IMAGES FROM A JET-LAGGED LASS
By Pamela Gopala

Bright. Oh sooooo bright, and as luck would have it, I had lost my sunglasses on my flight over. Ironic really, considering I could count on one hand how many times I had used them at my last city of residence. As I stood there blinking wildly, a thought flitted through my mind, "You're not in Kansas anymore." Even in the haze of jet lag I realized Puerto Vallarta was to be a far cry from my usual ports of call, pardon the pun if you will.

To be honest, when my fiancé Daniel first told me of his transfer here, the only recollection I had of this town was it being part of the fictitious and now discontinued 'Love Boat' itinerary. Er...yes (I admit with much reluctance), I was one of the legions of fans hooked on this cheesy, feel-good, cliche-ridden surpassed only by its use of blue eye-shadow, Aaron Spelling hit of the early eighties. My excuse? Well...I was young and impressionable...REALLY young. But I digress, basically the extent of my knowledge was that it was a seaside town somewhere on the western coast of Mexico. What soon followed was many an hour spent surfing the net, trying to glean as much knowledge as I could on what was to be my home for the next two years. Nothing, however, would have prepared me for what was to greet me, for no site could have put into words what I saw and felt that first day.

Sunshine, blazes of it. Now I know I seem quite obsessed with this theme, but you must understand that for the past few years I had been living in the United Kingdom, where, as I am sure a lot of you know, rain is a frequent visitor, a way of life really. Did I mention the many cold fronts? No? Well countless played host during my stay there (you never actually put away all your winter clothing in England, ahhhh that would just not do, my dear).

Don't get me wrong, I loved London, weather and all, but it's no wonder I now can add it to my ever-growing list of obsessions...I mean passions.

Anyway (sorry darlings, I do tend to go round and round the bush) as I walked out of the airport arm-in-arm with Daniel, the warmth enveloped me like a favourite old sweater whose threads seem in constant threat of tearing and yet, its comfort surpasses anything else you could have in your bulging wardrobe. A few minutes later I was home and the view from the apartment was quite simply breathtaking. Our apartment you see, is located in Marina Vallarta, and our balcony has a bird's eye view of the lighthouse, yachts, the many restaurants, yachts...er did I mention the yachts?

Seriously though, as soon as I walked on 'deck' I was just captured by the whole vibe of the place. It was so alive, so colourful it penetrated the daze I was under (my internal clock was telling me it was evening, though my eyes were definitely not registering cocktail hour).

As disorientated as I felt I readily agreed to going into town and taking the bus. Well, take a bus we did, except that instead of the ride taking the usual 20 minutes, it took an hour and a half. You see even though the bus was heading to the "Centro,” it was also heading elsewhere before that.

Realizing our mistake a little too late into the game, I settled down to enjoy the scenic, albeit bumpy (sans shock absorbers?) ride. I was completely captivated, I had never encountered anything so... rustic for want of a better word. Yes, in all of my journeys and at the risk of sounding like some colonial overlord, never had I seen such quaintness! The houses, the lanes that appeared out of nowhere, the pebbled streets, the buskers on the bus who burst into song, the ease at which people moved much like their languid musical version of the Spanish language. I was enthralled, for even though I had seen some of these images at the movies, nothing as the people at Coke say "comes close to the real thing.” And what about those smells? My nose seemed to be picking up everything foreign, food scents dominated, but in close contention was the definite smell of the country, a cross between freshly mowed grass and closely tilled soil.

By the time we got into town my mind had gone on sensory overdrive. My ears were aching, people sure like to use their car horns here, the chatter, the many time-share salesmen pitching their deal of the day, it was all getting a bit much. However there was at least one more thing I needed to do before getting the much needed sleep my body craved and that was to eat. |

Like many, my introduction to 'Mexican' food previous to this was solely at the many Tex-Mex establishments that seemed to sprout out profusely overseas. Needless to say authentic was hardly the word du jour at these places. Here, however, a myriad of tastes awaited me. As my starter I had some quesadillas, which have become a true favorite - I've even attempted them at home. Next, mole, which I had heard about - chocolate in a savory sauce? Intriguing and well worth the wait, for it just danced around my palate. I WAS HOOKED. My hips, my thighs were all a-quiver as they payed homage and was it my imagination or was my waistline expanding literally before my eyes? Other dishes beckoned and I could wax lyrically till the end of time on my first meal in P.V, but that might start me salivating uncontrollably and we don't want that, trust me!
My first day - what a day. All in all, I liked what I saw, different yes, but relatively easy to adapt. And no, I am not looking at Puerto Vallarta through 'tourist-fueled' glasses. I know life can be hard here, that poverty exists and I realize that what I see and feel is always going to be from a foreigner's point of view. And, of course, I miss some comforts of home, but home for me right now is here and when I see a child's smile and the warmth at which I'm received even as I botch up their native tongue, my cup runneth over.