Old and new blend in Puerto Vallarta

By Lau­rence Iliff
Dal­las Morn­ing News
Posted: 01/15/2009 12:24:14 PM PST
http://www.mercurynews.com/lifeandstyleheadlines/ci_11462195

PUERTO VALLARTA, Mex­ico — Two states of mind co-exist in this resort area on Mexico’s warm Pacific Coast. And they couldn’t be more dif­fer­ent, as my sis­ter and I discovered.

To the north of the air­port lies spank­ing new Nuevo Val­larta in Nayarit state. To the south, old Val­larta in Jalisco.

My sis­ter and her hus­band stayed at the new jewel of Nayarit’s tourism indus­try — the Four Sea­sons Resort at Punta Mita — and even weeks of plan­ning weren’t enough for them to get the digs they wanted.

They ended up slum­ming, rel­a­tively speak­ing, in the cheap­est room at just over $600 per night with twin beds and no ocean view.

I, on the other hand, was actu­ally slum­ming, pick­ing the best bar­gain I could find on a cou­ple of weeks’ notice in the heart of old Puerto Vallarta.

My entire pack­age — three days, two nights in a two-star hotel and round-trip air­fare from Mex­ico City — was still $200 shy of their nightly room rate. And their six-day hol­i­day cost thou­sands of dollars.

Val­larta, to use the generic term that cov­ers both old and new areas, is unique among Mex­i­can resorts in the vari­ety of what it offers along more than 50 miles of beau­ti­ful coast­line. It ranges from cob­ble­stone streets bor­dered by out­door cafes pop­u­lar among the locals, to absolute seclu­sion where Eng­lish is the offi­cial lan­guage and the only other peo­ple you will see are fel­low guests and the hosts.

Amer­i­cans are flock­ing to buy multimillion-dollar beach lots in Nayarit as well as hill­side con­dos in the so-called “roman­tic zone” in the extreme south of the port.

I was deter­mined to enjoy my vaca­tion on the cheap and not allow it to pale in com­par­i­son to my rel­a­tives’ just because of the thou­sands of dol­lars that marked the gap between our budgets.

But let’s start this jour­ney in the lap of luxury.

FOR A PRICE

I tracked down my sis­ter and brother-in-law in the bustling air­port on a Sat­ur­day. They were easy enough to find since their dri­ver was wait­ing for them with a promi­nent sign.

We were whisked into a nearby Sub­ur­ban and offered moist tow­els and refreshments.

About 45 min­utes later, the Four Sea­sons guard tower appeared, and we were waved in by smil­ing greeters.

Min­utes later, an English-language tour of the exten­sive grounds com­menced aboard an elec­tric golf cart. Soon, we were nosh­ing on the chips, gua­camole and salsa spread out before our arrival.

On our first walk­a­bout, a peace­ful­ness filled the jungle-like grounds where the ocean ebbed far below, birds chirped and only the occa­sional pass­ing of a golf cart momen­tar­ily broke the spell of being on a deserted island.

More than a hotel, the Four Sea­sons at Punta Mita is a par­a­disi­a­cal com­pound, with gourmet restau­rants, a full-service spa, and acres and acres dot­ted with the agave plants used to make tequila.

The set­ting is strik­ing, set on a hill­side over­look­ing a remark­able chunk of sandy, wild real estate.

Live gui­tar music wafts through the lobby, voices are kept to a mur­mur, the stars are brighter because of the seclu­sion, and the ocean pro­vides the soundtrack.

ON THE CHEAP

Shift south.

Diesel buses and music blar­ing from over­taxed radios at taco stands were the first sounds I heard after ven­tur­ing a half-block from my hotel, El Pescador.

But inside, the hotel was quiet and clean. I passed up the $16 per night charge for an ocean view and even turned down the $5 per night mini-fridge.

With two con­ve­nience stores and a super­mar­ket within two blocks, cold drinks and cheap food were five min­utes away.

So was the bus stop. As I waited for my room to be read­ied, I ven­tured toward the sea wall area, or malecón, which took about 10 min­utes by bus. Cost: 45 cents.

The sea wall is dot­ted with sculp­tures, some whim­si­cal (aliens walk­ing up a lad­der on their way back to outer space) and some with a local feel (a Mex­i­can cou­ple danc­ing in tra­di­tional dress).

On the other side of the street, early after­noon party-types were buy­ing drinks along the seem­ingly end­less line of restau­rants, bars and clubs that face the ocean, my favorite being the Cuban haunt Bode­guita del Medio.

As the sea wall ends, the Zona Roman­tica begins. It’s dom­i­nated by older hotels, some remod­eled, oth­ers in just pass­able shape. But most are inex­pen­sive, and nearly every­thing is within walk­ing distance.

The area has out­door cafes, sand­wich shops and retro bars.

After tak­ing the bus back to the hotel, I found my room tidy if a lit­tle dark. My win­dow looked onto a hall­way. Only a sliver of ocean was visible.

The pool was sim­ple but nice, and there was free Inter­net ser­vice in the lobby (or a com­puter with Inter­net that could be rented).

Dur­ing my week­end stay, the beach was packed near the restau­rants and bars, but not so much in other areas.

Drinks were cheap, about $2.50, and included an umbrella for shade and a cou­ple of chairs.

Malecón night life was lively, with dif­fer­ent musi­cal styles pour­ing from both gringo-ish and very chic Mex­i­can clubs, and the Zona Roman­tica was hop­ping well past midnight.

My sis­ter and her hus­band were prob­a­bly already asleep. The Four Sea­sons lobby-bar had closed, and the place prob­a­bly was dead quiet.

But that was the beauty of slum­ming. With $20 in my pocket, I could stay out late and have enough for a $4 dol­lar taxi ride back to my hotel and drinks on the beach the next day.

There, I would close my eyes and hear the same ocean that was crash­ing onto sands at Punta Mita, and the same seag­ulls, inter­rupted, to be sure, by mur­mur­ing voices.

All in all, it’s still the beach, still Val­larta, and def­i­nitely worth every cent.