Accessible Mexico
A word that could better describe Mexico might be inaccessible but the country is far too interesting, varied and colorful for travelers to miss - including those of us in wheelchairs. Now, Mexico is not a destination I would ever want to cope with on my own. (Actually, I'm not sure any foreign country is.) However, Kent and I have made two major trips there since the accident and will undoubtedly go again.
Our first trip proved to be, without doubt, the way to see Mexico, although the viewpoint was somewhat different. We cruised the Mexican Riviera, the sunny western coast, for twelve glorious days aboard the Crown Odyssey. Our trip was in late December 1992, while I was still dealing with multiple therapies, medication trials, nausea and my new life in general. Nonetheless, the trip was, most certainly, the best choice. Both Kent and I badly needed a break - and not just a normal one. At the time, I remember thinking it was the one method of travel with which I could deal.
As I've said elsewhere, cruising is probably the most satisfying method of travel I've ever encountered, before or after the accident. It does, however, tend to filter the impressions of the host country through star-filled eyes. So, let's concentrate on the ports-of-call...
Sailing into a port is the most advantageous (and glamorous) way of arriving in Mexico. We sailed from San Francisco on Tuesday afternoon and spent three days at sea, the last one Christmas day. The further south we sailed, the warmer the days were and the lighter our spirits were. For an SCI survivor, at least this one, nothing is more magical than Mexico's warm weather! As we approached by sea, the country's relaxed charm flooded our consciousness and we were ready for any adventure... What a wonderful Christmas present!
There were six ports awaiting our ship. At all of them we were offered optional tours, usually by bus, even air-conditioned when available. Some destinations in Mexico do not have air-conditioned buses, assuring you a realistic touch (or should I say smell) of the country. Our "Shore Excursions" booklet said, "Certain tours... may not be advisable for passengers who have difficulty moving about." Just for a moment, my natural cautionary instincts were triggered but Kent couldn't wait to add our names to every available tour. He had no fears. Later I realized how glad I was that his enthusiasm was so contagious.
On Saturday, we sailed into our first port, Mazatlán, the largest city on the western coast of Mexico. The major shipping port, a tourist destination for travelers from all over the world (including Mexico's landlocked citizens), also boasts a very large shrimp-fishing fleet. Although our bus tour did allow us glimpses of the harbor, the Gibraltar lighthouse, the mercado (or market) and the cathedral, we were shuttled to the places most financially lucrative to the bus company and the Mexican driver. We dutifully watched the Mazatlán version of the Acapulco divers, colorful dancers (ala Folkloric) and shopped for the first of our Mexican trinkets, but Kent and I felt just a bit fleeced when we returned to the ship.
One stop we truly enjoyed was the Mazatlán Arts and Crafts Center in the Zona Dorada. Here we saw (and bought) fine Mexican crafts from all parts of the country. While we relaxed over a cool drink, we watched the Papanda Flyers, a Totonac Indian group that performed while dangling from atop a 75-foot pole. I, personally, liked the shopping better.
Other bus tours were offered from the Mazatlán port. One went inland to an adobe brickyard in Durango, visited a tile workshop in the quaint village of Malpica, and toured the colonial (1500) village of Concordia. Another went to Durango and Concordia, too, but also further inland to the mountain village of Copala. Having visited many of these destinations before the accident, we decided not to take these. Either would probably have been mostly accessible for me, with Kent of course. Two other tour options featured a sportfishing tournament and a day at the beach. We decided neither of them were wheelchair compatible and not wanting to do either anyway, we didn't even consider them.
Next morning, Sunday, we magically awoke in Manzanillo. Our first tender ride was an accessibility challenge conquered by an imaginative Greek crewman who carried me aboard the small transport vessel and tied down my chair atop the cabin. We then boarded a tour bus for a drive specially designed to show us the best and the newest of the city. Perhaps the highlight of the day was the stunning Moorish-styled resort of Las Hadas, where the movie 10 was filmed.
The last stop on our venture was the beachfront Oasis Restaurant. Here we had our only real accessibility challenge of the entire cruise. In order to get to the "banos" (or restrooms), we had to descend a steep flight of marble stairs; there was neither an elevator nor a restroom on the ground level. Marble is extremely slippery when it is wet, so we were grateful for no rain and no maintenance person mopping the steps. We went down and, after a brief visit to the banos (decidedly not accessible), up again. I decided I was particularly grateful for the U.S. ADA laws.
On Monday, we awoke as our ship docked in Acapulco Bay. This bustling city started as a simple Mexican fishing village and today is a world-renowned resort destination. Acapulco seemed to me much busier, more urban, than anyplace we had been thus far. Once more, we boarded a tour bus for a drive to the scenic vantage-point high above the bay near Las Brisas hotel, as pink as any resort brochure had ever pictured it. Near the outskirts of town, we drove through plantain and avocado groves to see the Acapulco Princess Hotel, built in the style of an Aztec pyramid. The finale of the day's tour - and the only time I disembarked the bus - was the visit to El Mirador Hotel to see the High Cliff Divers. The pathway to the cliff was paved so maneuvering it was simple. However, watching the divers while sitting in a chair did restrict my view somewhat. As I recall, we were also expected to shop a bit there and, of course, I was happy to oblige.
Tuesday we began the laid-back Mexican holiday we'd waited for all week. We leisurely went ashore, again by tender, and Kent literally strolled as he pushed me through Zihuatanejo. The sleepy, rustic, unpretentious village is Mexico at it's simplest and best. There were no glittering resorts in "Zihuat"; they are a short taxi ride away at Ixtapa but, looking for the more-leisurely aspects of Mexico, we didn't visit them.
Here, however, we took our first real look at Mexican sidewalks. Crumbling and full of holes or bad patches, even the best are in poor condition. That is, of course, if they exist at all! Once again, I was grateful for Kent, his strength, his tenacity and his willingness. We were both happy to be gently rocked to sleep in our sea-going cradle that night.
When we awakened next morning, we were docking in Puerto Vallarta. We began our customary bus tour with a drive through the mid-town area along the Malecón (seawall). After another shopping stop, we proceeded up cobblestone streets to the Cathedral of "Our Lady of Guadelupe". Comically - however, without any disrespect intended - Kent and I decided the statues of Our Lady decidedly resembled the Indian Queens so popular in the bottle-collecting world.
When the Mexican tour guide announced we'd be continuing our bus tour on the Gold Coast south of the city, we jumped ship (or should I say bus). We had already checked with the tour director aboard ship for detailed instructions. We knew where to abandon the bus, find the antique shop - the only one we saw on the entire trip - and where to re-board the ship. The maneuver left us afoot (well, half of us) in the middle of a charming Mexican city and we thoroughly enjoyed our brief time immersed in the county's charm. By the way, the antique shop is on Corona Street, between Morelos and Hidalgo, and they did speak English.
Our last Mexican port was Cabo San Lucas at tip of the Baja peninsula and, again, we were transported ashore by tender. Without a doubt, this was the most primitive place we visited! In fact, reaching the resort hotel - seemingly the only commercial structure - was an adventure in accessibility. The walk along what passed for a road was pleasant only because the weather was so warm and sunny. Potholes large enough to swallow us covered the dirt surface. There were no sidewalks, a blessing since real walks would probably be bumpy and full of holes. Since it was our final port, the memory of our brief visit to Cabo remains the most vivid of the entire cruise. As difficult as it was, we had found the relaxed Mexico we were seeking.
In addition, it was the morning of New Years Eve. That night, we celebrated. Then, after two additional days at sea, we docked once again in San Francisco. How perfect an ending to 1992 and what a wonderful way to begin the new 1993!
Mexico called out to us once again that same year. In September, Kent and I flew to Mexico City to visit his mother's cousin, a longtime resident there. Carefully following her directions, we took a taxi from the airport to our hotel, the Westin Galleria Plaza in the Zona Rosa. When we arrived, we found a marble staircase to be the only public entrance to the lobby. The doorman pushed my wheelchair around the corner, leaving Kent to deal with the taxi driver and the bell captain. I was wheeled to the service entrance, up a narrow ramp adjoining the loading dock and into the bowels of the hotel, emerging behind the check-in desk. Without question, it was the strangest hotel arrival I'd ever experienced.
Over the course of the visit, I would enter the building the same way several times. Only a few times were we able to sneak by the hotel service people and perform the Kent-drags-Margie's-chair trick on the marble stairway. It was probably fortunate when hotel personnel assisted since marble isn't my favorite stair material and the steps were quite steep.
Cousin Doris wanted us to move to another, more colorful hotel than the classic, international one our travel agent had booked; the charming hotel she had chosen was
"more Mexican". With her leading the way, we went two short blocks to inquire about lodging. The desk clerk suggested we inspect some rooms; he must have suspected what we would soon discover... The room was lovely. In fact, the entire hotel was charming and very Mexican. We had only one problem, the bathroom door was too small to accommodate my wheelchair. Disappointed, we decided to stay where we were.
Fortunately, however, we later discover that, from our hotel room window, we had a exceptional view of Mexico's Angel of Independence. The winged beauty flies high above the center of Paseo de la Reforma, a wide tree-lined boulevard crossing Chapultepec Park. Emperor Maximilian planned this very European, monument-bedecked thoroughfare as the route that would take him from his castle to his office on the Zócalo.
Next morning, Friday, our eagerness was restored by the long-anticipated visit to the archaeology halls at the National Museum of Anthropology. Since she'd been living in Mexico for many years, teaching at the University, Doris spoke fluent Spanish, a decided advantage for us. With her help, we managed to find a large cab. Mexico City has many, many taxis, but most of them (thousands, it seemed) are small green Volkswagens, much too tiny to accommodate the three of us, and my wheelchair. Traffic itself is a nightmare in Mexico City; I'm certain no timid driver would even venture onto the streets behind the wheel of an automobile.
The museum was wonderful. Doris, a archeologist herself, was formerly a curator so she knew the exhibits extremely well. Once again, we relied on her Spanish to translate the signs marking the displays. Without Kent along, however, I could not have seen as much as I did. The entrance to the archaeology halls was at the top of a short flight of outdoor steps. Once at the top, we were easily able to access all we wanted to see. We were forced to eat elsewhere, nonetheless, since the restaurant was down a long, foreboding flight of marble stairs. The ethnography exhibits were on an upper floor, also accessible only by steps.
We spent two days examining every corner of the archeology halls, leaving nothing out and soaking in every word of Doris' magical description. The third day, we were ready to see the "digs" at Teotihuacan. We had already negotiated with the driver of the large cab - the single big cab in Mexico, we'd decided - to be our driver.
Sunday morning, he drove us to the ruins of the ancient city of Teotihuacan, forty kilometers northeast of Mexico City. Believed to have been at one time the most important city in North American, this prehispanic metropolis was inhabited from 100 B.C. until 700 A.D. Between 150 and 300 A.D., the city is believed to have attained its maximum size and greatest population, 150,000 inhabitants but, by the end of the eighth century A.D., Teotihuacan was deserted. There is no historically correct explanation, only a number of hypothesis.
The Pyramid of the Moon in the mysterious city is located within a huge walled enclosure. While we were exploring, Kent decided that, to have the best view, we'd have to traverse the wall - an easy trick for most folks since the enclosure was built with stepped sides. However, wheelchairs don't do steps well. But, where there's a will... He carried me up the large steps to the top of the wall and down the other side, the cab driver following with the chair. The view was decidedly magnificent, making tolerable the remainder of our exploration by car.
That evening, our dinner plans took us to a popular restaurant several blocks from our hotel in the Zona Rosa. As we made our way to dinner, Kent and I had another encounter with Mexico's sidewalks. The best word to describe these footpaths might be deplorable. Keep in mind, we were in the most prestegious section of the largest city in the world, where you might expect, at the least, maintained walkways. These sidewalks were lumpy, bore roadmaps of cracks, holes and large crumbling patches. In the few places where repairs had been attempted, lumps of cement remained, misshapen testaments to poor upkeep. They were, indeed, the worst I've ever encountered.
The restaurant? A word to the wise: When in Rome , do as the Romans do. Mexican food is wonderful in Mexico. American food is best at home. It's a lesson Kent finally has learned.
Monday, our last day in Mexico, we spent with Doris, this time in her colorful apartment. By any standards a small space, her tiny home is hidden away from the street at the end of a long alley corridor. When we entered her sunny courtyard, filled with lush tropical vegetation, made our way along the walkway of stepping stones and entered her magical casa, her love of the very fiber of Mexican life was apparent. That day, this tiny elderly lady blessed us with the best gift Mexico had ever given us, the warmth of the Spanish-American spirit. Although I cannot say what she did, or even how the day progressed; I only know that day Mexico came alive for us. We came away knowing we have much more of the country to see and know.
Mexico's charm, warmth and great hospitality remain a treasure to me. I'm feel so fortunate to have experienced its blessing. I will go again...
The only ventures into the colorful nation south of our borders since our Mexico City visit have been brief excursions into border towns. Now, the Mexican border towns don't usually give a very accurate picture of the nation's colorful culture. My brother, Jim, works for General Motors in Juárez. We visited the company office building in December 1996. While in Mexico, we had dinner at one of his favorite restaurants, an elegant second-floor dining room near the office. Fortunately, the building had an elevator, so it offered no accessibility problem. The sidewalks, however, left much to be desired. Previously, Jim worked in one of the company's plants in Matamoros. Even though the food there was again a treat, the sidewalks were still bad.
