Minor misunderstandings flare into full-blown arguments. Longtime residents clash with newcomers. Local pride rubs up against foreign expectations. And before long, the original purpose of connection is buried beneath sarcasm, gatekeeping and thinly veiled frustration. Which is why, when something genuinely different comes along, people notice.

Humble beginnings

Puerto Vallarta Experience Share on Facebook has quietly become one of those rare online spaces that feels, dare we say, nice. 

It’s helpful without being patronizing and positive without being naive. It’s a place where newcomers feel welcome, and longtime residents don’t feel worn down by answering the same questions for the hundredth time. 

In a digital landscape where tension often feels inevitable, this page has somehow sidestepped it. And in doing so, it’s become a firm Vallarta favorite.

Page founder and Canadian expat Melanie Henderson started the group as a simple way of sharing her and her husband Travis’s experiences.

“My family, friends and the many customers I had where I used to work all wanted to know what we were into when we retired,” she said. “I began the page as a way of keeping them informed, and the next thing I knew, it unexpectedly grew. There was no moment when I thought it was needed; I just started it for fun and [as] a way to communicate with people.”

What’s striking is that the page — which has just shy of 94,000 followers — doesn’t position itself as an authority. There’s no sense of “we know better because we’ve been here longer.” Instead, it feels like a conversation happening at eye level. 

If someone asks a question about buses, they get three thoughtful answers instead of a lecture. Someone shares a small joy — a sunset, a meal, a chance encounter — and it’s met with warmth rather than one-upmanship.

At its heart, Puerto Vallarta Experience Share seems less interested in being right and more interested in being useful.

“This is a group to share, discover and celebrate everything about Puerto Vallarta,” Henderson said. “Whether it’s photos, experiences, restaurant reviews, hotel tips, events or travel questions, our community is here to help each other enjoy the best the area has to offer. I want people to experience the culture [and] the beautiful people and make meaningful memories. In a nutshell, I want the group to add happiness to everyone who’s on it. Knowing it was doing that would make me very happy.”

That sense of positive emotional aftertaste, how people feel when they log off, is perhaps the page’s quiet superpower.  And that doesn’t happen by accident.

Maintaining a positive tone in an expat group isn’t simply about deleting negativity. It’s about modelling behavior. It’s in the way questions are answered, disagreements are softened rather than sharpened, and humor is used to defuse rather than divide.

“We aim to post or make comments with kindness, respect, and positivity, so that others will follow suit,” Henderson said. “Our group has so many role models that inspire me, and they’ve helped me see the joy in everything. The group is very important to all of us, so we try to treat each other like family.”

There’s also a noticeable respect in the group for Puerto Vallarta itself. Not just as a backdrop for expat life, but as a living, breathing place with its own rhythms, people and history.

Posts regularly highlight local businesses, traditions and everyday moments that remind members they’re guests here, not just consumers of sunshine and scenery, and that respect feels genuine rather than performative. It’s woven quietly into the tone of the group, shaping how people speak about the city and, just as importantly, about one another. 

There’s an understanding that loving a place means listening to it, learning from it, and allowing oneself to be changed by it. That affection for Vallarta, and for the people who make it what it is, shines through in almost every interaction.

“I love the sense of community. There’s such a noticeable feeling of togetherness here,” Henderson said. “I’m grateful every day that my husband and I have been welcomed, and I want everyone to experience the joy we have in Vallarta.”

For many members, Puerto Vallarta Experience Share becomes something more than a practical resource. It’s a touchstone, a reminder of why they chose Vallarta in the first place, or why they’re considering it now. For those newly arrived, still finding their footing, it offers reassurance that uncertainty is all part of the process of being a migrant to a new country and that questions are welcome. 

For those who’ve been here longer, it gently rekindles a sense of appreciation that can sometimes fade with familiarity.

In that way, Puerto Vallarta Experience Share bridges a quiet but important gap: It allows different stages of expat life to coexist without competing. There’s room for the excitement of discovery alongside the steadiness of experience. There’s room for curiosity without judgment. And, above all, there’s room for kindness.

Looking ahead, the future of the page feels less about expansion and more about intention.

“As the group grows, I’m hoping it’ll continue to be a space we can all enjoy and share together,” Henderson said. “Each time someone reaches out to someone with a post or comment, it connects us. I think the dream is that those connections remain meaningful.”

In a digital world that often rewards outrage and scorn, Puerto Vallarta Experience Share has chosen a different path, valuing curiosity over righteousness, generosity over ego and connection over noise. 

That may not sound revolutionary, but in practice it is. Not because the group promises perfection but because it offers something far more sustaining: a reminder that community, when nurtured with care, can still be a source of comfort, joy and belonging.

In a city shaped by arrivals and departures, reinvention and return, Puerto Vallarta Experience Share reflects the best of what expat life can be: open, respectful and grounded in gratitude. A place where sharing experiences doesn’t mean competing for them and where being part of something never requires being someone you’re not.

In the end, that quiet sense of welcome may be its greatest success of all.

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics and community.

The post MND Local: How one Puerto Vallarta expat group avoids the pitfalls of online culture appeared first on Mexico News Daily

2026 budget sees hefty increase

Puerto Vallarta is starting the year with an impressive budget of 3.1 billion pesos, marking a bold move towards enhancing the city’s future. This historic budget is a significant increase from last year and is designed to elevate the quality of life for residents through key investments in infrastructure, public safety and essential community services.

The plan highlights road improvement, park beautification and urban development initiatives, ensuring that Puerto Vallarta continues to thrive as a desirable place for both living and visiting. Social programs aimed at supporting vulnerable populations are also a top priority, demonstrating the city’s commitment to inclusivity and community well-being.

With this robust and ambitious financial plan, Puerto Vallarta isn’t just envisioning a bright future; it’s actively working toward it.

Early tax payments rewarded

The 2026 property tax season in Puerto Vallarta has begun, marked by a special ceremony recognizing early contributors to the city’s development. Dr. Claudio Rafael Vásquez Martínez demonstrated extraordinary commitment by being among the first to pay his taxes, arriving at the Municipal Administrative Unit at 1 a.m. on New Year’s Day. The local government hopes to collect around 600 million pesos this year, all of it earmarked to fund infrastructure projects and public services essential for the community.

To promote participation, the city is offering incentives such as a 15% discount for early payments in January and a 10% discount in February. A tiered discount program provides substantial savings for specific groups, including retirees and seniors.

With these supportive measures and the proactive engagement of residents, Puerto Vallarta could be poised for a prosperous year ahead.

Bus fares increase for some

Puerto Vallarta hasn’t seen a public transportation fee hike since 2018, so it comes as little surprise that 2026 would be the year to change that. Bus fares are increasing from 10 to 14 pesos, but to ease this transition for users, Jalisco Governor Pablo Lemus has announced a 1.2 billion peso subsidy plan, allowing passengers to pay only 11 pesos per trip through the “Al Estilo Jalisco” Unique Card, which subsidizes 3 pesos per ride.

Mexican citizens with a voter ID can access the subsidized fare, while those without will pay the full fare. Discount protections for vulnerable groups, including students, seniors and people with disabilities, remain unchanged at 50%, reducing their cost to 7 pesos. 

The application for the new card will begin in January 2026, with plans to distribute 1.5 million cards by April. 

Ahoy there, matey

After the sudden and sad passing of the Marigalante, Puerto Vallarta’s famed pirate ship, the community has been waiting to welcome a new addition to its maritime heritage. The Jolly Roger, a vibrant and exciting vessel, set sail from Cancún in late October 2025, bringing renewed energy to the local tourism scene. 

Now docked in Puerto Vallarta, the Jolly Roger has been renamed Marigalante II, and it promises families and tourists alike a memorable experience filled with thrilling adventures on the high seas, complete with lively reenactments, treasure hunts and pirate-themed entertainment.

Whether you’re a seasoned pirate aficionado or a first-time visitor, the Marigalante II is set to be the must-see attraction of 2026.

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics and community. 

The post MND Local: Puerto Vallarta unveils ambitious budget, tax incentives, transit changes and a new pirate ship for 2026 appeared first on Mexico News Daily

That portrayal closely mirrors the rhetoric of U.S. President Donald Trump. Across speeches, social media posts, and televised interviews, Mexico is often cast as a country willfully flooding the United States with drugs and failing to control migration. In a Fox News interview on Saturday, January 3, following recent events in Venezuela, Trump even hinted at the possibility of conflict much closer to home.

“Your vice president, JD Vance, said that the message is pretty clear: that drug trafficking must stop. So was this operation a message that you’re sending to Mexico, to Claudia Sheinbaum, the president there?” Fox’s Griff Jenkins asked.

“Well, it wasn’t meant to be, we’re very friendly with her, she’s a good woman,” Trump began. “But the cartels are running Mexico. She’s not running Mexico. We could be politically correct and be nice and say, ‘Oh, yes, she is.’ No, no. She’s very, you know, she’s very frightened of the cartels. They’re running Mexico. And I’ve asked her numerous times, ‘Would you like us to take out the cartels?’ Something is gonna have to be done with Mexico.”

Trump’s language frames Mexico less as a neighbour or partner and more as a looming threat. For those who’ve never travelled south of the border, this one-dimensional depiction can easily become the dominant lens through which the country is viewed.

The reality, however, is far more intricate.

Misrepresented blame

One of Trump’s most frequent claims is that Mexico is deliberately flooding the United States with fentanyl, leading to hundreds of thousands of deaths. While the CDC confirms the opioid crisis has indeed resulted in more than 100,000 overdose fatalities annually in the U.S., attributing this tragedy solely to Mexico oversimplifies a deeply complex issue.

Fentanyl does cross into the U.S. from Mexico, but through criminal networks, not as a matter of government policy or national strategy. Drugs are most often smuggled through legal ports of entry, frequently by U.S. citizens, using increasingly sophisticated methods. Mexican authorities actively work to disrupt these networks, often at considerable risk and cost.

Trump’s framing isn’t only misleading, it shifts responsibility away from U.S. demand, domestic trafficking networks, and the public-health dimensions of addiction. Drug trafficking is a shared challenge, and rhetoric that ignores this reality strains cooperation on both sides of the border.

The reality of enforcement

Trump has argued that Mexico does little to control migration and that declines in border crossings are solely the result of his policies. This narrative omits key facts.

Mexico enforces its immigration laws rigorously, often under extraordinary strain. Data from the Migration Policy Institute documents checkpoints, detention centres, deportations, and patrols along Mexico’s northern border, many operating with limited resources and constant scrutiny.

Reducing this reality to slogans about walls and tariffs overlooks the complexity on the ground. Mexico isn’t passively allowing migration, it’s managing a regional humanitarian crisis in real time, while absorbing pressures that never reach U.S. headlines. This effort, while imperfect, reflects the work of countless officials and citizens navigating difficult circumstances.

Exaggerating the threat

Trump often describes Mexico as a cartel-run state where danger is omnipresent. While violence certainly exists, it’s uneven and highly localized. Data from Mexico’s National Institute of Statistics and Geography shows that large areas of the country, including Mérida, Querétaro, Oaxaca, and most neighbourhoods of Mexico City, remain notably safe.

In these places, daily life looks much as it does elsewhere. People walk through parks, shop in markets, and sit in cafés without the constant fear implied by Trump’s portrayal.

Distorted narrative

Trump has repeatedly claimed that Mexico doesn’t cooperate enough with the U.S. in terms of extraditions. This assertion is demonstrably false and is supported by U.S. Department of Justice data that highlights Mexico’s long history of extraditing criminals to the U.S., often under significant political pressure and real danger to the officials involved.

Cooperation between the two countries extends well beyond law enforcement. Extraditions involve complex legal and diplomatic considerations and mischaracterising this history undermines trust while fueling unnecessary suspicion.

An oversimplification

Throughout 2025, Trump maintained that walls and tariffs could single-handedly resolve border issues. In reality, migration and trade are shaped by deep-rooted forces including inequality, violence, labour demand, and global supply chains. Treating these challenges as problems with simple, mechanical solutions obscures their true nature.

Trade deficits, which Trump frequently cites as evidence that Mexico is exploiting the U.S., are similarly complex. They reflect consumer behaviour and market dynamics, not wrongdoing. Tariffs, moreover, are paid by U.S. importers, costs that ultimately land on American businesses and consumers, not on Mexico.

Inflated numbers

Trump routinely inflates figures related to illegal crossings, drug deaths, and cartel activity. These exaggerations fuel anxiety and suspicion among audiences watching from afar. For those of us living in Mexico, they more often provoke frustration and disbelief.

Day to day Mexico is vibrant, functional, and resilient. The lesson isn’t to dismiss data, but to approach dramatic claims with scepticism and to balance statistics with lived experience.

Residents here often navigate between two competing narratives: the Mexico we know, and the Mexico portrayed in political theatre. That distinction shapes how we live, where we settle, and how we explain our lives to friends and family back home. It reminds us that Mexico isn’t a monolith defined by danger, but a country of nuance, contradiction, and endurance.

Beyond fear driven narratives

Trump’s narrative about Mexico reflects a broader pattern of exaggeration and blame-shifting. For those relocating to or already living in Mexico, the takeaway is simple: the country is richer, more vibrant, and more complex than any Trump headline or speech suggests. Bureaucracy can be frustrating, crime exists, and governance can feel bewildering at times, but daily life goes on. Families gather, businesses grow, markets buzz, and communities support one another.

Rhetoric has consequences. Words spoken from a political stage shape perceptions, influence policy, and colour everyday interactions. Statements like “Something is gonna have to happen to Mexico” carry weight well beyond the moment they’re uttered.

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics, and community. 

The post Opinion: Why Donald Trump is wrong about Mexico appeared first on Mexico News Daily

New Year’s Eve in Mexico isn’t a quiet, reflective pause with a classy drink and a vague promise to be better. It’s loud, crowded, emotional, deeply superstitious, and weirdly optimistic. It’s part family reunion, part spiritual reset, part performance art, and everyone understands the assignment.

Let’s start with the main event

At exactly midnight, people attempt to eat 12 grapes in 12 seconds, each grape representing a wish for one month of the coming year. If a grape tastes sour, that month might come with a bit of negativity. If it’s sweet, so too is the wish, so too is the month.

Someone always underestimates the size of the grapes. Someone else forgets to make wishes altogether and ends up frantically whispering things like “health, money, world peace” while chewing at record speed. There’s usually one person who finishes early and feels unbearably smug, and another who’s still chewing grape number nine well into the New Year, refusing to accept defeat.

But it doesn’t matter, because the wishes count anyway. Mexico is generous like that.

Then there’s the underwear

If you didn’t grow up celebrating New Year’s in Mexico, the underwear situation may come as a bit of a surprise. Here, your destiny starts in your drawers, both the ‘chest of’ and the wearable kind.

Red underwear is for love. Yellow is for prosperity. White is for peace. Green is for health. The colour choice is a direct conversation between you and the universe, and it’s best not to be vague.

Markets fill up with bright, lacy, aggressively symbolic underwear. Abuelas buy it for their grandkids. Amigas gift it with a wink. No one’s embarrassed, because this is serious business.

Some people hedge their bets and wear multiple colours. Some commit hard to one goal. And some insist they don’t believe in any of it, while quietly choosing yellow, just in case.

If you step outside just as the clock strikes midnight, you may notice something else entirely. People are running with suitcases.

Don’t panic! They’re not fleeing the party. They’re manifesting travel.

The tradition is simple. You grab a suitcase and take a quick walk or run around the block at midnight to invite adventure in the coming year. The size of the suitcase varies, but the enthusiasm does not.

Teenagers sprint, laughing. Adults jog with determination. Someone’s padre takes it far too seriously and disappears for a full five minutes. There’s always at least one person who’s never left the country but runs anyway, hopeful, breathless, dragging a suitcase that’s mostly empty but full of intention.

In some parts of Mexico, the year doesn’t just begin, it burns.

Families make an año viejo, a dummy stuffed with old clothes, cardboard, and sometimes handwritten notes listing everything they want to leave behind. Bad habits, bad luck, bad years, and even bad relationships are fed to the fire at midnight.

Watching it burn is dramatic and oddly peaceful. The air smells like smoke and closure. People stand quietly for a moment, faces lit by the flames, as if the fire might actually understand what it’s being asked to destroy. For a few seconds, it feels like it does.

New Year’s Eve food in Mexico is not subtle.

Tables groan under bacalao, romeritos, pozole, tamales, and dishes that only appear once a year and somehow take three days to prepare. Everyone swears they’re too full, yet everyone eats more anyway.

Plates are refilled. Recipes are debated. Someone insists it tastes better this year; someone else insists it doesn’t. Both are lying, because it always tastes of tradition, exactly as it should.

As midnight arrives, fireworks erupt across Mexico’s largest cities and smallest pueblos alike. The noise is unavoidable, echoing through streets and patios, lighting up the sky whether you’re ready or not. Music spills out from everywhere. People hug with the long kind of intention where you feel everything from the year you’ve just survived.

Some cry. Some laugh. Everyone is fully present.

No matter how old you are, New Year’s in Mexico is a family affair. Even if you swear you’re going out later, you start at home.

There are toasts from tíos who never usually give speeches. Resolutions are announced loudly and forgotten immediately. There’s advice you didn’t ask for, and those long hugs you didn’t realise you needed.

Someone brings up last year’s messes. Someone says, “This year will be my year.” And everyone believes it.

New Year’s Day is slow

Leftovers reappear. Coffee is strong. Stories from the night before are retold with generous embellishment. There’s a feeling of reset, and not because everything is suddenly perfect, but because the year feels open. Like a blank notebook you fully intend to write in neatly this time.

New Year’s in Mexico isn’t about perfection or becoming a brand-new person overnight. It’s about hope with humour. It’s about saying, “I don’t know what’s coming, but my grapes and I are ready.”

It understands that life is a bit frantic, so celebrations should be too. It understands that superstition and laughter can coexist. It understands that starting fresh doesn’t require silence, but rather fireworks, running shoes, and red underwear.

And maybe that’s why it feels so good.

Because when Mexico welcomes a new year, it kicks the door open, eats twelve grapes, grabs a suitcase, and dares you to believe, even for a moment, anything is possible

And as with most things, following Mexico’s lead is a very good idea.

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics, and community. You can follow along with her travel stories at www.salsaandserendipity.com.

The post New Year, the loud, beautiful, Mexican way appeared first on Mexico News Daily

December sunlight spills across the bay, and poinsettias stack in brilliant towers at every market stall. Palm trees shimmer with strings of Christmas lights. ‘Tis the season when people from colder countries flood in, chasing warmth they can’t find at home.

Holiday blues travel, even to Puerto Vallarta

But this warmth isn’t just the kind that heats your skin. It’s the holiday spirit. It’s the laughter spilling from crowded plazas, children singing carols and fireworks painting the night sky. Yet amidst this vibrant celebration, a different warmth entirely seeps into your bones. It reminds you of what you might be missing, making the heaviness you carry feel even heavier.

If you suffer from depression, it doesn’t stay behind; it travels with you. I know this because I live with it, and I admit it openly, even when societal expectations suggest I shouldn’t. It’s crossed borders with me more times than I can count.

People assume that moving to Mexico means sadness evaporates. Friends back home have asked, “What do you have to be depressed about there?” as if palm trees and sunshine can shield me from my own mind.

But depression doesn’t check your environment before settling in. It doesn’t care that others think you should be happier than you are. When I moved here, I hoped the sun would soften my depression, and sometimes it does, but more often, it simply adapts. You can relocate your body, but your mind always comes with you.

Beauty isn’t always a balm

Sharing my struggles can sometimes be met with disbelief, as if the beauty surrounding me should act as a balm for my sorrow.

At times, the beauty feels almost mocking. The world around me is too bright for the heaviness I carry. I’ve watched sunsets that should evoke something deep within me, yet I felt numb, walking the waterfront in search of relief, only to return home with the same weight tightening my chest.

The hardest part is explaining this to friends who believe I won some emotional lottery by living by the ocean. Sometimes, it’s easier to say, “I’m good,” than to delve into why I still struggle, even with palm trees swaying outside my window.

My depression sharpens around the holidays. The joy of the Christmas season bursts forth in a cascade of lights, music and laughter. There are posadas, parades and so many displays of life. Yet none of that cancels out the ache of distance for those of us who grew up with cold-weather Decembers and shared rituals.

Missing winter weather

When winter is stripped away, the emotional rhythm your body remembers feels lost. The familiarity of snowy rooftops and the scent of pine is replaced by palm trees draped in lights and sun-soaked mornings. While Santa in board shorts is adorable, I sometimes miss the magic of snow falling quietly outside my window.

According to an American Psychological Association study, a significant percentage of people with depression see symptoms increase during the holiday season, even without traditional winter darkness. For expats, the feeling of holiday loneliness can also increase. The sun doesn’t eliminate these feelings; it sharpens them against the vivid backdrop of celebration.

Beyond individual struggles, this winter feels more emotionally strained. Fewer people are travelling or making big moves, and it isn’t just because of flight prices or global events; we’re all carrying more than usual. 

Mexico doesn’t cure depression, but it does alter one’s experience of it

Mexico’s upcoming 2026 residency requirement changes add another layer of stress altogether, with higher financial thresholds and stricter processes. The anxiety surrounding depression doesn’t motivate action; it freezes it.

Living in Mexico hasn’t cured my depression, but it has altered my relationship with it. The pace is slower, the light lingers longer and there’s something grounding about buying fruit from the same vendor every morning or watching fishermen pull in their nets at sunrise. 

Small rituals have become my lifeline. A slow walk to the market before the heat settles in, a drive to a nearby town where life feels simpler, and days spent listening to waves instead of my swirling thoughts. These rituals may not heal me, but they hold me and sometimes that’s enough.

When I tell the truth about how I feel, when I allow myself to say, “I’m not okay today,” I find relief in vulnerability. It isn’t weakness; it’s a way to lighten the load I carry.

How light returns

If you’ve ever spent a winter in a landscape that seems like paradise but you still felt hollow, you’re not alone. If you stayed home this winter because planning a trip felt overwhelming, you haven’t failed. If the idea of moving abroad suddenly feels too heavy, you’re not weak. If the holidays make your chest tighten, you’re not broken. You’re just balancing memory, expectation and rhythm all at once, and that weight deserves acknowledgement, not judgment.

Depression doesn’t ask for permission, and it doesn’t disappear at the turn of a calendar just because your surroundings improve. Seasonal or not, it craves gentleness, a slower rhythm, softer mornings and permission to simply exist without the pressure to be happy all the time.

And healing doesn’t require something grand or dramatic. It can be as simple as a morning when the fog lifts just a little, an afternoon when a laugh bubbles up without effort, or an evening when you feel a flicker of hope again. That’s how light returns: gradually, unexpectedly and softly.

Personal experience and Puerto Vallarta

I’m not a doctor. I can’t prescribe solutions. But I can share my experiences. 

I live with depression, and I speak it aloud. It’s okay to feel heavy in a place that seems perfect.

This winter, wherever you find yourself, give yourself permission to recognize your struggles without shame. Allow the light around you to coexist with the darkness within. Slow your mornings, immerse yourself in the sounds of the waves or the whispers of the wind, and let pauses be enough.

I don’t have all the answers. I only know that living with depression, especially in a beautiful place like Puerto Vallarta, has taught me that it’s possible to keep showing up for yourself, even when it feels impossible. That’s my offering: my own experience and the quiet reminder that you don’t have to carry this alone.

Hold your struggles close, and know that gentleness is a gift you can give yourself, especially amidst a vibrant holiday season.

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics, and community. You can follow along with her travel stories at www.salsaandserendipity.com.

The post Seasonal shadows amidst holiday cheer in Puerto Vallarta appeared first on Mexico News Daily

The night before, we’d passed by and watched the line stretching on and on and on. Joining what now looked even longer, I braced myself for disappointment, assuming we’d be lucky to make it inside by 8 p.m.

Then, unexpectedly, a sort of Christmas miracle occurred. The line moved smoothly, almost effortlessly. The gates opened right at 7 p.m., exactly as promised, and by 7:11 p.m., we were inside. 

Just like that, the waiting dissolved into light, and my bad mood evaporated as if it had never been invited in the first place.

The scale of Navidalia

Navidalia doesn’t reveal itself slowly. It embraces you immediately. From the first steps inside, the park glows with an almost cinematic warmth. Its carefully layered landscape of light feels immersive rather than overwhelming.

Thousands of bulbs twinkle from trees, archways, and sculptural installations. The effect is soft, golden and generous, as if the entire space were designed to make visitors feel welcome.

Music drifts continuously through the park, moving from one area to the next. Classic Christmas melodies mingle with contemporary arrangements and live performances, creating a soundtrack that feels curated rather than repetitive. It subtly shapes your mood without demanding attention, encouraging you to slow down, look around and linger.

What stands out immediately is the scale. Navidalia is expansive, but never overwhelming. Despite thousands of visitors moving through the park each night, the layout is intuitive. 

Wide pathways curve gently, opening into plazas, themed areas, and viewing spaces that allow crowds to disperse naturally. There’s no sense of being funnelled or rushed. You don’t feel lost, but you don’t feel managed either. A rare feat for an event of this size.

The many faces of Navidalia

Each area of Navidalia carries its own visual personality. Navidalia Posada leans into warmth and tradition, echoing Mexican Christmas imagery with rich reds, golds and familiar textures. Navidalia Nórdica shifts cooler and more ethereal, filled with silvers, blues and lights that feel almost icy. Navidalia Europa balances nostalgia and elegance, anchored by towering trees, choirs and classic holiday scenes.

Then there’s Navidalia Oriente, by far my favourite. It feels quieter and more contemplative. Lanterns glow softly in warm ambers and reds, light reflects off curved structures, and there are countless delicate details inspired by Asian winter festivals.

The pace here is slower, the lighting more deliberate. Reflections shimmer on the lake in the Parque Temático, where Christmas barges are aglow with the light of surrounding fire dancers.

Throughout the park, Christmas trees shimmer with carefully coordinated lights, while smaller, intimate installations invite closer inspection. 

There’s a glowing tunnel that feels like walking through a constellation, whimsical scenes built at human scale, and larger-than-life displays that stop visitors in their tracks.

Everywhere you look, there’s intention. Color palettes shift gently from one zone to the next. Textures add depth, and details reward lingering. It isn’t about brightness, it’s about balance.

The price of Christmas

We’d considered upgrading to the Comfort Pass, which promises shorter waits and access to certain attractions, but it would have meant a jump to 1,720 pesos per ticket from our general admission price of 790 pesos. Ultimately, it wasn’t in the budget this month, but once inside, it became clear we hadn’t missed out.

The few Comfort Pass attractions had long waits anyway, and general admission guests can purchase individual tickets if they wish. We didn’t feel the need, though. Navidalia isn’t designed around waiting. It’s designed for wandering.

And that wandering is where the park truly shines. 

Live shows appear organically throughout the evening, sometimes announced, sometimes discovered by chance. Performers emerge among the lights, music swelling just enough to gather a crowd without overwhelming the atmosphere.

The performances feel integrated, like part of the décor that suddenly begins to move and sing. People pause, smile, watch and then drift on, carrying the moment with them.

Food and drink at Navidalia

Despite the number of visitors, nothing feels congested. Lines for food and drink are refreshingly short and move quickly. The offerings are comforting, classic and exactly what a December night calls for.

We ordered tamales and Baileys Irish Cream hot chocolates, both served piping hot and without waiting. For two people, the total came to 600 pesos, about US $32. The price felt almost rebellious given the rumors we’d heard about Navidalia being prohibitively expensive.

A genuine sense of goodwill

We found seating almost immediately, which was a small but significant win. The seating areas throughout the park are clearly considered, placed thoughtfully so each one complements its surrounding theme. Sitting down doesn’t pause the experience; it enhances it. You can rest, savor your food and drink and observe without ever feeling disconnected from the park’s flow.

We lingered for a while, hands wrapped around warm cups, watching people pass by. Families, couples, groups of friends and visitors of every age all moved at their own pace. The mood throughout the park is perhaps its greatest achievement. There’s a genuine sense of shared goodwill that feels unforced and contagious. 

People smile at one another. Strangers exchange greetings. “Hola, feliz Navidad” drifts through the air as naturally as the music. It feels less like a crowd and more like a temporary community.

Near one of the most impressive trees in Navidalia Europa, towering and radiant, a crowd gathered as the lights were lit. The master of ceremonies began singing John Lennon’s “Happy Xmas (War is Over).” His voice became several, then many. People stood together, singing softly, faces lit by thousands of lights and something quieter underneath. I was unexpectedly moved. It was the kind of moment that reminds you why public spaces matter.

Then there was a detail that deserves its own quiet standing ovation: the restrooms. Clean, well-lit, easy to find and astonishingly free of lines. It’s the kind of logistical success that rarely makes headlines but dramatically shapes how comfortable people feel. Navidalia understands that magic is fragile, and nothing breaks it faster than panicky delays.

Layers of unfolded joys

As the night unfolded, the park revealed itself in layers. Lights shifted subtly as the holiday spirit deepened. Music changed moods without abrupt transitions. Each turn offered something new, but nothing felt frantic or excessive. 

The experience encourages presence. You don’t rush to see everything because you don’t feel like you’ll miss out if you don’t

By the time we prepared to leave, close to 11 p.m., with the park open until midnight, my earlier grumpiness felt laughable, like a rumor I’d once believed. We hadn’t waited long. We hadn’t overspent. We hadn’t needed upgrades or shortcuts. We’d simply arrived later than planned, dressed in festive indecision, and been welcomed into a space that knew exactly what it was doing and exactly what we needed.

Walking back into the Guadalajara night, the sounds of Navidalia softened behind us, but the feeling lingered. The warmth, the ease, the collective cheer followed us beyond the gates. It was the kind of Christmas experience that doesn’t exhaust you or demand gratitude; it earns it.

Why Navidalia succeeds

Navidalia succeeds because it understands something essential. That holiday magic lives in comfort as much as spectacle, in flow as much as sparkle, and in the small, thoughtful details that allow joy to unfold naturally.

Sometimes that magic begins with a reindeer sweatshirt, a moving line, and the pleasure of being completely wrong about how the night would go.

If you’re in Guadalajara through Dec. 30, I wholeheartedly recommend experiencing Navidalia. I left warmer, lighter and genuinely jollier. I’ll be back year after year after year, festive outfit indecision and all!

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics, and community. You can follow along with her travel stories at www.salsaandserendipity.com.

The post Lights and magic at Navidalia, a Christmas-themed park in Guadalajara appeared first on Mexico News Daily

I imagined streets twinkling with impossibly bright lights strung from palm trees, children laughing over colorful piñatas, and parades filling the Malecón and Old Town with music and fireworks. 

I wanted a local Christmas, and I pictured it as a cultural performance I could admire and photograph. What I found instead was something quieter, slower and far more alive than any staged spectacle. 

A local Christmas

The signs of the season revealed themselves gradually. I began seeing poinsettias spilling from windowsills and paper lanterns hanging along narrow streets. 

Daily life shifted without fanfare. I witnessed a posada, part of the nine-day tradition that re-enacts Mary and Joseph’s search for shelter. 

It was beautifully intimate. Families gathered in the streets, carrying candles and small statues of the Holy Family. They sang, prayed, and knocked on doors, moving from house to house in a procession that felt both solemn and joyful. 

At first, I lingered at the edge of the crowd, camera ready. But then someone invited me to join them. As I walked alongside neighbours I’d never met, I began to understand the significance of being part of something so full of care, community and tradition; something much larger than myself. I realised this wasn’t a performance at all. It was an act of communal devotion. 

Two doors down from me lived a family of three generations. I’d pictured Nochebuena, or Christmas Eve, as an elaborate public event, but this family spent the evening at home. They invited me to join them. 

‘A story told through hands and memory’

I marvelled at the nacimiento, the nativity scene they were building. It began filling an entire room. Figures were being placed with care, and small hand-crafted details were added to reflect local life and history. 

All generations participated, sharing stories and laughter as they worked. The scene became a story told through hands and memory. 

Their food told its own story. I’d imagined elaborate, picture-perfect feasts meant to impress visitors. Instead, I found their kitchen alive with family warmth, the smell of corn masa, and the quiet concentration of hands rolling tamales. 

I watched them work together in a rhythm both practical and tender. Children spread masa on corn husks while parents and grandparents folded them with practised precision. Their conversations flowed as easily as the warm ponche they sipped from small bowls. 

We sat down for dinner late at night. The table was overflowing, candles flickering, and carols rising softly. Gifts were exchanged quietly. 

The tamales they shared with me were delicious, but what stayed with me was the intimacy of their preparation. Each dish embodied memory and shared history. This wasn’t food made to be admired; it was food made with love. 

‘An expression of generosity and community pride’

We went to Mass in the Parroquia de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. Iconic in its beauty, it overflowed with worshippers that night. The air smelled of incense, and the voices of the congregation rose in unison. 

It was profoundly moving. I felt the weight of centuries of devotion in every note and every whispered prayer. 

Everywhere I walked that Christmas season, the streets glowed. Houses were strung with flickering lights, and songs echoed from plazas. 

To an outsider, it might seem like a show for maximum effect. But for locals, it was an expression of generosity and community pride. Each light and each song were invitations to connect. 

‘A lived experience of family, faith and community’

Even Santa Claus, or Papá Noel, took on a local flavour. He appeared alongside the Baby Jesus or La Virgen de Guadalupe, a reminder that Christmas in Mexico blends imported customs with deep-rooted faith. Commercial imagery co-existed with devotion and storytelling rather than overtaking them. 

The more I experienced, the clearer something became. Mexican Christmas isn’t a spectacle for outsiders. It’s a lived experience of family, faith and community. 

You find it in the hands that fold tamales, the voices that rise in unpracticed songs, the neighbours who open their doors, and the silent prayers lifted in candlelight. It’s about connection, continuity, and celebrating life in its smallest, most enduring forms. 

I stopped seeing Christmas in Mexico as a show and began to feel it as a rhythm to join. I’ve learned to fold tamales, to hum along to songs I don’t fully understand, and to carry a candle through the streets in the warm night. 

I’m no longer a tourist seeking spectacle. I’m a participant in a centuries-old tradition, momentarily woven into its fabric. 

‘The beauty of Mexican Christmas’

And I’ve learned something essential. The beauty of Mexican Christmas doesn’t lie in the markets, the lights, or the costumes, but in the ordinary acts of togetherness. It invites participation and presence. It’s about people and the quiet, persistent joy of being together. 

Christmas in Mexico isn’t meant to be observed from the outside. It’s meant to be felt from within. And being welcomed into that circle of warmth and devotion has changed me. 

It’s taught me that the truest celebrations aren’t grand or loud, but shared in simple moments of presence and care. 

And that, I think, is the greatest gift I could ever have hoped to receive.

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics, and community. You can follow along with her travel stories at www.salsaandserendipity.com.

The post The Christmas gift that Puerto Vallarta gave me appeared first on Mexico News Daily

If you’re looking for the best of things to do in town during the December but also fancy taking a bite of Vallarta’s vibrant social scene, why not consider one of these activities? 

December 16: Cirque du Soleil LUDO at VidantaWorld

Step into something completely new for the area, the debut of Cirque du Soleil LUDÕ. Opening December 16 and running through 2026, this immersive experience blends acrobatics, underwater visuals, gourmet dining, and a storyline that pulls you right into its world. It’s unlike anything Banderas Bay has seen, and it’s a perfect way to break from the ordinary. 

Ticket options are listed on the official LUDÕ website.

December 20: VRBAN Vallarta 2025 starting on the Malecón

Channel your festive season energy into VRBAN Vallarta, a 10 km urban race that zigzags through sand, pavement, stairs, narrow streets, and some of PV’s most iconic spots. It’s like a real-life obstacle course through the city. 

Register via Facebook (Vallarta Sobre Ruedas), at Xisco Bikes (Av. Los Tules 168, Local 8-A, Fluvial Vallarta), or by calling 322.172.1154.

December 21: A Country Christmas at Casa Karma

A Country Christmas | Honky‑Tonk Holidays in Puerto Vallarta

If a rootin’-tootin’ good time is what you’re looking for, look no further than A Country Christmas presented by ACT2PV! Join Bobbi Goddard and her merry band of friends for an unforgettable evening filled with jingle-twangy tunes, side-splitting laughter, and holiday spirit that’ll have you two-stepping in your boots.  More than a show, it’s a “Hard Candy Christmas!”! 

Tickets are available at act2pv.com/shows.

December 29: Night Divine at Teatro Vallarta

Night Divine | World‑Class Holiday Voices at Teatro Vallarta

Effie Passero and Branden & James will light up the beautiful Teatro Vallarta in Centro for a special “Night Divine.” Hosted by Sutton Lee Seymour, the event is a mix of beloved holiday classics and songs from Coldplay, Moulin Rouge, Snow Patrol, The Eagles, Adele, Rent, and more. 

This trio is a favourite in this neck of the woods, so get your tickets now through the Teatro Vallarta website.

December 31: New Year’s Eve in Puerto Vallarta

Wrap up the year, with a huge celebration along the Malecón. Puerto Vallarta turns into one big street party, packed with live music, dancing, and fireworks that light up the bay at midnight. After a month of concerts, creativity, and cardio, there’s no better way to welcome 2026 than right here in Puerto Vallarta.

Whether you’re captivated by the magic of Cirque du Soleil, participating in the exciting VRBAN race, or enjoying a festive night filled with music and laughter, each event is a step towards a memorable celebration. As we bid farewell to 2025 and count down to a new year, may the remainder of this month fill your heart with joy and set the stage for a wonderful 2026 ahead!

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics, and community. You can follow along with her travel stories at www.salsaandserendipity.com.

The post MND Local: Puerto Vallarta holiday celebrations appeared first on Mexico News Daily

I’d pictured myself bargaining over ceramics, debating one vase against another, maybe leaving with a fragile object wrapped carefully in newspaper. Instead, my hands stayed empty, and my heart was full in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

‘Wind in your face and a road stretching ahead’

The journey there set the tone. My boyfriend and I rode the motorcycle from Puerto Vallarta, taking the back road because these trips are my kind of therapy. There’s something about wind in your face and a road stretching ahead that slows your thoughts, stretches your attention and sharpens the senses to details you may miss in a car.

We stopped along the way, drawn to fields of wildflowers swaying like dancers, roadside fruit stands where mangoes smelled like summer captured in a peel and tiny villages that appeared out of nowhere. Each pause felt intentional, even if it wasn’t. Riding a motorcycle forces you to engage visually, physically and emotionally. You can’t glide past life unnoticed.

We arrived in Tonalá in no rush and with no agenda, which was perfect as we soon found the town demanded nothing from us either. Tonalá greeted us quietly, with no shouting, no hand-painted signs clamoring for attention, no chorus of vendors urging purchases. It seemed as if the town trusted its own allure, confident that anyone meant to be enchanted would be. 

And enchantment is exactly what it offered.

“The rhythm of the town began to reveal itself’

We entered the main street, where the rhythm of the town began to reveal itself. Sculptures lining the pavement like sentinels. Towering clay figures of warriors and animals, iron creatures with curling tails and sun faces, arranged as if in ceremonial pride. Every corner offered a small surprise, whether a mosaic tucked into a wall, a painted utility pole or a tiny wrought-iron bench that looked both modern and centuries old.

Balconies dripped with bougainvillea. Walls shifted from sea green to apricot to a yellow that could only exist at sunset. Every doorway had character. Some were bold, others shy, like neighbors peeking from behind curtains.

We wandered, allowing the town to guide us. At one corner, an artisan heated a strip of metal until it glowed orange, shaping it with calm precision, his movements deliberate, almost meditative. A workshop spilled into the street nearby, tools clinking in a steady rhythm.

A grandmother strung tiny clay bells across her knees, her hands moving like wind through tall grass. Children darted between stalls, distributing supplies and sweets with equal care. The choreography of life itself was mesmerizing, each person absorbed in their work, their motion, their craft.

‘Tonalá exists for those who notice’

I spent 45 minutes watching a man paint a single spindle on a chair. One spindle. Every stroke was deliberate and patient. I wanted to ask why he spent so long on this small detail, but something about the moment suggested it didn’t need explanation.

Tonalá exists for those who notice, who linger and who allow themselves to be absorbed by its textures and rhythms. Sunlight filtered through beaded mobiles and woven lanterns, scattering fractured rainbows across walls and pavement. The air carried the aromas of tortillas sizzling on griddles, roasted peanuts and coffee being ground behind small, unmarked doors. A faint, elusive sweetness hung in the air, something I wanted to chase down but never quite did. Every sense was engaged.

We ate from food carts, stopping because they looked appealing rather than out of hunger. I balanced an icy, collapsing cup in one hand and my helmet in the other, and my boyfriend laughed at my precarious juggling act.

We wandered down alleyways simply because they seemed intriguing, pushed open wrought-iron gates to peek into hidden courtyards and encountered nothing but curious glances and gentle smiles. Curiosity was the currency here, and we spent it freely.

‘The light itself was magical’

By mid-afternoon, I realized we hadn’t entered a single store. The shopping bags I imagined filling had stayed folded in my backpack. We hadn’t bargained, debated or chosen. Yet we had collected far more than any container could hold. We had watched life unfold in its small, magnificent details. We had seen artistry not just in objects but in the hands, eyes and intentions of those creating them. We had witnessed patience, care and joy.

The light itself was magical. Slanting through hanging glass ornaments and woven lanterns, sunlight transformed ordinary spaces into stained-glass dreams. Shadows bent and stretched — part of the art, choreographed by the sun. The town seemed obsessed with texture and colour, which spilled over into every detail.

By late afternoon, we perched on a cracked stone bench, sharing a snack, watching the light soften over the plaza. The town, which had felt like an art gallery, a stage, a secret garden all at once, began to exhale.

Colors deepened and streets glowed, and we felt the quiet satisfaction of wandering somewhere that demanded nothing from us except attention.

‘Tonalá is a marketplace, but it’s also a muse’

We left Tonalá with no purchases. We bought no vases, trinkets or beaded bracelets, but we carried back something far richer: We carried the memory of a town that exists on its own terms, rewarding patience, curiosity and the willingness to observe. We carried the warmth of people creating and living attentively. We carried the freedom that comes from riding a motorcycle along a winding back road, where every turn brings the unexpected and the world feels immediate, alive and intimate.

These rides aren’t just transport for me. They’re a meditation. They’re a reminder that moving slowly with attention and curiosity allows you to feel a place in ways no checklist or itinerary could.

Tonalá is a marketplace, but it’s also a muse. It rewards those who pause, who look closely and who let themselves be absorbed by its rhythms. We’ll return, with luggage next time, ready to choose a fragile treasure. But we’ll also do what we did on this visit.

We’ll ride that back road again, a single motorcycle between the two of us, stopping wherever the day calls us, and we’ll let the town reveal itself slowly, corner by corner, detail by detail.

Tonalá doesn’t insist on your attention, but it’s endlessly generous to those who notice.

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics, and community. You can follow along with her travel stories at www.salsaandserendipity.com.

The post Throttle therapy: two wheels, one town, endless details appeared first on Mexico News Daily

Incidents involving federal authorities, marine safety and controversial construction projects have intensified public debate about how the city is being managed and whether institutions are responding adequately to emerging challenges.

PV residents feel less safe, says federal survey

At the November 30 Puerto Vallarta Security Forum, municipal, state and federal authorities convened to discuss the city’s changing security landscape.

Although Puerto Vallarta continues to rank favorably compared to other major tourist cities across the country, officials acknowledged that public confidence has declined. According to the latest National Survey of Urban Public Security (ENSU) conducted by Mexico’s national statistics agency, INEGI, the proportion of residents reporting feeling unsafe in their city has risen, causing Puerto Vallarta’s ranking among the urban areas in Mexico in which residents feel safest to drop from fifth to eighth place nationally.

Discussions at the security forum focused on rising reports of robberies, improved coordination among law enforcement agencies and concerns about criminal activity occurring on the outskirts of the metropolitan area. Tourism authorities urged greater visibility in preventive policing, arguing that even isolated incidents can affect Puerto Vallarta’s international reputation. 

The forum closed with commitments to expand patrols, enhance surveillance coordination and strengthen communication with residents, though many citizens continue to ask for more measurable follow-through.

Local reporters say PV National Guard didn’t respect basic press freedoms 

Public safety issues have also collided with fears about deteriorating press freedom. A recent confrontation between reporters and National Guard members in the Fluvial Vallarta area has stirred widespread condemnation.

Journalists covering the rollover of a National Guard vehicle on December 2 said they were pushed back, threatened with equipment confiscation and falsely told they needed a federal license to report at the scene.

In response, the area organization GST Medios issued a strong public statement:

“At GST Medios, through our platforms Notiespacio PV and Vallarta Independiente, we strongly condemn the actions carried out this Tuesday by members of the National Guard in the Fluvial Vallarta area, where journalists were intimidated while covering the overturning of an official vehicle.

“We condemn any attempt to intimidate, obstruct, or condition the work of journalists, who have the responsibility and the right to freely inform the public. Attempting to confiscate cell phones, falsely stating that a ‘license’ is required to practice journalism without considering the media outlet’s accreditations, and trying to limit coverage of a public event constitutes a serious violation of journalistic practice and freedom of information.

“At GST Medios, we reaffirm our commitment to defending press freedom and demand that a safe and respectful environment be guaranteed for those who carry out this work daily in Puerto Vallarta. Free journalism is not intimidated and should not be obstructed by any authority.”

The incident has renewed pressure on local, state and federal officials to adopt clearer protocols protecting the rights of journalists during emergencies and public safety events.

Boat collides with whale in the Bay of Banderas

An American woman lost her life due to the crash, which occurred when a whale surfaced unexpectedly. The death occurred just a few days before the beginning of whale-watching season in Puerto Vallarta.

A deadly boating accident occurred late on Friday, December 5. A small vessel known as “Valentina” collided with a whale that surfaced unexpectedly.

The impact fatally injured a 72-year-old female American citizen who was also a Mexican resident. Another woman on board suffered head injuries and was transported to Medasist Hospital for treatment. A third passenger was treated for shock.

Authorities have reminded maritime operators that whales are currently active in the Bay. The official start date for whale-watching tours begins on December 8, and officials are urging all charter crews to reinforce wildlife distance protocols.

SEMARNAT files legal appeal against Harbor 2 project 

Urban growth continues to spark controversy, particularly surrounding the Harbor 2 megaproject, a massive development featuring six towers and nearly 1,000 planned apartments that has hit another legal speedbump.

The project — currently paused pending the appeal’s outcome — has become the center of a legal and environmental dispute after SEMARNAT, Mexico’s federal environmental agency, appealed a court ruling that allowed construction to proceed without a full environmental-impact assessment.

Environmental groups caution that the residential development project risks damaging coastal ecosystems as well as increasing pressure on local infrastructure. Critics also warn that allowing the project to bypass the environmental-impact process sets a dangerous precedent for future projects along the Bay.

At the same time, Puerto Vallarta recently recorded a historic 5 million visitors so far for 2025, signaling continuing economic growth. Still, local planners now face the challenge of balancing booming tourism with sustainable development, ensuring that roads, water systems, beaches, and natural habitats aren’t overwhelmed by rapid expansion.

From press-freedom disputes and marine-safety concerns to controversial development decisions, Puerto Vallarta is navigating a moment of heightened public attention. Residents, journalists, and community leaders are calling for stronger accountability measures, more transparent governance, and responsible planning that keeps pace with the city’s rapid growth.

How authorities respond in the coming months will help determine whether Puerto Vallarta can maintain a stable balance between vibrant tourism, environmental protection, and civic trust.

Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics, and community. You can follow along with her travel stories at www.salsaandserendipity.com.

The post MND Local: Press freedoms, public safety and urban development concerns in Puerto Vallarta appeared first on Mexico News Daily