windows of grace

One of the joys of Mexico is encountering what can only be called architectural oddities.


The door that does not seem to lead anywhere.  The church facade that looks vaguely like an afterthought.  The stairs with uneven risers.


Or this.

I stayed in the Hotel Hacienda when I went north to Puerto Vallarta for my zipline adventure.  It is one of the older hotels in Puerto Vallarta's Hotel Zone.  Not on the beach.  The poor cousin of the swankier resorts with their infinity pools and white-liveried waiters.


But I did not need luxury.  I needed nothing more than Motel 6 convenience.  A place to stay close to the marina to pick up my friends when their ship came in.


The room was adequate.  But the moment I came through the door, I noticed a heavy odor.  Perhaps the room had been closed up too long.


When I unpacked, I started looking around for the source of the odor.  I should have recognized the vaguely rotten egg smell of methane.  It was nothing more than sewer gases venting through the shower stall drain.


I covered the drain with the rubber shower mat to at least cut off some of the gas.


Then, I saw it.  The window.  Curved and stylish as Susana González.  As stark as a Chanel.  Someone poured their art into the design of this hole in the wall.


But, like so many things in this land that I love, form appeared to be everything.  Because the function was merely to open the window into the bedroom.  Or so I thought.


Until I opened my balcony door.  With both windows open, the bathroom window almost becomes another opening to the outside world. 


Really very clever.  While indulging in morning ablutions, you can pretend you are looking into the hotel's inner courtyard.

Architectural oddity?  Sure.


But this one works in beauty and practice.