When I heard that you could spend from dawn to dusk on the Malecon in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and never get bored, I decided to take the challenge. It turns out they were right: The Malecon is a 1-mile delight in so many different ways as to make any number of hours pass quickly.
Morning begins at the Hotel Rosita, built in 1948 and the oldest hotel in town. The place is famous because of the illicit liaison between Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton during the 1963 filming of “The Night of the Iguana.” The resultant publicity put the sleepy town of PV on the map, and it became the only Mexican resort destination that grew up organically rather than being created for the purpose of attracting tourists.
The hotel is bordered by shops on one side and the Bay of Banderas on the other. Along the way, unusual metal sculptures dominate the landscape. First conglomerations: a boat signifying humans’ desire to search, a whale symbolizing ambition, a combination of a bird-propeller-airplane denoting technological evolution and an obelisk representing time. Sculptures are everywhere—clowns, mermaids, unicorns—celebrating relationships, history, Mexican culture, religion, animals, and just plain fun. Chilo, our guide, transfixed us with stories surrounding each creation. Sand sculptures also abound—a large depiction of a “Welcome to Puerto Vallarta” sign; a graceful Our Lady of Guadalupe, patron saint of the city; and a wishing well.
A quick turn of the head at any point brings you up against colorful assortments of plants, flowers, and palm trees running the course of the Malecon. Look up instead and see five men atop a pole about to perform an ancient Mesoamerican ritual in which one man plays the flute and drum while the other four descend from above, flying in concentric circles, symbolizing the seasons and the cycle of life. Did I mention they are hanging by one foot upside down? It looks a little like an amusement park ride, but Chilo explained that they train their whole lives for the privilege.
The stores also reflect Indigenous art. The Tierra Huichol sells animals of every variety and wall hangings hand-made of miniscule multihued beads. The Opal Mine not only sells all varieties of the semi-precious stones, but it is set up to replicate the mining operation that produces them. The history of Mexico is reflected in every step of the Malecon. Also along the way are street musicians, painters, balloon-makers, and food vendors. Skeletons, or Catrinas, a staple of Puerto Vallarta folklore in assorted attire and assemblages, are on every street corner.
The Malecon ends at a large beach, and the hotels lining the street—umbrellas crowding the sand, music blaring from the bars, and the cries of children playing in the waves—add a different character to the more relaxing and less touristy stroll that got us here. The cordoned-off beach at our hotel protects guests from the overly aggressive, ever-optimistic vendors hawking everything from purses to pottery, sombreros to sunglasses, trinkets to toys. Not so at the public beaches, of which the Malecon is one.
Especially ironic are the many venders selling food items—pastries, grilled fish on a stick, nuts, and candies—to people sitting at tables and ordering food from a menu. The secret is not to make eye contact and to be prepared for some minor whiplash from shaking your head no. Be prepared also for the bizarre, such as the woman at the table next to us having her hair braided into multiple strands while eating lunch.
On the Malecon at night, a different world emerges. The sun goes down, the lights go up, the crowds pour in—and they are not all tourists. They are families with balloons, light rays, and ice cream; couples young and old holding hands; people sitting at the water’s edge, gazing at the city skyline off in the distance; and multitudes dancing to the music at the square, the variety of dance steps as diverse as the people executing them. The amphitheater is home to entertainers that range from folkloric dancers to mariachi bands to clowns.
The Malecon is full of surprises—and some of them so unexpected. Sand sculptures are one thing—stone art another. Precariously placed boulders of varying sizes and shapes balanced one upon the other. I had no idea what they meant, but the visual was surprisingly impressive. During the day, your attention is on the permanent appeal of the Malecon—shops, gardens, and sculptures of various kinds. At night it’s all noise and moving parts.
At dinner in a second-story restaurant looking down upon the boardwalk, I watched a man in a monkey suit taking pictures with tourists, a violin player, bikers and inline skaters trying to keep from crashing into each other, grown-ups wearing outlandish hats made from balloons as though coming from a toddler’s birthday party, a sculpture of a bronze man sporting a sombrero and a rifle—until he moved and became a mime instead. I hardly had time to focus on my margaritas.
