T or C to PV

Felicitations on the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul. I am now a couple of weeks behind in this chronicle, but who cares? Though I write from the flesh-pots of Puerto Vallarta, I have a clear recollection of Truth or Consequences. I guess everone knows the story: the old Rdio/TV show offered to originate a broadcast from any town that would change is name. Hot Springs, NM accepted. About 100 miles south of Socorro, T or C is definitely out of the Charming Old New Spain country. It is about as similar to Santa Fe as Chaska. But it has its charm, too. Lots of pastel-plastered buildings ~ mostly motels, it seems ~ trying to catch a ride on the low-rent boom. This is not a high-end tourist destination.

Truth or Consequences, NM

There are lots of people who look like Harry Dean Stanton or extras from a McMurtry film. (The Last Picture Show): scrawny and weather-beaten. Freckled and red-headed. My friends here said that when they emptied the mental hospitals in the ‘70s, many of the patients were sent to T or C. There is a kind of Popeye cartoon ambience to the place.

I don’t mean to make it sound unpleasant. There are LOTS of new fixer-upper motels opening, and plenty of spas advertized. I’m told, howeer, that the only one in which you can actually soak outside is the Riverbend, where I stayed.

The Texas lady with the big blond hair called me “honey” and put me in a nice room for not very much money, including full use of the hot baths. Well,, “nice” is kind. All the rooms are sections of old trailer houses, and they are pretty funky, although clean. One comes here for the hot springs. Luscious hot mineral water overflowing into channels leading to a cascade into the Rio Grande. That’s the othe unique aspect of the Riverbend, it is the only one right on the river. In fact, you can walk down the rock staircase right into the river, if you wish. I didn’t this time, though I have in the past.

My friends here live half the year in MPLS, and they have grown to love this place, and I cn see why. Had a nice long coffee klatch with them before heading off to Tucson.

Not much to report on that trip. There is a place called Hatch, where one leaves the Albuquerque/El Paso freeway tocut off some miles by heading southwest on the state highway. Hatch is in the middle of NM chili-growing country, and I bought a few strings to pass out.

Chilis in Hatch

I had a quiet week in Tucson. Got in touch with my closest friends there, and participated in a Sufi workshop. Then I drove to Berkeley via the back roads. That is, I skipped the coast and drove up through the Mojave desert to Bakersfield.

The desert is quite beautiful. Much more desert than the Sonoran, which is lush by comparison. The Mojave looks like the moon, I drove rigiht past Edwards Airforce Base, famous for space program landings. The only excitement was a stop in Laughlin, NV, where I played craps for an hour and a half, I never got ahead very much, and I figured that breaking even was winning. I got to play for that tome after all – for nothing. The parking is even free. I didn’t spend a cent. And in all it was pretty boring.

Laughlin, NV

Berkeley was fun for the shot time (three days) I was there. My friend Milan, the Slovenian craftsman (interiors) now manages a building in the Castro, where he keeps an apartment for guests like me. It is quite spiffy ~ the first time I have ever spent the night in a modern house in the Bay Area ~ one bedroom with a little balcony, where he cooked a fine steak for me, and a nice basement garage where I left my car. Then I went to bed early so I would be ready when he came to take me to the airport at 3:30. When I return in a couple of weeks, I think I will divide my time between Milan’s and the place in Berkeley.

The flight to Puerto Vallarta connecting in Denver was pleasant – planes half-full both legs, so I could spread out. And a comfortable three hours in Denver to look at the snow and eat breakfast. I slept a lot on both flights. It is just over two hours from Denver to PV, and my old friend, David Kimball was at the airport to meet me. (Old-time Minnesotans will remember his father’s column in the Strib ~ Jim Kimball.) David is now getting ready to retire. His wife, Teresa, is extremely busy with real estate.

Tourism is a big deal in PV. The entire economy is based on tourism, and there is a lot of buying and selling of property. This is a mixed blessing, as David explained, because there is virtually no regulation and he is afraid of the Golden Egg phenomenon. Fifty years ago, Puerto Vallarta was a village of 10,000 living on the edge of a large banana plantation. Then Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor, and Ava Gardener made Night of the Iguana here, and now there are million-and counting Vallartistas. The problem is, that if they aren’t careful they could end up like Acapulco. Did you ever wonder, as I have, why you never hear about Acapulco anymore? Well, it’s because they overbuilt so much that the whole place is now like Miami Beach: shoulder-to-shoulder high-rise hotels on the beach. As Yogi Berra would say, “Nobody goes there anymore ~ it’s too crowded.” Not only that, it is not particularly fun, because of crime. The kid behind the counter at my hotel is from there and he says he much prefers PV.

Here, everybody seems to be quite conscious of the side on which their bread is buttered. They are very courteous and genuinely friendly. The traffic stops for pedestrians. They are proud that the streets are safe for tourists at night. They are making a decent living, and they don’t seem oppressed. They don’t want Acapulco’s reputation. But no one has a handle on the sprawl and density problem. Sitting on the terrace of their hillside apartment last night, David and Teresa explained it to me, pointing out the forty-story hotels way across the bay. (We are in the old town, most of the new building is on the north side of the enormous bay.)

Everybody who builds a condo or a hotel has to make it as high as possible, so that more units will fit on the land and each one will be cheaper. If they don’t, the one next door will and be able to sell theirs for less. Since there is no political will to enforce any regulations, the developers just do what they want. Including building condos and apartments in places where they will probably collapse. This is earthquake and mudslide country. David is worried. The Goose that Laid the Golden Egg is in danger of slaughter.

Still, while it lasts, it’s fun. One commentator calls PV the “anything goes blue-collar destination.” It is pretty affordable, although not miraculously so. Prices in restaurants seem to be about what they are in MPLS, which makes them a great deal by San Francisco and New York standards. I had no idea that PV is also “the Castro of Mexico”! But right down the street is a welter of restaurants and night-spots that are, apparently, famous in the gay world. David says the restaurant scene here is exceptional, and from what I have experienced so far he’s right. I had a fabulous veal shank at an Austrian place in a snazzy hotel across the street. Andreas, the owner, came over to say hello to David. It’s named Kaiser Maximillian, which puzzled me until David reminded me of the ill-fated French “Emperor” of Mexico and his Austrian wife. Max died in front of a firing squad after losing to the forces of the great Benito Juarez. Tonight we’re going out for some Red Snapper somewhere.

That turned out to be a lovely place right on the malecon or “boardwalk”. The Swede and German who started it ten years ago began by borrowing some plastic tables and chairs form friendly restauranteurs. They had no money at all. Literally. Six months later, they were able to give back the tables and chairs. Now they have a number of restaurants, and they employ hundreds of people. They rode the wave of development, and it’s kind of nice to hear about. It is hard to argue with all the jobs created, and all the good-looking young people making their way out of poverty. But I sound like a capitalist! At some level, the whole thing may turn out to be a ponzi scheme, I suppose.

Lunch with David, again on the beach. This time at one of the oldest local restaurants, Las Palapas. It dates back to the pre Night of the Iguana days. As you msay know, a palapa is a roof made out of leaves, mostly for shade. The restaurant started out as a palapa over a concrete slab next to the sand. It is pretty much that still, only glorified. It is an extremely pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

Then in the evening, I walked down into the old town for dinner by myself. I found an asaderia with a three-piece band (guitar, drum, and old-fashioned, wooden-block marimba of liquid tone). Here the price was definitiely right: $11.50 for all-you-can-eat barbecue including a half chicken, fajita steak strips, chorizo, BBQ ribs accompanied by a roasted young green onion, homemade tortillas, hot roasted peppers, “cowboy” style beans, and three sauces (red, green, and pico de gallo), and preceded by chips and two lovely little quesadillas with interesting fillings. I don’t think I could find that in Minneapolis.

I have a feeling that this part of the blog is going to be mostly about eating, although David promises some excursions into the back country this weekend.