacation. So if you haven’t had
the pleasure of dining there lately, I guess you’ll
just have to wait another month before treating yourselves
to one of the best dinners in town. Sorry.
I would like to leave you with these
words of wisdom -obviously not mine- that our friend
Ron Walker sent us in a recent e-mail: “If you
want to feel rich, just count all the things you have
that money can't buy. Today is a gift, that's why it
is called the present."
Take care of each other. Hasta luego muy pronto.
pvmomto3@hotmail.com
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