The Big Manzana

The Malecon in Puerto Vallarta

Photo by Geoff Carter

My wife and I recently visited the city of Puerto Vallarta for about a month. We stayed in Old Vallarta, the extreme south side of town which is relatively far removed from the glitz and glitter of the big hotels, all-inclusive resorts, boozy neon-soaked nightclubs, and glutted cruise ships. While there were hotels on our side of town, they never extended more than a block or two into the neighborhood of quaint shops, street vendors, and bakeries. Unlike the more commercialized side of Vallarta, most of the people in our neighborhood spoke only Spanish. While one might expect this section of town to be quiet and sleepy, it was anything but that. 

Despite the incessant tropical heat, people were constantly on the move, going to work, shopping, or working on their rooftop gardens. We’ve been to Vallarta a few times before this, but on this trip, I was struck with the constant pulse of bustle and life. It reminded me of something, but it took a few days for me to figure out what. 

We were walking to the Baca Grande Alejandro, our local mercado one day when we passed by three separate curbside vendors selling Al pastor (a delicious combination of pork and pineapple) to walk-up customers. The place was bustling with families, workers on their way home, neighborhood kids, and tourists—both Mexican and gringo. People were everywhere, and while it was hot, everyone seemed relaxed and comfortable.

I realized then how similar the Vallarta vibe was to the feeling I get when I’m in New York City. Granted, there are no skyscrapers or conspicuous opulence (at least on our side of town) but there is a lot of hustle and bustle—and hustling—as well as herds of ubiquitous taxis. They’re everywhere. The streets are always busy. 

Vendors sell peeled mangoes, tacos, and freshly squeezed juice from street stands. Merchants incessantly—sometimes annoyingly—hawk their wares. Tourism is the life blood of Vallarta, and the constant throbbing of the city is tuned to the needs and wants of the tourists, be they American, Canadian, European, South American, or Mexican. We met people from everywhere, including weekenders from Guadalajara, cruise ship day trippers, and Mexicans from Monterrey, Mexico City, and Chihuahua. 

Even though PV has a thriving club scene, we didn’t get to experience much of the night life, but on one of our frequent twilight walks along the Malecon (the local boardwalk), we happened upon a local church festival on the plaza of the beautiful Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe, featuring a deejay, dancing, and a large array of food and drink stands. The crowd danced all night to everything from traditional favorites to salsas to a line dance of the Spanish version of “Achy Breaky Heart”. It was great fun and reminded me of another church festival we ran across. 

Years ago, Kris and I were in New York City, wandering through Little Italy. We ate lunch at a nice café, did some shopping, and then continued exploring. As we turned a corner, we saw a block party going on. The streets were blocked off and there all sorts of booths, food stands, and displays. We realized we’d stumbled across an annual neighborhood Catholic Church festival. There was even a small midway complete with carnival rides on the site.  I was amazed that the carnival workers had somehow fitted a series of rides into an empty lot at the end of the block. The cars of the Ferris Wheel came so close to the wall of the adjoining building that you could just about fit a credit card between them.

As we walked through, church patrons descended upon us—in a nice way, asking us to buy lottery tickets or to throw a hoop over a bottle of wine to win it. We had our pictures taken in those dopey oversized chairs. In short, for a New York minute, we were part of the family. Of course, there was a quid pro quo, but we didn’t really care. It was for a good cause, and it felt great being even a small part of the community. 

The Puerto Vallarta church fair had the same vibe. It was like being at a family wedding. We were welcomed with open arms by the dancers, almost all the participants. As I was feeling the beat on the sidelines, a wizened old woman beckoned to me onto the floor, and I had to dance with her. It was a ton of fun. 

The other oddity I marked in Old Vallarta was the traffic. There are very few marked intersections there, probably because they don’t seem to need them. Drivers are ultra-courteous, almost always letting pedestrians past first (definitely not an NYC characteristic). Drivers were also very patient with other drivers, letting them go instead of jockeying for position like bridesmaids waiting for the bride’s bouquet to be thrown. I was thinking that perhaps the reason for this might have been the cobblestone streets; they tend to inhibit super-speeders. 

Puerto Vallarta and New York City are worlds apart. One is a cosmopolitan center of international commerce, the arts, and high fashion. The other is a bustling resort town inscribed to its core with traditional culture, a center for the arts, and adjacent to a thriving agricultural industry. Their commonalities, however, go much deeper than economics or superficial cultural features. There is an energy, a drive, a sense of purpose that lies at the heart of these cities. It’s not only the need to earn a paycheck that drives these diverse populations, but something more, a need to wring the last drop of marrow out of life.

I haven’t really ever felt this sort of vibe in San Francisco, St. Louis, or even Chicago—well, maybe Chicago—or Miami. Of course, in my limited experience, I haven’t to any European or Asian cities, so I can’t speak to whether the NYC/PV vibe exists elsewhere—or anywhere outside my imagination. 

Leaning over my balcony and watching the people of Vallarta, in all their diverse ages, appearances, demeanors, and attitudes, I thought that maybe the commonality between the two was their constant ebb and flow of international visitors—and immigrants. Maybe the mix—and tolerance—of international tastes, attitudes, and sensibilities is what gives these cities their special energies, their singular vibe. Because it’s not the skyline or the history that makes a city—it’s the people, and the spicier the mix, the tastier the dish.