Destination: Mexican Riviera : Pacific Coasting : From Puerto Vallarta to Manzanillo, Travelers Find Real Life and Luxurious Fantasy Side by Side

PUERTO VALLARTA, Mexico â€”  The rental car I picked up at the Puerto Vallarta airport came with only a partial tank of gas, but I didn’t notice until 40 miles later. By then I was headed south on a twisting, potholed road along Mexico’s remote and mountainous Pacific Coast, and the dashboard needle was bouncing near empty. Where were the gas stations? Running out of gas would be a poor way to begin my end-of-summer beach holiday.

Ahead was the little town of El Tuito,a humble cluster of tired, dusty buildings ringed by high hills clad in green, junglelike foliage. My fears disappeared when I saw a government road sign indicating a gas pump nearby, but I drove the length of town twice without finding it. Finally, I put my school Spanish to use and asked a workman beside the road. He pointed to a small, open-air shop, where a chubby 10-year-old lad with a big smile seemed to be in charge. There wasn’t a pump in sight.

“Do you sell gas?� I asked the boy in Spanish. “Unleaded gas?� “ Si ,� he replied, nodding toward a row of 10-gallon plastic jugs lined up at the foot of the counter.

And so I discovered how gas is dispensed in Mexico in villages far from the nearest gas station. The boy reached for a long plastic tube, sucked on it for a moment and then inserted one end into a jug and the other into the gas tank. Hoisting the jug on his shoulder, he expertly siphoned its contents into the car. I paid him, adding a modest tip, and we exchanged friendly hasta luego s as I drove off.

Curiously, this little episode keeps popping into my mind as one of the most charming memories of my weeklong drive along the Mexican coast--even though I enjoyed a pleasant stay in two of the country’s most famous resort cities, Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo,and spent one night in a luxurious beachfront hideaway where the price of a room came to an astronomical $480.

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Mexico today is a striving and energetic country intent on progress, and it has a thriving tourist industry and plenty of plush resort hotels. But widespread poverty is still readily apparent, and so a visitor to the nearly 200-mile stretch of the central Pacific Coast I toured is constantly stepping between scenes of deprivation and lavish indulgence. It is a troubling aspect of the place that haunts a fun-in-the-sun holiday, and I never did really come to terms with the disparity.

This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy my share of indulgent fun. I began most days splashing in the warm Pacific surf; a couple of afternoons I napped by the pool surrounded by gardens aflame in vibrant hibiscus and other tropical blooms; at twilight I watched the inevitable rosy sunsets while sipping a succession of chilled margaritas, and every night my wife and I dined romantically by candlelight and a tropical breeze. It was the sort of relaxing getaway I had envisioned.

But I quickly came to realize that I was having just as enjoyable, and memorable, a time whenever I got away from the resort life to explore the surrounding towns and the countryside. I drove through gorgeous mountains, where hillside fields in narrow valleys were ripe with sweet bananas, papayas, pineapples, avocados and other tropical delights. I found hidden beaches at the end of rutted roads. At cliff’s edge, I watched waves crash in fury against the rocks.

And so, I suppose, I worked out the conflicts of my conscience with a compromise that at least satisfied me. I stayed in the fancy (and surprisingly expensive) hotels with the full range of vacation amenities that appeal to American tourists--particularly those of us who are well into middle age. But I also got away from these islands of luxury often enough to believe I was seeing something of the other Mexico.

The long sweep of rocky coast from Mazatlan to Acapulco is touted as the Mexican Riviera, and it has become a vacation playground for tens of thousands of Americans. I chose to explore a relatively undeveloped strip of this shoreline between Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo, dubbed the Gold Coast by tourism promoters. The two-lane Highway 200links the two resort cities by way of almost nonstop scenic delights: tropical jungle, rushing rivers, cloud-wrapped mountains, craggy cliffs, sheltered coves and broad, golden beaches.

This is a land both for penny-pinching beach bums and connoisseurs of luxury resorts. A full range of lodgings can be found in Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo, and several beach resorts--including the Club Med Playa Blanca--are tucked into isolated bays and coves between them. My itinerary could have been organized in a variety of ways, but convenient flight connections persuaded me to book a round trip through Puerto Vallarta, the once small village that was suddenly thrust into media prominence in 1964 when Elizabeth Taylor showed up to join Richard Burton, who was filming “Night of the Iguana�there. Since then, the village has mushroomed into a city of more than 250,000 people.

We landed in Puerto Vallarta in midmorning, but postponed our stay there and drove south immediately to Las Alamandas,a sumptuous, very private 12-room resort near the village of Quemaro,about halfway to Manzanillo. From there, we planned to continue on the next day to Manzanillo for two nights at Las Hadas,a white, castlelike resort complex with Moorish touches that was featured in the Bo Derek-Dudley Moore movie “10.� Then we would retrace our route back to Puerto Vallarta for three nights in the Hyatt Coral Grandresort.

About 2 1/2 hours out of Puerto Vallarta, we saw the sign pointing to Quemaro and turned hesitantly onto a decrepit, single-lane dirt road all but washed into oblivion by the summer’s storms. For about two miles, we bounced through muddy, hubcap-deep puddles following the route faxed to us by Las Alamandas when we’d made our night’s reservation there. At Quemaro’s single shop, a ramshackle food store, we turned left for another half-mile to the gate of Las Alamandas. A guard checked our reservation and waved us inside. We passed instantly from the real world into a realm of fantasy.

As we drove up, an office attendant and a bellhop waited near the splashing fountain at the entrance to the small plaza where the resort’s three casitas are clustered. Las Alamandas expected only six guests this day, but the kitchen staff was on duty and waiting for us. On the sea-view terrace, we dined on spicy guacamole and homemade chips, a chunky gazpacho soup, large grilled shrimp wrapped in bacon and a yummy mango mousse.

Las Alamandas is a 1,500-acre beachfront enclave carved out of the thick foliage for the rich, the famous and the pampered. I don’t put myself in these categories, but I was curious to see a place in Mexico that could get away with charging $400 a night for a room (plus an additional $80 for tax and service charge). It is the most expensive lodging I have ever booked, anywhere. For the money, we got a lovely large orange and pink adobe bungalow decorated with bright Mexican tiles and painted pottery. Butterflies flitted across the shaded patio, and a gorgeous turquoise sea lapped the sand at the end of a garden path just ahead.

In truth, there is not much to do at Las Alamandas except swim and loaf, and that is how we entertained ourselves for the remainder of the afternoon, resting from the long flight and drive. We barely saw the other four guests, and so I easily came to imagine I was the master of my own Mexican hacienda. We never spotted anyone else on the beach.

This was not true at our next stop. Las Hadas, the sprawling resort that climbs a green hillside on the northern outskirts of Manzanillo, is about a three-hour drive south of Las Alamandas. Its small beach of dark volcanic sand was awash with sunbathers, and in the bay beyond, an armada of sailboats and sailboards skipped across the blue sea. We were assigned an airy room with a good view of a lovely garden fountain and a distant peek at the bay.

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A city of about 140,000, Manzanillo is a modern commercial and naval port wrapped around two very scenic bays. Las Hadas occupies a slender peninsula that separates the bays. Across the water is the old town, an appealing warren of traffic-clogged streets lined with open-air shops. Squeezed between the bay and high green hills, it is a fine place to poke around. In the center of town is a bustling market beneath a corrugated tin roof.

Cortes founded Latin America’s first shipyard here, and it was from the port of Manzanillo in 1564 that Miguel Lopez de Legazpiset sail in a fleet of galleons to conquer the Philippines for Spain. The port now ships tropical fruit from the region’s many plantations. Summers along the tropical Gold Coast are very hot and humid, and after a long morning of sightseeing I was more than ready to return to my tourist enclave.

Like Las Alamandas, Las Hadas also is a place of fantasy. A gleaming white castle out of “Arabian Nights,� it flaunts Moorish towers, turrets, arched corridors, crenulated walls and flying pennants. The numerous buildings encircle courtyards or open onto plazas, giving Las Hadas the look and feel of a small Mediterranean village.

The resort’s focal point is its giant, free-form swimming pool that rings two small islands abloom with bright flowers and other tropical foliage. The islands are home to several large iguanas--fascinating green and brown creatures, the size of dogs, that look like miniature dragons. Though harmless, they are ferocious in appearance. Mostly they nap on large rocks, soaking in the sun. But one afternoon while I was in the pool, I glanced over to see one of the iguanas swimming alongside me. I spun away as if it were a shark.

As touristy an event as it was, the highlight of our Las Hadas stay was the hotel’s Friday night Mexican fiesta, an outdoor buffet of local dishes served beneath a thatched-roof palapa to the tunes of a nine-piece mariachi band.

When we arrived, the maitre d’ draped around our necks a ribbon from which dangled a small pottery cup. He filled the cup with tequila, offered us a slice of lime dipped in salt to suck briefly and urged us to drink up. The greeting put us in a party mood. While a cooling sea breeze fluttered decorative banners overhead, we heaped our plates high with tasty tacos, tortillas, empanadas,guacamole, roast chicken in mole sauce and a dozen or more other treats.

We broke up the long, slow drive back to Puerto Vallarta by exploring some of the beach towns and resorts along the way. Just north of Manzanillo are the twin villages of Barra de Navidadand Melaque,where the flavor is authentically Mexican. On a weekend morning, Barra de Navidad’s cobblestone streets were lined with vendors selling straw hats and sodas, and lots of youngsters romped on the village’s long strip of sandy beach.

Further north, not quite halfway back to Puerto Vallarta, is the Club Med Playa Blanca. It closes for the summer, but a guard gave us a short tour. This complex too sits in isolation at the end of a bumpy road. Its beach and bay, partially enclosed by soaring rocks, are the prettiest I saw along the whole coast.

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Puerto Vallarta is an appealing place full of top-notch hotels, chic boutiques, fine cafes and late and lively night spots.The city cascades down steep green hillsides to a rocky shoreline cut by numerous bays and coves. It must have been spectacularly lovely when Taylor and Burton romanced here, but sadly some of the finest beaches are now hidden behind high-rise condominiums and hotels. Our hotel, the 10-story Hyatt Coral Grand, stands on just such a beach. Though I found it a pleasant place to stay, I kept wishing I could make it disappear.

The heart of the city is El Pueblo, the 19th-Century old town, which straddles the fast-running Rio Cuale.(The major hotels and resort complexes stretch north and south of El Pueblo for half a dozen miles in each direction.) Its steep, cobblestone streets, outdoor cafes, stately Church of Guadalupeand white-washed houses dripping in bougainvillea form a postcard picture of a romantic Mexican village.

And the browsing is very good. I have never seen such a representative collection of good Mexican pottery, ceramics, woodcarvings, masks, textiles, beadwork, baskets and other crafts. We toted home a giant jug from Guanajuato and a couple of mystical wooden creatures from Oaxaca.

Puerto Vallarta is so over-whelmingly a tourist town that I was prepared to be disappointed by it. And, shortly after I arrived, I thought my fears had been confirmed when I took a walk along the malecon ,El Pueblo’s beachside promenade. For much of the way, I was politely harassed by a succession of smiling condo time-share salespeople. But as soon as I escaped their clutches, I began to warm up to the town.

Maybe the clincher came on our last night in Puerto Vallarta, when we were dining in El Pueblo at the Cafe des Artistes.It is a very good French-Mexican cafe with a stylishly abstract decor of purple and yellow. The night was hot and steaming, and I was sitting beside an open window sipping my second chilled margarita of the evening when I felt a sharp poke in the back. I turned around to see a little girl dressed in pristine white carrying a bouquet of red roses. She had jabbed me with the pointed stem of one of them. Apparently, the restaurant wouldn’t permit her to enter, but she had found a way to catch my attention.

I mentally applauded her ingenuity and bought two of the roses at the exorbitant price she quoted. She broke into a radiant smile, nodded graciously, thanked me and dashed away. Her appreciation seemed honest, and I was touched.

Was this an example of the real Mexico I had been seeking? By now, I was too befuddled by the country’s confusing blend of fantasy and reality to know. But like the young boy selling bottled gas, the little rose girl is a memory of the Gold Coast I’ll always keep.

GUIDEBOOK

Coasting in Mexico

Getting there: Mexicana, Aeromexico and Delta have daily nonstop flights from Los Angeles to Puerto Vallarta. Alaska Airlines offers direct flights with a stop in Mazatlan five times weekly, and nonstop service the other two days. Through Dec. 14, lowest round-trip fares, both nonstop and connecting, are $269 midweek and $309 weekends. All major rental car agencies have facilities in Puerto Vallarta. (For information on driving in Mexico, see related story on Page L2).

Where to stay: Most hotels on Mexico’s Pacific Coast have off-season and high-season rates. High season usually runs from mid-December to mid-April.

In Puerto Vallarta: Hyatt Coral Grand, Carretera Barra de Navidad, from U.S., telephone 011-52-322-251-91, fax 011-52- 322-301-16, reservations (800) 233-1234. A small, attractive high-rise about five miles south of town. Casa Kimberley, Zaragoza 445, tel. and fax 011-52-322-213-36. A modest bed and breakfast inn occupying the former hideaway homes of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Rooms are small and dark, but there’s a small pool and the price is good: off-season, $45, including breakfast; high season, $80.

In Manzanillo: Las Hadas, Avenida los Riscos y Vista Hermosa Peninsula de Santiago, tel. 011-52-333-420-00, reservations (800) 722-6466. A sprawling resort complex built down a hillside on the northern end of the city. Off-season, $165; high season, $250.

Along the coast: Las Alamandas, Paseo de las Palmas 775, Quemara, tel. 011-52-554- 076-57, reservations (800) 223-6510. A 12-room enclave of luxury beside a broad beach in a remote cove about two hours south of Puerto Vallarta. Off-season, $300; high season, beginning here in mid-October, $480.

Club Med Playa Blanca, Costa Careyes, Cihuatlan, reservations (800) 258-2633. An all-inclusive resort, about midway between Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo, tucked beside its own secluded bay. Open only in high season, Nov. 13 to April 30. $115-$185 per night, $780-$1,200 per week.

For more information: Contact the Mexican Government Tourism Office, 10100 Santa Monica Blvd., Suite 224, Los Angeles 90067; (310) 203-8191.