Thursday, 10ish: Invite to Puerto Vallarta
Friday, 6:30PM: Feet in the sand
But let me back up.
Thursday, January 18th
I met Rodolfo and Monika on the China adventure and saw them twice on the trip to LA after Christmas. It was her US Airways employment that yielded me cheap standby airfare on said trip. On this morning I received a ‘how-are-things-haven’t-heard-from-you-this-week’ e-mail from Monika. In my reply I asked what they are up to. She replied they are going to Puerto Vallarta for the weekend, do I want to go, she checked and there is room for standby. What the heck.
On the way home I stopped at the library for Lonely Planet on Pto Vallarta and then swiftly packed.
Friday, January 19th
Up at 4:30, flight at 7AM. Land at 1:30ish. I had already determined to bypass the $10 cab in favor of the experience of a city bus for 50 cents (AKA- cheapo). I found a busy street outside the terminal with busses rocketing in both directions, but with no signage. After studying the traffic flow and window signs on these rickety busses I determined I needed to cross the pedestrian bridge to grab one of those buses to Centro. A half hour later I was standing on a packed bus with one hand grasping a duffel bag and the other with a vice like grip on the overhead bar.
Picture the gringo- pinpoint oxford button-down collar Polo Ralph Lauren dress shirt in blue stripe, Brooks Brother’s jeans, The North Face trail running shoes and the aforementioned cobalt blue duffel.
It certainly was seeing the local life. My hand muscles quickly became sore with their attempt to maintain vertical orientation as the bus driver executed standing stops and gravity defying turns. I thought things were going well as we headed in the direction I thought downtown was. Then the bus turned right. Then another right. Off the highway onto less busy streets yet still full of activity with taquerias, auto repair garages and shops. Another right, left, left, right and soon we were in a rural village. The pavement was a past memory the sleigh-of-death bouncing over rutted and dusty streets. The population of the bus thinned. The road, barely existing from erosion, curved up a hillside. At a plateau the bus stopped, the last passengers got off and the driver turned the ignition off and started eating lunch.
“Are you going to keep going?” Pause. Looks in mirror. Pause. I try, “Back to airport?” He says, “No English”. “Taxi?” As I dig out my map to figure out where I am he gets off the bus. So I sling the duffel over the shoulder and start hoofing it.
This is a very desolate area with almost uninhabitable homes sprinkled about. A half a mile down the road I climb to a higher point and spot the ocean ahead with downtown to the left. My bearings were right. The road twists on with stray dogs weakly observing me and roosters strutting around. The homes become denser in spacing and showcased is this part of Mexico’s living standard as I respectfully quickly glance into some interiors.
At a lower elevation is the town center and some cobblestone streets. Oh, a panaderia! Can’t pass up a bakery. Finally make my way to a busy street and flag down a taxi. A hundred and twenty pesos. Twelve bucks. I would have paid a hundred at this point.
Make it to the hotel at 5 to have the front desk report, “Your Brasilian friends have been looking for you”. They give me their whereabouts. I quickly change to shorts and a polo, walk two blocks to the beach, take a left and start scouring the tables set up in the sand. “Jason!”
I greet Monika, Rodolfo, Rachel, Julia, Otavio, and Alejandra and plop down in a plastic chair. Then it dawns on me…feet in the sand.
After some socializing we retreat back to the hotel to refresh and then reassemble for dinner. With Otavio and Alejandra as our local tour guides they corral us to a place off the tourist path for tacos. On the way we walk the street vendor lined Malecon admiring the ocean on one side. After dinner from these vendors they get flan and I get roasted corn and we settle in the town plaza to listen to a violinist fronting rock music.
Saturday, January 20th
Despite getting to bed late and sleeping poorly the internal alarm clock still has me up at 5:30. Time to run as a vehicle to explore. Up and down the beach and through downtown and back to Old Town. With a juxtaposition of touristy stuff and the real deal everything is a visual discovery. Architecture revealed a stunning display of visual activity with ubiquitous red tile roofs, wrought iron, cracked stucco, arched windows and the scruff that can only come with centuries of existence.
The gang assembles at 9 for breakfast at Fredy’s Tucan. Mexican Omelette- average. Above average ranchero sauce.
As a scenic detour to the beach Otavio leads us up some hillside stairs to see handsome condos with stark white stucco contrasting with rich dark woodwork. These moneyed perches have views of the ocean, town and mountains.
Then I spent 4 hours sitting on the beach. Yes, Jason sat there for 4 hours. I read. I socialized. I read. I watched the waves roll in. I walked in the water. I sat and closed my eyes. I watched the family frolic in the water. I had a fish taco. I sat there. I socialized. I watched the girls play in the sand.
I did think/stress about work, shoveling on my return, what to do that afternoon, what to do the next day…but I sat….for 4 hours.
I had enough of sitting so headed back to the hotel for a shower and then off on a foot patrol.
Absorbed the activity of the boardwalk, ambling tourists, Mexicans going about their days, a supermarket, a wedding, stopped for fried pecans, the steep streets of the eastern part of town, the wares packed Mercado Municipal and Old Town.
Group convergence was to head to dinner on the beach. Alejandra’s gracious and kind family members joined us making it a table for 10. I had engrossing conversations with Julia (almost 10) and Rachel (12). Very insightful, intelligent, engaging and charming young ladies.
The Octopus, Veracruzan style, was the best meal on the trip and now on my Best Things I Put In My Mouth-2007 list. And I ate it with my feet in the sand.
The family walked the town, I denied their cordial invitation so they could do the family thing and I went to a convenience store to satisfy my curiosity of foreign snacks and candy.
Sunday, January 21st
Up at…well you know. It was raining so no run. Left the room at 7AM to hit a bakery and do some walking shielded by the omnipresent sidewalk canopies. The rain stopped as I canvassed the puddled cobblestone streets of the Old Town area. Some time was examining the wares at Farmacia Guadalajara and Tu Super Amigo supermarket. Street stalls framed by occupied stools contributed a waft of delectable aromas. Fish stands were busy dumping ice to display the morning catches.
Again meeting at 9AM we went to The Pancake House where my search for the best pancakes yielded an average Peanut Delight- bananas and peanut butter (but missing caramel).
We all walked the Malecon again and then shopped Isla Cuale and Mercado Municipal.
I then had a couple more hours on my own to explore so finished probing Old Town and made some more grocery purchases.
Check out was at 1PM and we grabbed two taxis to the airport. After checking in Otavio used his connections as an airline employee to secure our standby seating and we headed to lunch. Back over that same pedestrian bridge from day 1 which shelters a hole-in-the wall strip of food stands. Otavio had boasted of this eatery and was right on.
The Camaron Burrito was a grilled bundle that made it on that Best Things I Put In My Mouth-2007 list. A wonderful melody of tastes and textures the stuffing was binded by an unidentifiable sauce of exquisite taste.
The flights back were a story in itself but I’ll reduce it to the highlight of Otavio again using his connections to get us first class and I barely avoided sleeping in the Phoenix airport just barely getting a space on standby back to MKE.
Home at 1:30AM. Shovel. Bed at 2:30AM. Up at 6:40AM. Work at 7:40AM.