High octane golf

     Trevor's dad offered to take Cally for a few days and let us enjoy PV on our own. WHOOOP! We felt like a couple of kids in a candy store. 

     "What do you want to do first?" I asked redundantly. Trevor is a golf fanatic and since we moved to Manitoba and golf became affordable, getting him off of the green is about as easy as trying to convince a flamer that spandex doesn't look good on everyone.

     We walked over to the Marina golf club to peruse the grounds and check the rates for a round of 18. I very nearly fell over when I saw the fees: $129 for the green fees, $50 for the clubs and another $50 for the honor of sitting in the golf cart to watch Trevor play. We decided to come back again when the Mexican sun was at it's peak the twilight rates were in effect ...yes when you love something you can pretty much justify any price and so, twilight fees paid in full- one round of golf came to around $200. I shudder to think of how long a family in PV could survive on $2000 pesos. A lot longer than the 3 1/2 hours it took to finish the course.  

     Golf Digest gave the course 3 1/2 stars back in 2008. I'm not sure how good that means the course is but to me, it was swanky enough. Trevor practically orgasmed as he hit the ball off of the first tee and he couldn't wipe the silly grin from his face for the next 17 holes. There were certain hazards, beyond sand and water that were a bit of a shock. The first were the Iguana's on the road. They had no fear of the cart and took their Mexican time getting out of the way.

The second were the crocodiles.The signs were posted everywhere, "do not approach the crocodiles." Well, I certainly hadn't planned on walking up to one of the scaly lizards and giving it a pet but before we actually saw one I wondered how much truth there was to the stories I'd heard of golfers loosing arms or legs. I figured, like most stories, they were an exaggeration and the biggest croc we'd see, if we even saw one at all, would be a baby- maybe 4 feet long. Nothing to squeal about.

     The guys ahead of us were also from MB and we'd been following their game pretty closely. The last of their party was just teeing off when I saw the first big croc, "OH JESUS!" I exclaimed, white knuckling the sides of the cart- my fight or flight reflex sending adrenaline coursing through my veins.

     "Kim, shut up," Trevor whispered, reminding me that you aren't supposed to make noise when someone else is swinging a club. But I couldn't help it. This thing was a monster, and what's more, it was only a few feet from the green where Trevor's ball lay waiting. 

I filmed his short game, thinking "well, if he gets bitten the only thing I'll be able to do about it is document evidence. Maybe we'll get a settlement of some sort..." It was a nerve wracking putt on the green, for me at least. Trevor didn't seem too bothered and the croc didn't move at all.

     We saw several more of the hideous beasts lining the water hazards but both Trevor and I decided that any ball that landed in the water was going to be considered lost. For the first game of the season, Trevor's score was actually pretty good. Of course, now he's got the itch and is already fantasizing about all the golf he's going to play in the summertime. I might as well prepare myself for my summer title of "golf widow' right now- it's impossible to ignore that crazy gleam in his eyes.

Salmonella and E. Coli por favor

 

Chicken Quesidillas at the outdoor market

      We had it on good authority that one of the local markets got it's fresh fruits and veggies on Tuesday and so bright and early Tuesday morning we taxied it to Wal-Mart and then walked the 10 blocks to the market with Greg and Nathalie. As we ventured under the first canopied market stall I was fondly reminded of years gone by, shopping in Montreal at the Marche Jean Talon. The summer of 2004 was a summer of endings, beginnings and food- glorious food. I spent five weeks at the University of Montreal completing a french language course with University students from all over the country. The Federal Government paid for the program in an effort to integrate more Canadian anglos with the french language and Quebec culture. All I had to pay for was the flight to Montreal and the rest- lodging at the university dorms and a weekly allotment of money for groceries- was provided by the Feds. I used my money well, exploring new cuisine and trying new dishes. One of my favorite places to visit was, of course, the Marche Jean Talon. An all-season long outdoor market, it was the biggest in the city. With row after appealing row of vendors offering the freshest strawberries, crispiest lettuce and ripest melons, my mouth still salivates thinking about it. Shops lining the market grounds complimented the season's freshest wares with buttery french pastries and a seemingly endless selection of mouthwatering cheeses. I don't recall eating meat much that summer, but with wine, cheese and fruit en mass- I know I don't remember missing it either.
     Choosing a vegetarian diet in Mexico, however, is more of a health choice than a matter of taste. That was the decision I made once I ventured beyond the first nostalgic fruit stall and really got into the heart of the market. The smell alone was enough to send anyone with sensitive olfactories into the street to vomit. Pigs feet, chicken feet, feet feet feet... And any other animal part you could wish for. I know what I didn't wish for...tapeworms. Of course, we had made a meal of chicken quesidillas at a taco stand on the edge of the market before we'd actually ventured into it's heart and the prevailing sight of vats of boiling oil and pig skin made the (God I hope it was well-cooked) chicken roll around uncomfortably in my stomach. I didn't get too many pictures of the place...I was too busy trying to get to the exit. An authentic experience for sure!

Red snapper has a distinct smell but these were caught only a few hours earlier.

The lady assured me that these chickens were killed fresca esta manana (fresh this morning).

Up and down the street

To get anywhere from our resort you have to walk. This suited us just fine. Old Vallarta is teeming with interesting sights. Some of the funniest things we saw were right outside our door. Across the street, right next to the looming stairway to hell is one of the innumerable pharmacies in PV. These pharmacies sell everything a foreigner might need: toothpaste, diarrhea pills, diapers and of course, sunscreen. Woe betide the forgetful traveler who arrives in Mexico without his sunscreen. While every pharmacy offers a colorful variety of products to deal with sunburn prevention or treatment the average price is about $20.00 a bottle.

     Another thing pharmacies sell in Mexico are prescriptions. While on the surface this might not seem unusual, the fact that you can buy all of the prescription medication here without a single endorsement from a doctor, however, is definitely different. Yes any Joe Blow can walk in off the street and buy just about any drug you can think of. Pharmacies are so competitive down here that they list their most popular drugs on billboards outside their shops to try and entice septuagenarians to buy Viagra at their shop rather than the one down the street.

    It's interesting to note that the drugs listed first on the billboard outside our resort are for erectile dysfunction and heartburn. Obviously the old guys who stay near us need a lot of help keeping their boners up and their burritos down.
     Of course there is another way to work with erectile dysfunction and that is to indulge in one of the many many Mexican massage parlors in and around our neighborhood. Most of the ones on our street were nothing more that one small room. Staffed by one man wearing greasy hair and a white tank top. These massage parlors promise stress relief either on site or as a room service. Happy endings are a sure bet and it's funny to think that this form of prostitution is so mundane that many massage parlors advertise explicitly.

Comida!

     Lets talk about food for a moment shall we? This is one of my favorite subjects and it's been hard holding back this long. I LOVE to talk about food, I love cooking it, tasting it and savoring new flavors. I will generally try anything once just to say that I have (insects and certain seafoods excluded). Our mission when we got to Mexico was to try new things. To enjoy foods that we could read about on the internet but were hard-pressed to find in rural Manitoba. Here are some of the most common Mexican dishes we sampled during our stay:

     Antojitos mexicanos

(Photos courtesy of the WWW)

 1. Guacamole: This is made fresh. I mean they don't cut into the avocado until after you order. Basically your ingredients are avocado, cilantro, white onion, salt and lime juice. In my books, this dip is improved with chili powder and tomato but in general, the first five ingredients are par for the course around here.

   2.Salsa fresca: SOOOOOOO much better than canned salsa, this fresh version is made from seeded tomatoes, cilantro, jalapeno peppers (with the seeds), white onion, line juice and salt. You will get this simple dip at every restaurant and corner store...however, beware the corner store variety- you may end up spending too much time in the bathroom as a result of ingesting this tasty gem.

     3. Tortillas de Mais: Corn flour tortillas are the backbone of all Mexican cuisine. Flour tortillas came later, when agriculture was more established in the north- near the states. "Traditionally the corn is soaked and cooked in an alkaline solution, usually limewater, and hulled (called Nixtamal)" (Wikipedia). Then the corn is dried, and ground into flour. From there it is combined with additional ingredients, flattened and cooked. This basic tortilla is your wrap for burritos, enchiladas and several other delicious dishes. If you go on to fry the tortilla you get the most delicious chips your ever tasted (forget Doritos). These chips can be used to pick up your favorite dip, or put into your favorite soup (in fact, there is a soup here that is called simply "Tortilla soup"). You can even coat the fried tortillas in sugar for a dessert treat, although I have looked for it I haven't found this dish yet...   


     4. Mole: This unique sauce pays homage to the Aztecs and uses chocolate as it's base. Using this simple and intoxicating base, Mole transforms into a sauce that is spicy, luscious, hearty and tangy. Other ingredients include chillis, spices, bread and tortillas. Each region in Mexico has its own version of Mole and in my opinion it is always worth trying...just because it really is so different. I had Mole sauce served over enchiladas, stuffed with cheese. Accompanying this meal with rice and beans- another Mexican staple.

  5. Enchiladas: These are tortillas filled with either chicken, beef or cheese ( and possibly fish, although I haven't seen this offered here). The meat is seasoned and the whole enchilada is baked in a sauce. As I mentioned above, once sauce option is Mole but you can also have red or green salsas of varying heat. I have noticed that most of the dishes we've seen have some form of cheese in them but I have the sneaking suspicion that if you were to travel away from the tourist beaten track, you'd find more meat and tortillas and far less dairy.

   6. Chilis Rellanos: This is definitely a dish I'd never seen north of the 49th parallel. You take a Poblano chili, slice it open and seed it. Then stuff it with cheese. Batter and bread the outside and then deep-fry it. Cover it in delicious red salsa (not the same as salsa fresca) and voila. You've got a dish that is fatty, bready, saucy, and cheesy- all in one.

 
   7. Chilaquiles: A typical breakfast food (classified as a dry soup), in a place where breakfast is meant to have testiculos rather than pose as sugar coated Valium. Chilaquiles are red or green salsa with cheese, fried tortillas, cream and your choice of eggs, chicken or beef. You can really imagine vaqueros (cowboys) filling up on this stuff around the campfire in the early dawn before heading out to wrangle some vacas. I'm sure chilaquiles with tequila would have done the trick nicely.

    8. Empanadas: These are basically meat pies. Empanada means to wrap or envelope and so your filling is completely surrounded in dough. At its best, an empanada is flaky and light, but the ones I ate the other night with thick, heavy and kinda gross. Not a favorite, I'd prefer my empanada filled with cheddar cheese and apples.

Drinks

     Being 6 months pregnant I really couldn't attest to much, aside from virgin versions of the common holiday fair: margaritas, daiquiris, pina coladas, and the occasional sip of cerveza. As much as the gangs of young, aggressive-to-the-point-of-being-nearly-hostile, greasy-haired tequila vendors tried to get us to "cummon amigos, take a shot of tequeela" we resisted. From what I can remember of wild nights on the town- tequila tastes like donkey piss. Sorry, but that's just how I feel about it. 

There was one night when Cally drank some of what I assumed was my virgin Pina Colada. Then she started acting weird. A quick taste test made me wonder and I hastily removed  the drink from her blurry sight.

What we did outside the bathroom

Safe on the towel, Cally rehydrates.

Dad trying to convince Cally to touch the water. As soon as a wave rolled in, she'd lift her legs up.

Swimming with mom, comfortable in chlorinated waters.

     But seriously folks, Mexico isn't just about intestinal upset and the fella's next door playing leapfrog. It's about the beaches, the food and making futile attempts to say "No thank you, I don't want to buy your wrap/jewellery/knick-knack/hat/parasite infested food-on-a-stick or other crap" in another language.               Traveling with a two-year-old meant that most of our activities had to be scheduled for the morning, when Cally was at her perkiest. During this time we usually chose to either explore our surroundings or "play" on the beach. It's funny really, for a child who loves the pool and swimming, she required a lot of coaxing just to touch the ocean. It also took Cally three days to walk on the sand without throwing a tantrum. At her best,  She would awkwardly waddle about 10 feet from the towel, holding dads hand. She would then quickly turn tail and head back to the safety of her beach towel. Something about how the sand felt made her morph from a pleasant little girl into a raging lunatic. Thank goodness Trevor had the patience to carry her- and carry her he did. A LOT!

A weekend job

I spent the next two days trying to sleep and in the washroom. How comforting to know that Cally fully understands the concept of the potty. She found it entertaining to announce to anyone who would listen, "Mommy poop. Mommy stink."  Yes, two is a flattering age for everyone

Calves of steel and montezuma's revenge

    It turns out that the beauty and charm of Old Vallarta lies not only in its allure as the gay quarter, but also in it's old-world charm. Negotiating the pocked cobblestone streets and steep tiled steps that link one calle to it's vertical neighbor it's easy to forget you're in Mexico. Instead of finding effeminate men wearing hot pants and front-pack chihuahua carriers, your imagination leads you to expect to find an authentic Italian gelati stand or a French pastry shop around the next bend. And although you never do...(Italian-inspired Mexican cuisine is about as close as you'll get), there's something about the atmosphere that makes just about anything possible.
     Scattered amongst the gender specific tourists you find a large smattering of retirees who spend a month to the entire winter here in Vallarta. They've purchased or rented holiday spaces of all caliber and seem to revel in the marvels and splendor that come with this eclectic part of the city. Catering to these tourists are all manner of yoga teachers. The other day I attended one of these classes.

     The sign stuck to the lamppost advertised yoga to reinvigorate and restore the body and mind. How could I resist? All I had to do was find the stairs across from the hotel and ascend to meditative bliss...easier said than done. The stairs turned out to be a crumbling collection of bricks, mortar, dirt and unidentifiable muck that went up and up and up...Unsure of whether there would ever be an end, or and exit for that matter I actually made the treacherous climb twice until I finally materialized, sweaty and shaking onto the street one block above our resort. The class itself was pure bliss. Our teacher, Anya, dutifully modified the poses to accommodate my protruding belly, but all the way through I could feel my tender calves whimpering from the climb and I wondered how I would feel in the morning.
    I couldn't walk for the next two days...then I got something that makes the locals laugh and tourists quake in their sandals...Montezuma's revenge!

This is the stairway to heaven...or hell- depending on how you want to look at it. At least the homeless guy left me alone.