We try to walk daily or semi-daily. I don’t think that I would ever keep up with Lew, who likes long walks of several miles around town, but every other day or so, he hauls me, challenges me, pushes me, every so gently, to go someplace, to “check it out.” We usually set a goal. Yesterday, we aimed to find a blouse (camisa) at a shopping center. Two days previously, we aimed ourselves toward a beach, whose access was hidden between upscale condominiums. I will post some of those photos today just for fun and a graphic description.
Our method is to walk half a mile toward a bus that runs along a high-traffic road with maybe 8 lanes, some of which split from time to time to veer off in other directions. This road leads to both the airport in one direction and the central tourist area the other. Much of where we’ve been in PV is touristic. There are some lights and some access points, but few, so most people clamber over various barriers and wait till there is a break in traffic to cross. Us too.
On the oceanside are a combination of new high-rises, elegant and lovely, but there are no easy public access to beaches in our area: the entrances are guarded, and the way to the water is blocked. Many of them are full resort-style, so outsiders wandering around, ordering meals, or getting coffee aren’t permitted unless you belong there.
It is easy to admire the beautiful tiled entrances, the palm gardens, and bougainvillea sprouting everywhere around those places, until your bus doesn’t come, like today’s experience, and you need to walk, like locals, beyond the planned community
There was something up; we could feel it. People speaking and gesturing toward our destination, the intersection where we were to catch the bus. Finally, we asked, in our stumbling way, and found out that no one knew exactly what was happening, but the police were blocking the traffic right then, and no buses were going through any of the “T” of the intersection. Now that we’d already reached the bus connection, we asked where we might catch a bus. A few blocks over, near the hospital, they said. opposite direction from the airport, BTW.
I took photos of the demonstrators, who were gathering around the theme of Justice for Clarisa Rodriguez, a young woman who had died without proper care, while the wealthy drunk driver had been plucked up and hidden away and given no moral or legal responsibility for the accident by the authorities. I spoke with the young woman’s cousin, and the family’s signs indicated that they thought a corrupt government and $$ were at the root of things. People around her felt sympathy for her, and the protest grew. The police remained stoic.
We walked to the hospital. No buses. No cars. We walked on – a stream of confused but sympathetic humanity, tired and sore, many toting luggage. There had been a very large Carnival Cruise Ship that appeared, but those passengers weren’t going anywhere off the ship either. We found restoration in an upscale shopping center with a friendly Starbucks, and shopped for this blouse as though it were essential to life. No dice there either. The clothes tended toward the short, midriff-revealing, or sheer and revealing. My midriff is ample evidence of my full life, thank you very much. No need.
Aside from the blocks of walking, the spaces between towering apartments appear without signage. Suddenly the glamor ends, like a Venetian masque removed, and dusty, uneven, rock filled, potholed and trashy walkways are the surfaces on which we tread.
Down a side road, two tattered umbrellas house a few folks, a WC sign deorates a ramshakle building of dubious provenance. A horse attached to a tree big-eyes us as we skuffle along toward the rhythmi
c whooshing of an incoming tide, audible over a rocky hillock. Sandy beach ahead. A few local folks are resting against the concrete wall of the aforementioned resort, whose wondrous virtues are well hidden from us.
I did what I always do when given the gift of a rock and an incoming tide. I sat on a bum-friendly rock and meditated for a few minutes on the eternals, the non-things that seem to transcend lifetimes, governments, and the small irritations of the day. I watched little black crabs, wisely moving from the water-facing side of rocks to the less threatening side, clinging in community with their fellows. In the face of overwhelming force, they wait it out until the tide turns.
The contrast of life here is drawn in thick brush strokes. There is little to no infrastructure; no one gets what they cannot pay for, and it is obvious that people work hard, as we see them doing every day. There is a lot of dirt, dust, and rocky, uneven paths that ordinary people walk carefully every day. No lovely butterflies, or floral wonders in tile outside the market here – no, we get boiling vats of oil, or cases of fruits and veggies, hand-thrown tortillas, bottled or fruited water.
Leaving the shopping center, with the live turtle pond and the penguin habitat under construction, we saw no buses were yet moving, and after searching the Uber-world no cars would pick us up – it was a mess in our area, and we think drivers couldn’t get in and out successfully – so we walked on to Sorianos – a local big food store (air conditioned too!). When we left, we finally found a brave driver to take us into our area. All the main streets were still closed, and traffic looked like Sicily (which is OMG!)
One guy was willing, and we took the detour route, along with what seemed like hundreds of others with the same idea, hauling stuff, luggage, and walking with canes, etc. A large group funneled into a very small side street. Chaos.
Photo – new hair salon opened from a house three doors down from us. It is the front of the house. The salon chairs don’t fit, so they are out on the sidewalk, and the doors are open so everyone passing by can see right away who is getting their hair done… Only her hairdresser and the entire neighborhood know for sure.
All is well, and I am thinking of the larger impacts of one culture on another, and feeling uncomfortable that the local folks don’t have access to their own waterfront. Building is ongoing everywhere to add more, and rents are no doubt higher for everyone; building costs are now investment issues. The city encourages more successful boats and tourism. I am also appreciative and a bit amazed by the kindness shown to us, despite our destructive ways.
Update – day two of the protest – all of the streets near us are either empty or clogged, and the main roads are still blocked. This protest is being answered by police enforcing, politely, the protection of the protestors. People are intrigued and interested, carrying their luggage to the airport on foot, to the condos, and elsewhere on foot. Justice for Clarisa, the small local protest, is impactful. The affected roads are seeing increased use of walking, bicycling, motorbiking, and baby carriage use. It didn’t take long for people to fill in the empty space.
On a lighter note, the loud music and shouting I told you about, noises that emanate from vehicles going down our street – remember? It turns out that they have large baskets on their vehicles containing whatever they are selling, along with speakers. Language barriers mean I haven’t figured out what each one sells yet, but loud noise is their signal. People do door-to-door quite commonly here, walking the streets with their wares.
Stay well, hydrate, and care for each other,
Judy and Lew