| | |  Travel & Outdoors | February 2009 
Travels in Mexico Part 1
 Michael Rule - YourHub
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The driver pulled over and we all stared up the calle. The cobblestone road, made of rocks smooth and slick, climbed the hill at a nearly impossible angle. I assumed this is where we would get out and walk.
I assumed wrong. Gunning the engine and popping the clutch, the driver pointed the taxi up Calle Itumbre. The car shuddered as the tires tried to find a grip. The engine, overwhelmed by the task at hand, threatened to stall. Twice the driver used the emergency brake as he let in the clutch to rev up the engine. The air became thick with rancid smoke smelling of burnt rubber and cooking transmission. I laughed aloud as I saw the taxi driver grin.
We had been in Puerto Vallarta less than an hour and I was on one of the best taxi rides of my life.
Viva la Mexico!
The calle turned to the right and came to a dead end. A man waited for us there. He was in his early 30's and wore a friendly smile. This was Caesar, our host for the next 3 days.
We had been warned when we booked our stay that getting to our room involved a hike of about 100 yards up a series of stairs. Caesar grabbed half of our luggage and soon we were struggling to keep up.
The houses here seem almost to be stacked one on top of the other, with a mish mash of stairways leading between. There seems to have been no rhyme or reason to it, the stairs leading off in different directions and made from whatever materials were at hand, be it cobblestone, concrete or brick.
Eventually we made it to the top, and entered a small courtyard lined with a verdant display of tropical plants. Entering through a pair of sliding, arched doors constructed of heavy wood, we walked into our apartment.
It was stunning. Built of handmade brick with vaulted ceilings, wrought iron doors of full length glass opened up to a spectacular view of the town below us, and beyond that the ocean. Decorated with a genuine feel of Mexico and well furnished, this private little apartment gave off a feeling of relaxation and comfort. We fell in love with the place immediately.
How does one describe the feel of a place such as Mexico to one who has never traveled here? How do you describe the chaos of the narrow streets, choked with cars and buses and taxis and people and fumes? How do you describe the stench of the sewers, the dogs barking through the night and during the day roaming the streets, sickly and ragged? How do you describe the children selling Chiclets to the fat gringo tourists who cast their eyes away and mutter no thanks for the 20 th time?
How do you describe the lack of anything resembling zoning, with new high rises choking out the views and the small shops that appear seemingly with total random, selling sodas and cervesas and bottles of water and maybe (most certainly) candy and other various treats?
How do you describe the jagged disparity in income, where a splendid casa rises next to a weed choked lot full of trash and broken glass?
Really, how do you describe the trash itself, piled high on a curb where it might sit for days or scattered about at the edge of town?
How do you describe these things, and more, and when you are done, look at whoever has heard all this, and then say, I love this place?
I have been photographing doorways. I have never had any real interest in doorways per se, but something about them here seems to capture a bit of the exuberance for life that is Mexico.
In the States it is all about conformity. HOA's and building codes and resale values all conspire to make sure of that. New homes rise up, oversized and stuccoed and bland, colored with paints all various shades of the same tone, looking antiseptic and lifeless.
Those great American inventions, the cul-de-sac and the automatic garage door opener, ensure isolation with no through traffic. Heck, if you buy today we'll toss in the cedar fence out back, too.
It is possible, in the America we have built, where everyone can realize their dreams and prosper and have their 15 minutes of fame, to absolutely never have to deal with anyone in your neighborhood at all.
Anyway, back to doorways. I have photographed yellow doorways, blue doorways, pink doorways, rustic doorways and modern doorways. And that's just this morning.
In Mexico the doorways often open to a sidewalk, and that sidewalk is full of people, and at the corner is the Supermercado, where you buy your beer or water or candy, and you can be darn sure you'll see your neighbor there. And so you paint your doorway the color you want it and to heck with resale value because odds are you aren't going anywhere soon anyway, and your neighbor, who you see in the morning when she is sweeping off the walk in front, paints hers' the color she likes and there is just something there that is missing back home, and so I find myself taking pictures of doorways.
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