Puerto Vallarta Rentals Blog

Sometimes I’ve been called a maverick because I don’t always agree with my
colleagues, but then, only dead fish swim with the stream all the time. The
stream here is Mexico. You would have to be living on another planet to
avoid hearing how dangerous Mexico has become, and, yes, it’s true drug wars
have escalated violence in Mexico , causing collateral damage, a phrase I
hate. Collateral damage is a cheap way of saying that innocent people, some
of them tourists, have been robbed, hurt or killed.

But that’s not the whole story. Neither is this. This is my story. I’m a
journalist who lives in New York City, but has spent considerable time in
Mexico, specifically Puerto Vallarta, for the last four years. I’m in
Vallarta now. And despite what I’m getting from the U.S. media, the 24-hour
news networks in particular, I feel as safe here as I do at home in New York
, possibly safer. I walk the
streets of my Vallarta neighborhood alone day or night. And I don’t live in
gated community, or any other All-Gringo neighborhood. I live in Mexico.
Among Mexicans. I go where I want (which does not happen to include bars
where prostitution and drugs are the basic products), and take no more
precautions than I would at home in New York; which is to say I don’t wave
money around, I don’t act the Ugly American, I do keep my eyes open, I’m
aware of my surroundings, and I try not to behave like a fool.

I’ve not always been successful at that last one. One evening a friend left
the house I was renting in Vallarta at that time, and, unbeknownst to me,
did not slam the automatically-locking door on her way out. Sure enough,
less than an hour later a stranger did come into my house. A burglar?
Robber? Kidnapper? Killer? Drug lord? No, it was a local police officer, the
“beat cop” for our neighborhood,
who, on seeing my unlatched door, entered to make sure everything (including
me) was okay. He insisted on walking with me around the house, opening
closets, looking behind doors and, yes, even under beds, to be certain no
one else had wandered in, and that nothing was missing. He was polite, smart
and kind, but before he left, he lectured me on having not checked to see
that my friend had locked the door behind her. In other words, he told me to
use my common sense.

Do bad things happen here? Of course they do. Bad things happen everywhere,
but the murder rate here is much lower than, say, New Orleans , and if there
are bars on many of the ground floor windows of houses here, well, the same
is true where I live, in Greenwich Village, which is considered a swell
neighborhood – house prices start at about $4 million (including the bars on
the ground floor windows). There are good reasons thousands of people from
the United States are moving to Mexico every month, and it’s not just the
lower cost of living, a hefty tax break and less snow to shovel. Mexico is a
beautiful country, a special place. The climate varies, but is plentifully
mild, the culture is ancient and revered, the young are loved
unconditionally, the old are respected, and I have yet to hear anyone
mention Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, or Madonna’s attempt to adopt a
second African child, even though, with such a late start, she cannot
possibly begin to keep up with Anglelina
Jolie.

And then there are the people. Generalization is risky, but- in general –
Mexicans are warm, friendly, generous and welcoming. If you smile at them,
they smile back. If you greet a passing stranger on the street, they greet
you back. If you try to speak even a little Spanish, they tend to treat you
as though you were fluent. Or at least not an idiot. I have had taxi drivers
track me down after leaving my wallet or cell phone in their cab. I have had
someone run out of a store to catch me because I have overpaid by twenty
cents. I have been introduced to and come to love a people who celebrate a
day dedicated to the dead as a recognition of the cycles of birth and death
and birth – and the 15th birthday of a girl, an important rite in becoming a
woman – with the same joy. Too much of the noise you’re hearing about how
dangerous it is to come to Mexico is just that – noise. But the media love
noise, and too many journalists currently making it don’t live here.

Some have never even been here. They just like to be photographed at night,
standing near a spotlighted border crossing, pointing across the line to
some imaginary country from hell. It looks good on TV. Another thing. The
U.S. media tend to lump all of Mexico into one big bad bowl. Talking about
drug violence in Mexico without naming a state or city where this is taking
place is rather like looking at the horror of Katrina and saying, “Damn. Did
you know the U.S. is under water?” or reporting on the shootings at
Columbine or the bombing of the Federal building in Oklahoma City by saying
that kids all over the U.S. are shooting their classmates and all the
grownups are blowing up buildings. The recent rise in violence in Mexico has
mostly occurred in a few states, and especially along the border. It is
real, but it does not describe an entire country. It would be nice if we
could put what’s going on in Mexico in perspective, geographically and
emotionally.

It would be nice if we could remember that, as has been noted more than
once, these drug wars wouldn’t be going on if people in the United States
didn’t want the drugs, or if other people in the United States weren’t
selling Mexican drug lords the guns. Most of all, it would be nice if more
people in the United States actually came to this part of America ( Mexico
is also America , you will recall) to see for themselves what a fine place
Mexico really is, and how good a vacation (or a life) here can be. So come
on down and get to know your southern neighbors. I think you’ll like it
here. Especially the people.

By Linda Ellerbee