Another long one. Part One today, Part Two tomorrow. Enjoy. GOING MY WAY? Not long ago, I decided it would be fun to take buses from here to there and maybe back again. The buses run often and the fare cant be beat--six and a have pesos or around fifty cents. Even though there are no transfers--one must pay each time one boards a bus--it is an inexpensive way to see the city and surrounding countryside. Catching a bus can be tedious for me, mostly because the closest bus stop is almost a half mile away from my home. However, its an easy walk through the neighborhood and once I reach the corner, I usually dont have to wait long for a bus heading close to where Id like to go. Over the years, Ive become familiar with Puerto Vallarta, having driven to and from El Centro and Zona Romantica more times than I can count. Interestingly though, I dont remember many landmarks or side street names so finding where to get off without having to walk another half mile can and has been a challenge. There seem to be three different bus lines...the green line, the blue line, and the orange line. I have seen white buses from time to time but I think they maybe just havent been painted yet. For my purposes, I take a green bus...the Tunel bus drops me in Zona Romantica not far from the beach and the Centro bus drops me in, well, anywhere I wish in El Centro or I can take it to Zona Romantica not far from the beach. Thats the end of the line, so to speak, at least in town. There are many other ends of the line throughout the greater and lesser Puerto Vallarta area. Trust me. I know. One afternoon, I planned to meet with the girls at Cheeky Monkey, a restaurant/bar right on the Malecon. I decided to take a bus and then see if I could get back home again, as Id not accomplished the return trip yet by bus. Taking a cab home is much easier though more expensive. Anyway, my timing wasnt real great this particular day. I had to catch the bus along with many students as the several schools in the neighborhood had just let out. Well, the children, once they got on the bus, were noisy but polite and a handsome young gentleman offered me his bench. I took the window seat and was lucky to catch a breeze from time to time through the open windows. I realized when I boarded the bus that it was the Tunel bus and I was going to end up in Zona Romantica. Cheeky Monkey is in Centro. I didnt figure the walk from the end of the line and down the Malecon would be too strenuous, and I thought I had on good walking shoes. Teva sandals are not good for walking more than a few blocks, as it turns out. But, my only alternative was to take a cab and that would be a ridiculous waste of money better spent on a nice cold beer. Id gotten on the wrong bus deliberately, so off I went on foot. Did I mention it was unseasonably hot? No? It was unseasonably hot and I had nothing with which to mop my brow--I mean--nothing with which to dry my whole body. Like a beach towel. I was dripping by the time I reached my first resting point. I felt conspicuous sweating bullets and panting like a thirsty dog. Well, I was thirsty, Ill admit. After one more rest stop...I am so out of shape...I finally arrived at Cheeky Monkey and had to --gasp--climb two flights of stairs. The girls, already seated comfortably and sipping assorted beverages, looked at me, pulled out a chair and immediately ordered a beer and a cold, wet towel. Yup. My face was beet red. Once I cooled off, we spent a pleasant couple of hours enjoying and shooting the breeze. Lovely ladies all. Well, then it was time to return home. Here is an interesting thing. I know what color bus to catch to get home but I have not idea of the route number. I knew Id seen a Playa Grande bus stop near my house, so it stood to reason I should attempt to find a green bus going to Playa Grande. Im just so darn logical. Anyway, my friend Donna and I caught a bus that traveled north on Francisco Villa to Donnas stop at Vienna. Thats a street name. We decided I should de-bus, too, as the one we were on, while green, wasnt going to Playa Grande. Donna was a sweetheart. She waited with me, in the heat, until the right bus arrived. I doubt we waited more than five minutes. Anyway, I climbed aboard, paid my fare, and waved to my friend. The bus was crowded but I located a seat near the center of the vehicle, settle in, and off we went, serenaded by a singer who accompanied himself on his guitar. The musicians ride for free it seems, and then hope to collect tips from their captive audience. Sometimes, frozen ice vendors sell their wares up and down the aisles, too. Thats interesting if the bus is crowded. The bus continued north, stopping and starting until we arrived in the small town of El Pitillal, which is north and west of where I live. Im quite familiar with the town--well, I thought I was familiar with it. Not even close. Im familiar with the plaza and the small area around the plaza. Thats it. Anyway, we turned the corner at the church and headed east then north then east then north again.. The bus just kept going and stopping and going and stopping, letting riders off and picking up new fares. For miles, it seemed. At a couple of the initial stops, I thought I recognized the surroundings and actually toyed with the idea of getting off but I had no idea if I would be able to catch another bus heading south, which is where I needed to be heading, so I just stayed in my seat. Finally, we came to a shaded area where other buses were parked. Parked! And, a bunch of bus drivers were sitting near the river eating their lunches. I looked around and discovered I was the only passenger on the bus. The driver and I shared a laugh when I exclaimed in surprise, Solo yo? which in my mind meant, Im the only one left? I got off the bus and learned that I was, indeed, in Playa Grande although on the north side of the river, not that it mattered. Another bus would soon return to Pitillal then travel south on Francisco Villa. Okay. I got on that bus, paid the fare and off we went, more or less reversing the route taken by the last bus. By the time we arrived at the Macro Center (Walmart, etc.), I knew I was probably at least two miles from home and had no hope of finding a bus to take me there. I got off and hailed a cab. At this point, taking a taxi was my only option--home was just a little too far for me to walk--and I was disappointed at my obvious failure to figure anything out, except how to get to Playa Grande. Thats fine. I happen to like the village immensely. When Judie was still alive, the bunch of us spent a lovely afternoon on the river at a restaurant Gaby knew of. I made the decision that I would again find a bus to take me to Playa Grande and I would find the restaurant and spend another lovely afternoon there, but this time, by myself. An excerpt from soon to be published Animal Crackers Chronicles and Other Anecdotes by Judith St. Gaudens Copyright 2013...All rights reserved
Posted on: Sun, 28 Sep 2014 19:11:10 +0000
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