As part of the Casa week experience, we took a dip into the big city of Puerto Vallarta yesterday, and to be true to the local culture, we took a city bus to get there. A young local woman, pregnant with a tiny boy in tow, waited with us, and he delighted when she bought him a bag of sliced up cucumbers to snack on during the bumpy ride. The best thing about PV is the oceanfront Malecon. Here the Pacific crashes fiercely on big black rocks with the big cement walkway providing space for all manner of vendors and entertainers.
Corn shucked from grilled cobs at one stand included a vast selection of hot sauces; another stand proffered chunks of watermelon and pineapple for just 20 pesos. Crepe makers had great waterfront real estate too, their crepes looked a lot better than the wobbly, floppy tortillas we made here at the casa. There were restaurants of all description, and it was one of those times when it’s hard to politely make a choice. Happily, our priorities were simple: pasta and a good crowd watching view. We fo
und both and settled into a fine meal with lots of vegetables, a perfect bunch of bites for our palates that had had enough rice and beans for a while.
In a big cement amphitheater a short little mime mimicked faces and movements of the crowd. His whistling captured the perfect Bronx cheer as the little man primped and postured, feigning great shock and puffing out his chest as the crowd roared approval. No one needed any Spanish to take part in the joke, and I had to be pulled away to get to dinner. That mime just held me rapt, like everyone I was convinced it was me he was mocking.