MEXICAN TRIP BRINGS PEACE
Christmas in old Puerto Vallarta helped family deal with the loss of a loved one
The day Mom died changed so many things in my life. And while the sadness affected every day, holidays were even emptier.
As the days moved on with little enthusiasm toward Christmas, neither my son nor I had any appetite for a traditional Christmas at home. But a chance encounter with a travel brochure turned a silent dread into a bright string of memories that still makes us smile three years later.
We chose the Sheraton Buganvilias in Puerto Vallarta and from the moment we stepped away from our cab, the sadness began its slow retreat.
Right on the beach with an open, breezy foyer, colour permeated everything. Pinatas, cascades of bougainvillea and pots and pots of rich, red poinsettias. We felt strangely at home. Our rooms left nothing to be desired and from the moment we shut the AC off and opened a window the unrelenting and glorious sound of waves crashing brought a sense of peace back to us.
Thirty minutes later with a drink in hand, we met by the roaring waters to begin our bucket lists. Mine included plenty of time for reading; his saw him disappearing on multiple day trips for snorkelling and exploring. Las Caletas, a piece of coastline that was once leased to American director John Huston, was of particular interest.
We both wanted to take several trips to Viejo (Old) Puerto Vallarta. The anticipation that had been sorely lacking was making a comeback.
Our trips into Viejo Vallarta were always a pleasure. A 10-minute walk took us into the cobbled world made famous by Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Makeshift beach bars under roofs of tin and branches, pelicans waiting for scraps atop the straw roof of a seaside restaurant, and giant metallic pinatas festooning the town squares; we loved it all.
One of our favourite finds was off the tourist path, Hotel Paloma del Mar. Going up into the hills, we spotted a Canadian flag on a balcony. Ten minutes later, we were chatting with a retired couple from London, Ont., who wintered in Puerto Vallarta. They suggested we enjoy a drink on the rooftop terrace. With drinks on the way, we passed the evening enjoying a tangerine sunset and listening to the roosters settling in for the night. Walking home, we sang Feliz Navidad.
Christmas Eve dawned bright and beautiful and we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast looking out over the sun-silvered waters of Banderas Bay, and laughing at the daring antics of the Mexican jays that loved stealing the sugar packages and ripping them open, spilling the crystal contents on one and all. They had brought laughter back into our lives.
The festivities began in earnest at 6:30 p.m. under a star-dusted sky. Supper was superb, but the dessert was truly photo worthy. A two-metre-tall open gingerbread house filled to the rafters with glittery, sugary delicacies that disappeared in a heartbeat.
Next came a candlelit parade on the beach with carolling in English and Spanish. A brilliantly coloured show celebrating Mexico’s regional dances and costumes had everyone scrambling for their cameras. Near the end, a massive pinata was hauled into the air for the children. When it finally broke, the squeals were epic as the treats disappeared into pockets, fists and mouths.
Now came our turn. I had seen them along the beach; rising up over the waters, going higher and higher. Like souls going home. And then, they were gone. After some inquiries, we bought one of the paper lanterns. We found a quiet spot on a jumble of boulders stretching out into the darkness. With nervous fingers, my son lit our candle and I slowly raised it as it tugged upwards. It was time to let go.
We watched its gentle ascent and just before it disappeared, Stephen whispered “Merry Christmas, Grandma.” In the last few minutes before Christmas Eve turned into Christmas Day, we sang Silent Night.
Now several years later, our Christmas is celebrated in Vancouver where Stephen lives. We have collected a new set of traditions. The stunning light displays and decorations of the Capilano Suspension Bridge are a must, and my residence is now the Sylvia Hotel with its Old World feel and charming stories of Mr. Got To Go, an endearing cat that once called the storied, ivied hotel, home.
For Christmas Eve, we visit Mom’s memorial bench near Sunset Beach and tie a red rose to it. The day before I leave, I hand it over to the west coast waves. But my favourite tradition honours our first Christmas alone in Mexico. After checking in, my son and I stroll the streets of Davie and Denman and choose a Christmas floral arrangement of red poinsettias. In my room, I take out a small pinata that I place on it. Merry Christmas, Mom.