La Playa

One of my favorite ways to spend a day here in sunny Puerto Vallarta is at the beach. A leisurely 10-minute walk from our apartment and the waves are lapping at your feet. Stan and I usually hang out at a little beach club, where Rafael takes good care of us. Depending on your mood, there are lounge chairs, palapas, or proper tables if you want to be fancy. The bartendress mixes great drinks and the kitchen turns out tasty and beautifully presented food.

We usually go at midday, have some drinks and lunch, and then stay for a lazy afternoon. You can indulge in a margarita on the rocks, a blended mango marg, a decadent pina colada, plain ole cerveza or a glass of Mexican Chardonnay (surprisingly not bad). Lunch is often an order of fish tacos or a smoked marlin burrito for Stan and maybe a Caesar salad with anchovies or a shrimp stuffed avocado for me. But guacamole is ALWAYS involved!

This chilled spot is the unofficial gathering place for any Kansas City Puerto Vallarta mafia in the house. On a recent afternoon Stan and our visiting friends Jennie and Laura joined me after their zip line canopy tour for a de-briefing drink. I had whiled away the early afternoon hours lunching and chatting with Kay, Bill, Linda, Mary Lou, Martha, Marty and other KC vacationers. It’s a small world.

It’s great to relax on the Banderas Bay and watch the pelicans. They fly overhead in perfect formation then kamikaze dive in for a catch. Their human counterparts, crazy parasailors, take off and land near our spot too. Vendors walk up and down hawking their wares: jewelry, pareos, fruit empanadas, fish on a stick, raw oysters (ya right) fresh fruit, almost anything a tourist might or might not want. Every now and then a group of mariachi musicians wanders by; some are definitely more talented than others. It truly is a wonderful assault on the senses.

In between being served fruit drunks and delicious food by Rafael, chatting with friends, gazing for whales and watching the sea birds, we usually squeeze in time for a bit of reading (I’m loving Love in the Time of Cholera and Stan is chuckling through Catch 22) and a light snooze.

What can I say? We are so lucky and blessed to be down here on the beach soaking up the sun. Today those of you stuck back in KC are enduring yet another snowstorm. Jennie and Laura accidentally got a day added to their vacation due to the closing of KCI. Luckily, they don’t have to be back at work until Tuesday. They aren’t complaining.

Stay warm. We’ll have a drink for you. Join us next year?

Don't Drink and Cook

When Stan and I were living in Dubai there was an amusing piece in the Gulf News, the English language daily, from a New Zealand paper (they pilfered many of their stories from other sources much like our papers do) warning against the dangers of drinking while cooking with a gas stove. Apparently, there had been a problem with cooks getting “in the sauce” while cooking the sauce and starting fires with their cook tops. At the time we found this quite amusing. Just ask Stan; he knows I don’t need to be drinking to cause a fire in the kitchen. In fact, I rather enjoy making fires in my kitchen, but apparently the Kiwis were either setting their clothes on fire or falling asleep at the dinner table while the gas stove flamed away. You can only imagine the limitless possibilities for disaster.

So….it was with humor we recalled this story one recent night in mi cocina. It was the night Stan falsely accused me of attempting to “salt” him to death.

We enjoyed a day at the beach and then celebrated hora feliz (happy hour) with a few margaritas. Remember, the margaritas are SERIOUS down here. Tequila and lime juice. Finito. I was cooking dinner. This particular evening’s menu promised potatoes and peppers in the skillet topped with fried eggs; served up with corn tortillas purchased from the tortilleria and my home made salsa.

I’m enjoying another margarita and cooking away. The blue flames of the gas burner are licking the sides of the pan. The potatoes and peppers are sizzling. But wait, potatoes need salt, right? Salt. The salt isn’t coming out fast enough. Hey, take the lid off the salt shaker. Dump. At least 1/2 cup of salt spilled out onto the potatoes, down the side of the pan, and onto the stove.

Hmmm, well potatoes soak up salt, right? Stan’s had several margaritas, too. I should be okay. He won’t even notice. I did my best to scrape the salt to the side of the skillet, added the eggs to the mess, warmed the tortillas, dinner was served! Well, Stan’s tastes have refined considerably since he married me. My little incident did not go unnoticed, but he ate it. And we were both up in the middle of the night gulping mas aqua.

The next morning, Stan went to the stove where the dirty pan still sat with a pile of salt crusted in one corner. A pile of salt also remained on the stove.

“You shouldn’t drink and cook,” he said calmly, “you nearly salted me to death, like some lowly slug.”

Well, all’s well that ends well. New casa rule (and it’s NOT what you might be thinking): DON’T DRINK AND SALT!

Casa Melodia

I am so enamored with our accommodations that I’m dedicating a posting to where Stan and I are spending our days and nights. There is no maid to clean our room, and we can’t call for room service as if we were in a hotel, but it is so nice to be living in and experiencing a real Puerto Vallarta neighborhood. I need to qualify that. Our ‘hood is a real neighborhood, and there are local people living here, but mostly it is made up of gringos. Thus the nickname for this area “Gringo Gulch”: gringo, because of all the whities living here; and gulch, because the houses are situated on the side of the hill next to the Cuale River which runs down to the sea.

We are renting the garden apartment of the house called Casa Melodia. (Yes, they name their houses here.) There is a story as to why it is called “Music House” but quite frankly I can’t recall. Pamela, the American owner, has gotten herself worked up over a party she is throwing tomorrow night, so I’ll refrain from asking.

From the street paved in polished-from-use river stones, you enter a central door. For Pamela and Paul’s home you walk straight in. They have an upper level as well. (The views are truly stunning.) To visit us you walk down the stairs that are just inside the front door. Understand this is by no means a basement apartment, or a hovel like Mustafa’s place. The apartment floods with morning light, glows from the brightly painted walls and almost always carries a light breeze. Windows open from every room to the east or south overlooking the “gulch” and the river.

We have a dining room/office where Stan does his work, and a spacious kitchen. A pantry with turquoise blue shutter doors holds our provisions, and there is plenty of open shelving. The kitchen looks to the living room, which has fun green walls. Off the living area is the bathroom, which has a big walk-in shower, and also a small garden accessible through a side door. From our garden we too have a respectable view of the river, the gulch, and the jungle covered mountains that overlook the city.

Our bedroom is cozy and the bed is hung with needed mosquito netting. We’re sleeping pretty well here, other than the occasional neighborhood catfight (literally) and the rowdy perros (dogs.) The dogs can make quite a racket. Then there are the occasional donkeys. Oh, and the early morning roosters. There is certainly a lot of wildlife!

As nice as all of this is, I think my favorite part is the open windows. I always am envious of a climate where it is difficult to tell where the inside ends and the outside begins. This is such a place. There is no glass on the window openings and there are no screens, only wooden shutters that can be shut against the summer rains. Doors are left open to let in and out the sounds, smells and sights of daily living. So you’re gonna get some mosquito bites. You might be awakened from your dreams by fighting tomcats. And the roosters will likely rouse you before you are ready.

But you will also hear the music wafting down from upstairs – often soft jazz or maybe even Lyle Lovett. You will hear the click click click of the next-door neighbor lighting her gas stove. You will smell onions and peppers frying, coffee brewing, and feel a sense of home in what would otherwise seem a strange place. This to me is living the life.

Mashed Potato Tacos???

Last night, the kitchen in our garden apartment at Casa Melodia was closed. The chef had the night off. So Stan and I strolled through our neighborhood to Café el Repollo Rojo, that’s The Red Cabbage Café to you gringos.

We first tried The Red Cabbage last February, when in Puerto Vallarta with our travel companions Kay and Jane. The restaurant came highly recommended by our friends Bubba (resident vegan) and Dr. LB. We loved it last year, and this experience did not let us down either. It was, however, interesting.

The café is usually buzzing. But last night all the tourists must have been in Steve’s Sports Bar watching the Super Bowl because the place was relatively quiet. There were only a few other tables occupied when we arrived at 7pm.

Lola Bravo owns The Red Cabbage. Any time we’ve been there, she’s there, working the room. She’s got a Frida Kahlo theme going on the walls and fun music (the Beatles, Elvis) playing in the dining area. Her menu is mostly Mexican with a few quirky selections thrown in for fun. For example, The American; roast turkey, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. There is also The Russian and The Italian. Not sure what would happen if you actually ordered one of those! But why would you, with all of the yummy Mexican choices?

The margaritas here are serious. Lime juice and tequila. That’s it. The guacamole was luxurious. Pico de gallo is served with chips instead of the usual salsa, and the tomatoes were red and juicy. In addition to the interesting “International Menu” Lola also offers an entire page of veggie choices. Stan decided to try the veggie tacos. He was given a choice of queso (cheese) or papas (potatoes) for the filling. He chose potatoes, thinking it would be chunks of fried or roasted potatoes, maybe some grilled onions and peppers, all wrapped up in corn tortillas. Well, not exactly.

Remember The American? Yep, the soft tacos were filled with mashed potatoes! No kidding! Three to the plate, accompanied by a side of white rice, and some creamy refried beans. It appeared suspiciously close to a white meal, not to mention the carbohydrate load. I was horrified, but of course Stan was thrilled! “I don’t even get mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving anymore!” he exclaimed, “This is great!”

My spinach salad (chopped cooked spinach sprinkled with queso - a specialty) was delicious, and provided a splash of color. We were both happy. Oh, and I made Stan eat a green salad for lunch today!

http://redcabbagepv.com/

South of the Border

So sorry to all of my friends and family back in the cold, but Stan and I flew from Kansas City to Puerto Vallarta on Wednesday. If you recall, Tuesday was about the coldest day of the winter so far and at times a total white out. Wednesday was pretty frickin’ cold too, at 5 AM anyway, so for us, the timing was perfect.

Our nonstop flight left KC at 7:45, and we were in PV in time for lunch! Not bad, ‘eh? We took a short taxi ride form the airport to Casa Melodia, the house that will be our home for the next month, changed into some weather appropriate clothing, and walked down the uneven cobblestone street to find some lunch.

Las Margaritas. It just sounds good doesn’t it? I had ceviche and Stan had huevos rancheros. Oh, and margaritas. Not a bad start to this trip!

The weather is perfect. Temperatures are around 80 during the day with sunny blue skies and cool nights. A nice amount of humidity is curing our itchy skin. Pretty much, this is the place to spend February!

Casa Melodia is a great house. It sits on the river that runs through the old part of Puerto Vallarta. You enter the main house from street level and our apartment is one flight down. But the house sits on the riverbank, so even though we are below street level, it doesn’t feel like it. The back of the entire house drops off and hangs on the hill overlooking the river. We have a garden and plenty of bright light. In the morning, once the sun is up, we have sunlight streaming in through the open windows. There are no screens, no shades, only a few wooden shutters that can be closed. Oh and there is a bit of chicken wire covering the wrought iron bars. Apparently the neighbor’s cat was inviting itself in a little too often!

Stan’s planning to work a bit, I’m hoping to do lots of yoga, and we hope to relax, read, walk on the beach and eat great food. So, stay tuned!

The Carnation Cafe

Well, I'm home now, but I've not said all I have to say so I'm going to keep writing. Things got rather backed up when we started bouncing around - not to mention the social life in Dubai! So...

Sometimes it's the simplest things in life that deliver the biggest punch. We tend to forget that in our over-stimulated consumer-driven world. If you can step out of the craziness of your own life, I think its possible to rediscover the simple things. Traveling really helps me do this.

Also, it’s sometimes hard to explain or even pinpoint why something appeals to you. Perhaps it was our exhilaration after seeing the amazing sites on the Acropolis, maybe we were exhausted and starving, or maybe it truly was the delicious food and charming atmosphere, but Stan and I were completely taken with the Carnation Café.

We toured the Acropolis on a Sunday morning, and this particular Sunday was a national holiday of some sort, so we were having a bit of a time finding a place to eat lunch. I remembered seeing a little neighborhood cafe a day or two earlier, with tables spilling out onto the sidewalk, but I wouldn’t have been able to find it. Stan also recalled the same place, so we were thrilled when we popped around a corner and there it was! The Carnation Café!

Try to imagine an old-fashioned, mom and pop, neighborhood type of place (they don’t exist anymore in the US, I’m convinced) that serves simple home-cooked food using fresh ingredients. That’s the place. A Greek mom was cooking in a TEENY kitchen. The refrigerated case below her workspace chilled fresh octopus and calamari (oooh, soo sorry Buddha!) One cute little Greek boy of about 25 sporting a shirt with a big red carnation embroidered on the back (bet he loved that) hustled in and out of the kitchen, waiting tables. Neighbors stopped in for lunch, a group of young people appeared to be refueling after a hard night, expat-types were reading the English daily, and a handful of tourists, like ourselves were fortunate enough to have stumbled upon this place.

We enjoyed a delicious lunch of grilled octopus (octopus is a Greek specialty) Stan’s choice, and a Greek salad, my choice. Greek salad in Greece is nothing like what we have at home. Greek Greek salad is FRESH local (not pink) tomatoes, chopped cucumber, red onion, fresh peppers, a pepperoncini or two, and a hand full of olives, all sprinkled with fresh oregano, dressed lightly with olive oil and lemon. A thick slice of amazing feta always perches on top.

A colored aluminum pitcher (like those glasses your grandma used to have) of house white wine (Greek – better than the house Turkish wines in my opinion) and a basket of that yummy Greek bread accompanied our meal. I don’t remember the particular figure, but the bill was ridiculously inexpensive. Was it our hunger? The food? The ambiance? I can’t say and it doesn’t matter. What mattered was the beauty of the fresh flavors and local ingredients. Life should always be so simple.

Athens II – The Acropolis + Mini-History

On Sunday (free admission day!) we spent the morning exploring the Acropolis archeological site. The Acropolis is the rocky mount in the center of Athens upon which the famous Parthenon (as well as other monuments) sits. It is a winding climb of at least 200 feet to the base of the Acropolis. The Parthenon (the famous temple honoring Athena) is massive up close, and truly is the impressive classical Greek structure so often imitated. Built around 450 BC, it covers the ruins of an earlier temple. The formula dictating the design of classical Doric architecture called for dimensions with the number of columns on the narrow ends (i.e. 6) to be doubled then add one (i.e. 13) to get the number of columns on the wide sides.

Sideline on history (Stan blogging now): The Parthenon would be more intact than it is today if it weren’t for the Venetians. Who knew? In 1687 Greece was part of the Ottoman Empire and the Venetians, then still a formidable world power, attempted to retake Athens, which was formerly under their control. Unfortunately at that time the Ottomans were storing their gunpowder in the Parthenon. Thus, when the Venetians commenced shelling the Acropolis from a nearby hill, a direct hit on the Parthenon ignited the gunpowder and the Parthenon was severely damaged. Subsequently, the Venetians held the city for less than a year. Serves them right! One can’t help but wonder how much more of this magnificent structure would remain intact if the Ottomans had stored their gunpowder elsewhere!

OK, 450 BC, that’s almost 2500 years old. Whoa. Kinda tough to wrap your mind around the fact there was an advanced, sophisticated, democratic society functioning at such a high level that many years ago. It’s amazing really. Here’s a way to try and put the concept into perspective: every generation a handful of people live to be 100 years old, not often, but it happens. So think about someone who was born in 450 BC and lived to be 100 and passed the baton, so to speak, to the next centurion, and the next and the next, etc., etc. So if that happened only 25 times that gets us to today. Thinking in those terms we really haven’t been here all that long.

Here’s another perspective on time to keep it all in context. Back in the early-mid 90s I (obviously still Stan!) was reading a biography of the famous US Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes. One of his judicial clerks in the 1920s and 30s was Alger Hiss (later a notorious figure caught up in the McCarthy red-scare witch-hunts of the 1950s.) The author of the biography (I’ve forgotten his name) was pointing out the fact that a man who was still alive today (Hiss at least in the mid 90s) had worked with and been a confidante of a man (Holmes) who had fought in the US Civil War, and whose grandmother could recall as a youngster the days of the US Revolutionary War. Only three lifetimes take us from the founding of the country to the present! We live in a young country indeed.

Here’s an Athens bonus round: there were no touts or tourist hounds harassing us on the grounds of the Acropolis or any other Athenian tourist sites for that matter, at least not on this particular Sunday. Apparently the Greek authorities have taken a hard line on this (perhaps only since the 2004 Olympics?) Tout free is a good thing, a pleasant surprise, and truly made the experience more enjoyable and authentic.

Another historical point: so there existed this fantastic and impressive society in classical 4th and 5th century Greece. What happened after that? Aside from the Venetian pyrotechnic display, not a lot more went down. During the days of the Roman Empire Athens continued to be an important city. But after 300 AD or so Athens found itself a largely irrelevant provincial backwater in the Byzantine and Ottoman Empires. In modern Athens, other than the Acropolis and a few other ancient structures, the buildings and architecture are of relatively recent vintage. A few neo-classical buildings from the early-mid 1800s stand but most of the structures that comprise the sprawling modern city of Athens are less than 100 years old, and pretty non-descript, to be honest. (Lisa says they are ugly.)

Traipsing around the ruins for a couple of hours was pretty tiring. We made our way back down to the Plaka area for a coffee. Somewhat energized, we wandered the peaceful Agora, or ancient marketplace (more ruins.) A fabulous lunch followed. Lisa will fill you in on the Carnation Café, in another post.