Sam and I arrived to our temporary home in Bucerias; about 20 minutes north of Puerto Vallarta. We were dead set on living in Bucerias because it is out of the hussle and bussle of P.V. and most importantly, closer to the best surf spots. However, living in Puerto Vallarta became of interest after realizing that we did not want to drive to work each day; nor miss out on Friday nite happy hours with our co-workers. And, I guess we will have to settle with the waves in Puerto Vallarta during the week, saving trips north towards Sayulita and Punta de Mita for the weekends (such white girl problems, huh).
We set out on foot yesterday in the neighborhood called 5 de diciembre. And like anyone else looking for a place to rent, we started knocking on doors. As strange as it sounds, that is how it is done here. Imagine that, in scary ole' Mexico one walks up to a stranger's door to inquire about entering to see the place. I know that I get joked a lot for how chicken I am of many things, but come on and give me some street cred for not thinking twice about this. Anywho, a copious amount of for rent signs lingered in the windows, phone numbers visible behind the bars; so as Sam knocked on his first door, I called a number. Randomly the man who answered the door was from Dallas and gave us some of his opinions of where to look, "don't go up on the hill that is where the drug lords live". He may be correct, but we did spend our first day in P.V. hanging out with a co-worker at her house; at the top of the hill. Hmmm, maybe she has a side job? We walked about 20 feet towards our next for rent sign and a gringo drinking a Tecate asked " you looking for a place? I just moved out of mine." So, we walked up the stairs to see his old pad. Pause: Here seems like the appropriate point to mention the biggest fear I have about living in Mexico...the 'pinche' low door frames that I keep smacking my head on. Seriously, if I don't leave Mexico with a concussion or a traumatic brain injury from walking into low overhangs, I would be shocked. In fact, it has happened three times already; twice while looking at apartments yesterday. The worst yet being at a Pemex gas station on the drive down. Frequently, on the drive down we would pull up to a gas station to use the bathroom and it would be out of order. So when we finally found a bathroom however-many kilometers down the highway, it was time 'to go'. The first day of our drive, as I was running into the bathroom I smacked the ba-geez-us out of my head and almost lost my footing. Who has an overhang on the bathroom stall? Well, I will tell you; all of the Pemex gas stations in Mexico. Lesson learned; "fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me"...yes, I just somehow took a line from Sex in the City and applied it to this.
Ok, back to the gringo who reeked like four day old booze at 10 o'clock in the morning. We saw his place and it must have been the small lake in his living room from last nights rainfall that made me smile and say "it is great, what is your landlords number", as a way to wrap up the conversation and move on in our search. A few more calls and visits into local 'tiendas' with no luck, but great Spanish practice.
We did end up looking at a place 5 blocks up from the beach that has a million dollar view and great potential for some roof top gardening. Came home last night, re-looked our finances; forcing ourselves to think in pesos and not convert everything to dollars, and I think we may be living beach-side. However, don't conjure up the visions of a beach side bungalow; this is Mexico and 90% of the homes could be mistaken as crack houses on first glance, from the outside. A good paint job and a little organization of electrical wires could go a long way. However, once inside the bars, gates, and locks the majority of the places are spectacular. I keep remembering the old saying my mom told me as I awkwardly struggled with self image in middle school , "it is not what is on the outside that matters, it is the beauty on the inside that matters". Had my mom lived in Mexico, too?
We have not committed yet, and will post some photos when that day comes.
We set out on foot yesterday in the neighborhood called 5 de diciembre. And like anyone else looking for a place to rent, we started knocking on doors. As strange as it sounds, that is how it is done here. Imagine that, in scary ole' Mexico one walks up to a stranger's door to inquire about entering to see the place. I know that I get joked a lot for how chicken I am of many things, but come on and give me some street cred for not thinking twice about this. Anywho, a copious amount of for rent signs lingered in the windows, phone numbers visible behind the bars; so as Sam knocked on his first door, I called a number. Randomly the man who answered the door was from Dallas and gave us some of his opinions of where to look, "don't go up on the hill that is where the drug lords live". He may be correct, but we did spend our first day in P.V. hanging out with a co-worker at her house; at the top of the hill. Hmmm, maybe she has a side job? We walked about 20 feet towards our next for rent sign and a gringo drinking a Tecate asked " you looking for a place? I just moved out of mine." So, we walked up the stairs to see his old pad. Pause: Here seems like the appropriate point to mention the biggest fear I have about living in Mexico...the 'pinche' low door frames that I keep smacking my head on. Seriously, if I don't leave Mexico with a concussion or a traumatic brain injury from walking into low overhangs, I would be shocked. In fact, it has happened three times already; twice while looking at apartments yesterday. The worst yet being at a Pemex gas station on the drive down. Frequently, on the drive down we would pull up to a gas station to use the bathroom and it would be out of order. So when we finally found a bathroom however-many kilometers down the highway, it was time 'to go'. The first day of our drive, as I was running into the bathroom I smacked the ba-geez-us out of my head and almost lost my footing. Who has an overhang on the bathroom stall? Well, I will tell you; all of the Pemex gas stations in Mexico. Lesson learned; "fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me"...yes, I just somehow took a line from Sex in the City and applied it to this.
Ok, back to the gringo who reeked like four day old booze at 10 o'clock in the morning. We saw his place and it must have been the small lake in his living room from last nights rainfall that made me smile and say "it is great, what is your landlords number", as a way to wrap up the conversation and move on in our search. A few more calls and visits into local 'tiendas' with no luck, but great Spanish practice.
We did end up looking at a place 5 blocks up from the beach that has a million dollar view and great potential for some roof top gardening. Came home last night, re-looked our finances; forcing ourselves to think in pesos and not convert everything to dollars, and I think we may be living beach-side. However, don't conjure up the visions of a beach side bungalow; this is Mexico and 90% of the homes could be mistaken as crack houses on first glance, from the outside. A good paint job and a little organization of electrical wires could go a long way. However, once inside the bars, gates, and locks the majority of the places are spectacular. I keep remembering the old saying my mom told me as I awkwardly struggled with self image in middle school , "it is not what is on the outside that matters, it is the beauty on the inside that matters". Had my mom lived in Mexico, too?
We have not committed yet, and will post some photos when that day comes.
Little fun at our place in Bucerias
