La Ciudad de Puerto Vallarta Jalisco

     Puerto Vallarta was first built in 1851.  It is named after Ignacio Luiz Vallarta, whose statue stands proudly in the city square.  There were a great many other things made of what I think must be copper or bronze-statues and chairs that looked like statues.  Fantastical creatures, with faces twisted into smiles and grotesque scowls.  The day was overcast, yet the metal was warm to the touch.  

       Our tour guide in Puerto Vallarta was a man called Gabino.  When Señor Gabino spoke, his hands did half the talking.  He was a head shorter than me, deeply tanned, with a white mustache and bushy brows.  He spoke to us in Spanish and English, for there were Spanish-speakers on the tour with us.  
      I didn't buy anything in Cabo, or Mazatlan.  But in Puerto Vallarta my mother handed me two hundred pesos and a stern warning.  I can tell you, that I happily and wholeheartedly ignored the latter.  Bartering is the most fun a person can have, until her mother actually gives her money.  But I swear the vendors can smell the scent on money on you, and they redouble their efforts to trap you into overpaying.  
     I bought a few prints of Frieda Kahlo, a necklace with the Mayan zodiac carved on shark tooth, and two mugs made of sand! Don't ask me how they did it, or how on earth those things are dishwasher safe.  
     We stopped many times just for pictures.  My father fancies himself a photographer, and so his opinion Señor Gabino rose each time the bus screeched to a halt beside a beach, or a marketplace.  

    I took a picture with an Iguana! His name is Lucas, which I found bizarrerly entertaining.  For whatever reason.

    The place we stopped at for lunch was magnificent.  Señor Gabino told us that he chose the spot not for the food-although I can tell you that the food was prime-but for the view.  And what a view it was.  There was a river and several waterfalls and rapids and forests on both sides.  There were people ziplining and I regretted not having the time to join them.  I've never been ziplining before.

"It's a river, with the sound of falling water nearby.  There are many trees-so much green.  But it's not a bright, Irish sort of green.  It's kind of dusty, warmer somehow.  The rocks are warm, the ivy strong as it winds around the wooden bannisters"

"There is a loud commotion.  A couple of caged birds, upset at being imprisoned, are letting all of Mexico know of their outrage.  I don't know what kind of birds they are, but they're a lime-y, yellow-y green and quite large.
The waiter told me that they are Guacamallas, a kind of parrot.  Sorry, I have to guess at the spelling."

      After lunch we drove on for a while, until we reached a tequila distillery.  It's one of those comfortable family-owned places.  Come to find out, I'm good at drinking tequila! But my brother is only twelve and I thought it was funny when he handed me his little plastic shot glass and whispered: "Cindy, I don't want anymore." I have never seen him that red.  I wish I took a picture.

      There is a specific way to drink fine tequila.  You are to drink it down at once, and then breathe in through the nose and out the open mouth.  Slowly, without haste.  To my surprise, there was no burning sensation-only warmth.  Warmth that seemed to spread from my tongue and throat to my cheeks and fingers and belly.  Our English speaking guide smiled at the expression on my face and said that if you drink too fast, or too much, the feeling disappears.  Why, then, do people drink too fast or much? 
      We had to rush after that, and we were late getting back to the ship.  There were a lot of stragglers, though, and the crew didn't mind.  In fact, they seemed to expect it.  
      

Christmas in Mazatlan

          We pulled into Mazatlan during breakfast.  Earl Gray never tasted so fine as it did that morning.  As I always do, I was writing as I drank my tea and ate my breakfast.  

"We missed sunrise, it being about 7:10, but it is still beautiful.  I don't think it's fair that everyone makes such a fuss about sunrise and sunset and then forgets the sun's other positions in the sky.  Dawn and dusk are equally as commonplace as the sun at breakfast time.  Not that the sun could ever be commonplace, regardless of where it is in the sky...The sky is all somber gray and dull blues-maybe even green in some parts.  There is a line of cloudes, heavy at the bottoms but fluffy at the tops.  Beneath them is a curious trail of what looks like steam.  I was fixated by that, I remember.  It, too, is very beautiful but now that we have pulled closer to Mazatlan I can see that it is smoke from some factories.  Such a shame that so stunning a scene is under the cloud of pollution.  But it's funny that something so awful could be beautiful too."

          Going ashore was much smoother in Mazatlan than it was in Cabo because the Norwegion Star actually docked and we could just walk ashore, so to speak.  Good thing too, because half my family is easily seasick.  Oh, the irony.  
           After meeting up with our tour, we stopped at a bakery: La Panadería Malpica.  Elezar, our tour guide, explained to us the process in which bread is baked there.  It is very traditional, with a wide oven and great wooden racks for cooling.  My mother gave me a few pesos and I bought a bag of them, still warm and very sweet, from the old lady.  She did not speak English, so I had the pleasure of asking in Spanish.  She was very kind, smiling as I asked her:"Esta cosa blanca...es
azúcar?".  It was sugar, by the way.  

The Title in English (Spanish was on the other side)

        We walked, contentedly munching on the good, fluffy bread, down the street a ways until we reached the home and workshop of José, the tile-maker.  Watching him make tile was fascinating.  First he cleaned and oiled the tile mold with a wooden brush and dripped some paint over it.  It looked random, but he declared that he knew exactly what it was going to look like.  His movements were so sure, so deft, that I'm sure he did.  He filled it with a plaster mixture-not all at once, but in dollops, splitting the mold into sections.  Then he took a pencil-"solamente una lápiz simple"-and swirled it carefully in the plaster.  I can't remember exactly what he did next, but I think he packed it with some kind of sand mixture and pressed it with a contraption that Elezar told us applied two tons of pressure.  
       José also did not speak English, so Elezar translated for him.  José's spanish was very soft, almost like a drawl.  But not a drawl.  The word "drawl" sounds wrong, so forget I even said it.  But I digress. I bought a tile for Profe Sanchez, my Spanish teacher.  

      Next we stopped in Concordia, which was established in 1565.  Their furniture, which has earned them renown, is gorgeous.  Colonial, and mostly made of the Mapa cut from the Sierra Madre mountains.  
       A long, winding road up into the Sierra Madre and we reached the mining town of Copala, built the same year as Concordia.  According to Elezar, 95% of the buildings in Copala are still standing from the days of the Spaniards.  They grew a great many fruit trees here; bananas, mangoes, papaya, coconuts.  
      The best part of Copala was its church.  I am not Catholic, yet I stood trembling in its mighty shadow.  The bricks were faded by sun and wind and rain, and the roof was crumbling, but I have never seen a church like that.  The man that sat across the aisle from me on the tour bus was a history teacher-I heard him tell Elezar so.  He said that all that church needed was a relic, and Catholics from the world over would flood Copala, making pilgrimages.  Maybe it's a good thing, then, that Copala doesn't have a relic.  Or maybe I'm being ignorant.  
      

What a church!

          Lunch was in a little place with a sign that read: "Restaurante Desde 1881".  There I had the most delicious cheesecake I have ever had in my life.  It was topped with some kind of nut and a fruit called the guayaba, that tasted a little bit like pear.  It was less rich than American cheesecake, and less sweet.  I could have eaten it by the truckload, but then...I am an American.  Haha. 
         So, that was a little part of Mazatlan.  As ever, a few hours is never enough to truly experience a new land and a new culture, but even that faint taste was rich.  I hope to return to Mazatlan someday, and do a better job visiting.  

Thank you for your time

A Drink With Gatsby

   The Norwegion Star, as with most other cruise lines, has as its secondary concern the continual entertainment of its guests.  The primary being reaching the destination without being hijacked or something, I guess.  
   I already said in an earlier post that I can't stand clubbing music, such as the music played outside on the "party deck".  It's too loud, but more importantly, I have no idea what to do with it.  Everywhere you look you see people dancing or jumping or moving with the beat.  Even the people eating, or getting in line to eat, are participating.  But I'm not.  Not because I'm some kind of pseudo-grinch, but because I'm chronically rhythm challenged.  My grandmother is a better dancer than me.  
   I like music you can listen to sitting down.  Standing up is okay too, if no one expects you to do anything with your awkward self.  
    There was a little space with a stage and a bar, with a bunch of squashy gold-toned swivel-chairs scattered in between.  An art gallery bordered one side, and an Italian restaurant the other.  The Gatsby Lounge.  I liked to sit when there was music playing and write in my journal.  I never actually had a drink, unless you count ice water and virgin pina coladas, which, might I add, I have lost a taste for. 
     I only ever happened to be there when on of two artists were there: The Belmonte Brothers (the ship itinerary lists them as the Belmonte Duo but I have a strange prejudice against the word "duo") and Stan Sykes.  
   I listen to a lot of world music, but mostly Celtic and German.  Until then, I had never really listened to very much Latin music.  Until then.  It was literally a cultural revolution or something, because as soon as I stepped foot into a place with free wi-fi I RESEARCHED.  Luis Silva, Luis Miguel, Pablo Milanes, etc. etc.  
  I spoke with the brothers after their last show the day before we docked home and it seems they are working on an album.  I wish you could have heard them in that lounge.  I wish you could have heard the way the guitar danced and the piano trilled.  I wish you could have heard the way their voices blended-so seamlessly, so sinuously.  I have never heard any music like that.  Even I could have danced to it.  
   The brothers themselves were what I would call romantic figures, meaning that had I been writing a novel, I'd have found a way to write them in.  Their nametags-which I sneakily glanced at-said that they were Colombian.  Julian was the guitarist, and he wore his hair in a neat pony tail-very artsy.  His brother Daniel accompanied him on the piano, although it's difficult to say who accompanied who.
    When I fist saw Stan I thought he was somebody else that I knew and so almost ran screaming at him.  Almost.  It was a close call.  He played Motown/70s stuff.  A lot of the Temptations and Stevie Wonder and Otis Redding.  Jamal, if you're reading this, he could have been your twin.  He was funny, too.  They put a blow up penguin on his piano and he kept pretending to choke it.  
    I'd add some kind of video clip (seeing as I'm pretty good at internet stalking now) but I think that might be crossing some lines.  But you should all youtube them.  Especially the Belmonte Brothers, because I already found clips of them :).

Never mind, I've gotten over my qualms.  Here's a few clip (the following clips don't belong to me, etc.):

     Hope you liked part 3 in my Mexican Cruise Installment. Have a nice day!

Noche Buena en Cabo

    As the title suggests, I spent Christmas Eve in Cabo San Lucas.  (Noche Buena means Christmas Eve, btw)
    It was originally home to the Pericú people but today is a massive tourist attraction.  When you first leave the pier, vendors and people advertising tours come at you from all directions.  They have kind faces, calling you "amigo", and offering you toothy smiles.  It's almost regretfully that you must tell them: "lo siento. Ya tenemos un tour", in your heavily accented Spanish.
   We didn't have as much time in Cabo as we did in Mazatlan or Puerto Vallarta, but it was time well spent.  We docked just before noon, and watching the Norwegion Star pull into port was a treat.  We had to be sent ashore via tender boats-to my extreme delight and my father's dismay.  He's easily seasick, you sea (haha!).  But I'm not.  I love the feel of cutting through the waves and sun on bare shoulders. 

Getting into the tender boats. (I'm the one with the blue backpack)

 I thought of an Elizabeth Taylor quote I once heard as we neared Cabo.  My memory butchered it, but I didn't have the luxury of google then.  

"You can't possess radiance, you can only admire it."

   We had an hour to kill before our tour of downtown Cabo, so we walked along the pier, directionless.  Just outside of the duty-free shopping area was a tented market.  A flea market.  A golden opportunity to practice my cringe-worthy Spanish.  And I did, although I didn't end up buying anything.  The vendors were very kind, with the good breeding to tell me-untruthfully-that my Spanish was very good.  Someday I'll go back to Cabo and actually buy things, but bargaining is the fun part.  

  Our tour guide was a good humored Mexican named Armando.  His English, although hardly perfect, was very agreeable.  He took us to a church:

La iglesia de Cabo San Lucas, circa 1700s

and what used to be a commercial tuna fishery.  Cabo used to generate revenue as a fishing town, but now all the fishing is for sport.  Indeed, the world's largest marlin tournament is held in Cabo.  

  After our tour was over, we bid farewell to a still beaming Armando and left to find the location of our glass-bottom boat ride.  It wasn't hard; the pier isn't where you necessarily have to worry about getting lost in.  Downtown is perhaps a different story.  But I digress.

   The glass bottom boat ride was probably my favorite part.  The waters surrounding Cabo are very clear, and fish came right up to the bottom of the boat.  The tour guide told us laughingly that he had rubbed guacamole to attract them.  I still don't know if he was serious.  

The view from the glass-bottom boat ride

   The sun had begun to go down before our ride was finished.  The surface of the water was stained orange and red.  It was something I've never seen before, something I can never forget.  The ocean spray dried on my arm, leaving behind tiny salt crystals, each perfectly formed.  Beautiful. 

  There was a smell, as we neared Scooby-Doo Rock.  (Don't ask me what the real name is because I don't know.  That's what the guy called it, and that's what I'm sticking to(: )  Anyway, it was kind of salty, kind of decaying.  It made my brother sick, but I kind of liked it/couldn't stand it.  There were a number of sea lions calling to each other and swimming about in the water, sunning themselves on the rocks.  I guess I just assumed they were the cause of the odor, but I've seen sea lions before without encountering that smell.  One of life's mysteries, it would seem.  

   A lovely, sunshine-y day.  I wish you could all go there, because even though people call it "California-Mexico" it's still deeply rooted in history. 

The Sun and the Sea

    I keep a personal journal and I was going to write this in there but then I thought: Why not blog about it?  So I am. The pictures were taken by my father.

    My family and I just returned from a 7 day cruise along the Mexican Riviera.  I never used to understand why anybody would pay so much just to eat and shop and dance.  I didn't see why people didn't just fly directly to their destinations and spend as much time as they wanted exploring and hiking.  I'm still not sure what other people's reasons are, but mine is the ocean.  I miss it so much now that it's like a physical pain.  

     I live in California, and beaches are hardly scarce here.  But there is nothing like the rocking movement of a ship cutting through waves.  You can go outside any time you like, and hear the roar of the sea, feel the salty spray, squint into the sun.  I filled half of a new notebook with the things I thought of as I stood there.  Some of the things I wrote are silly, and some quite profound, I think.  But some never got recorded and are lost to me forever.  Technically they're still swimming around in my brain, but I'll never be able to remember them again.  
    What impressed me most about the wide outdoors was not the sea, but the sun.  My father and I woke early on the first day-Monday the 23rd-and went to the 13th deck to watch the sunrise.  It was bitterly and gloriously cold.  An exerpt from my journal:

The sun was magnificent, a great flaming orb that left a golden pathway to it, as if to say: "Come find me if you dare!"  I have never been so moved as I was then, by that sun.  I fancied that if I looked closely enough, I could see the sea mirrored on its fiery surface.  
The sun is very proud.  Its ascent is defiant, almost haughty.  "Admire me, revere me, worship me if you will" the sun says from up high "but I will continue to rise and set even if mankind did not exist.  If every clock in the world broke, I would be unaffected.  At least then you silly humans would see that I am above time, which is after all, a manmade thing."-about an hour later, from the Blue Lagoon Restaurant.

    Now we are back home, and I miss the rocking of the deck.  I miss the way the sun glittered on the surface of the water like a million sapphires.  I miss the bite in the air, and the salt.  I miss Mexico.  
    I still don't like the pounding, meaningless club music they insist on playing 24/7, or the excessive eating, but that's a small price to pay for the sea and the sun and the wind.  
    

“My soul is full of longing
for the secret of the sea,
and the heart of the great ocean
sends a thrilling pulse through me.”

 ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow