This place brings out the kid in us in so many ways. These days I’m observing adults – many pushing the envelope toward the senior label – navigating our narrow, torn up El Centro streets with apparent glee.

It’s hard to understand why the city has chosen the tourist high season to rip and puncture streets and sidewalks to lay cable and hide wires. As a consequence, dozens of intersections are obstacle courses – dangerous from a traffic point of view, not to mention the possibility of just one misstep putting you in a stinky black pit. Work is progressing rapidly, however, and the public continually notified about where to expect disruptions.

Well, far be it from me to tell people how to enjoy themselves. I guess the powerfully playful tenor of this town is contagious, winning over attitudes about how things should be and resulting in a devil-may-care attitude.

In on the act myself when going about my business and attending those wonderful evening Old Town Art Walks where thousands of patrons and would-be socialites (some in, would you believe, high, high heels) roam downtown streets in gaggles, dropping into one fabulous gallery after another to check out art, see and be seen and, last but in some instances not least, have a free nip or two.

Can you remember hearing in your head as a kid that warning refrain “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back?” Well, being obsessive, I know it well. And watching these modern-day adventurers step gingerly but oh so cleverly around holes and climb heaps of dirt or skirt their parameters, I see on their faces an expression of joyful competence usually limited to very young children when successfully doing really risky things like avoiding those havoc-wreaking sidewalk cracks.

Personally, as I continue challenging the odds by being out and about a lot, an old show biz axiom has started poking through my consciousness: “Break a leg.”

Not one to do today what could just as well be done tomorrow – notice I’ve made my home in Mexico rather than, say, Germany or Japan – I often put myself under unnecessary time pressure. Usually I pull it off, but an unexpected, wild and wacky ride recently almost blew my cover.

Leaving my Marina Vallarta office at 7 pm, headed to a long-overdue meeting with an El Centro client who was leaving at 8, I thought I’d be fine since the bus ride takes approximately 30 minutes. Eager to get there, I hopped aboard the first bus saying “Centro.”

After verifying with the driver that indeed he was headed into town, I sat happily at a window seat dreamily mulling over my life as the bus rattled along. Abruptly, my reverie ended as we veered off the road to town. “Excuse me,” I said, “but are we going to El Centro? Why are we going this way? Was there an accident?”

“No problem, senora,” he cheerily responded. “Un ratito and we’ll be in Centro.”
Encouraged, since that indicated we should be at my destination any moment now, I became progressively more dubious as we weaved and bounced in a convoluted route down alleys and dirt paths, past cattle ranches, open-air churches, new cookie-cutter government housing developments and dust-laden vegetation like I’d never seen. Strongly tempted to freak out – I just couldn’t be late for this appointment I’d made in the nick of time to save my professional reputation – as the ratito became five, then 10 minutes, then half an hour, I let myself relax into the moment – and the unexpected adventure.

And that it was. I discovered parts of Vallarta, including the La Floresta and Bobadilla neighborhoods. I’d long heard of them, but didn’t know where they were. Happily, now I do – and I made my appointment with time to spare.

If you have any comments, questions or suggestions about what you’re reading, you’re encouraged to let me know at heather@mexmags.com.