Category: Mexico

So I was sitting at a little bar in old town Vallarta and overheard an older couple (probably our age) talking about how 5 of their friends became violently ill after swimming at the main beach in Sayulita. Apparently, the sewage treatment plant for the area is overwhelmed and frequently overflows into the river that cuts through the middle of the main beach and flows into the sea. Upon further research and hearing another similar story, it seems Sayulita is, in essence, a bit of a cesspool. The area smells like poop, is overcrowded and, apparently, there is a lot of garbage left unpicked up all over the place. We dug further and found a blog post from a month ago, and although it tried to paint some lipstick on the town, the writer still could not deny the sad state of sanitary affairs that currently exists. Sadly, for now, sewage flows freely down the river and into the heart of Sayulita.

Our travel motto has always been to go with the flow. However, to this kind of flow, we say no—so we decided it was back to Yelapa we go!

We booked another 7 nights at Hotel Lagunita, and this time we were able to snag bungalow #6. It’s on the beach, right in the corner of the beach and the bay, and has a great little patio.

On April 5th, we bid the gals farewell after a great 12 days and hopped aboard a water taxi for a very bumpy ride under high winds and cloudy skies to Yelapa. We checked into our bungalow and immediately began to regret our choice. Without going into detail, the deal breaker was the washroom/shower area: the size of a coat closet, no place to put even a cup by the sink (the cup holder was either for a cup or for a bar of soap for the shower), and the slatted walls were missing a lot of slats, making it less than private.

It never hurts to ask, so we went back to the office, explained the situation and asked if bungalow #29—the last one we stayed in a few weeks back—was available. It was, and it was less money per night. Bonus! But the good luck was soon to wear off.

After a nap and a shower, I headed over to the bar and soon learned there could be up to 100 people arriving the next day (Saturday) for a two-day music fest called “The Night of the Iguana.” Great, another bonus.

As it turns out, about 48 people trickled in on Saturday and Sunday. The music started several hours behind schedule, and the first two acts were essentially karaoke. As Joyce and I sat sipping Pacifico cerveza, we were approached by a tall, lanky flunky with a clipboard and were told that if we wanted to continue to listen to the quality entertainment in store for us for the rest of the weekend, we would need to pay 500 pesos each. We said no, we’re not paying anything; we’re guests at the hotel, and besides, we didn’t even know about this until yesterday. Well, you should have been informed by management that this is a private, ticket-holders-only function, and you would need to pay if you want to stay on the hotel grounds for the rest of the weekend. Nope, we’ll make a couple-hundred-peso donation if we like what we hear; otherwise, forget it. Off he huffed.

Apparently, the 500-peso ticket also included a fajita dinner, which the kitchen prepared during the day. As the large crowd of about 20 people slowly served themselves fajitas, we decided we were hungry, so we decided to order chicken enchiladas from the kitchen because we didn’t want fajitas and we didn’t buy tickets, etc., etc. So we asked to order our food, to which the reply was: the kitchen is closed. Closed? So what do we eat? It’s pitch black outside the perimeter of the restaurant, and nothing else is open. I don’t know, but the kitchen can’t make anything.

Tee up the “time to get upset and demand to see the manager” routine. The manager we dealt with, “Lucas,” was an inebriated idiot, and through some miscommunication—which was quite rampant at that point—we learned the next evening, which was also full of fun and surprises, that he was actually the hotel owner. He proceeded to tell us he had blocked off all of the bungalows for this weekend 1 1/2 months earlier, and somehow we got a room and somehow this was all our fault. But, for 200 pesos each, we could imbibe in this delectable spread of fajitas! We don’t want fajitas; we want to split a chicken enchilada dinner, enough for two and only 120 pesos, you blathering SOB! I have nothing else to say to you. Everyone who worked there watched with distant care or amusement until the head waiter snuck over and made things right. Almost.

I guess the kitchen had previously prepared enchiladas in the fridge. Pop them on a plate, cover them in sauce and cheese, add some black beans and rice also stored in the fridge, put the plate in the oven for one minute—just long enough to make the plate hot—and presto. Once the plate came the second time, the waiter made a point of showing us how his fingers were blistering from holding the plate for 15 seconds, so now we know it is hot! Nope. I don’t mind lukewarm; Joyce, not so much.

As mentioned above, as all of this was going on, the first two acts were solo “artists” singing along to canned music. It was surreal, and we felt badly treated, so we headed back to our bungalow with a bucket of Tecate cerveza on ice, sat outside looking out over the darkness, water and village lights, and discussed whether or not to blow this popsicle stand tomorrow and go somewhere else.

We stayed, and in the late afternoon, we sat at the farthest end of the bar, away from the action, and then headed off to Manquidos, a great restaurant about 1 km up the path along the river. It was Sunday, and they would normally be open for dinner—but not tonight. They were out of most of their menu offerings. Damn, but no problem; surely our restaurant will be open to us tonight. Come on! What do you mean, not open? Okay, that’s it; where is the manager, blah, blah, Lucas, blah. We ordered two hamburgers, had two beers each and, to our surprise, the bill was on the house. A good first step.

There was no good second step, even though we saw the owner creeping around every now and then, but Anna, Angel and, unfortunately, two other forgotten names tended to look after us a little more attentively for the rest of our stay.

We departed Yelapa on April 12th and spent 3 more nights in PV before heading home on the 15th, nicely tanned, relaxed and looking forward to some of our favourite non-Mexican foods.  We’re home for exactly 3 months and then head out July 15th for another African adventure. Stay tuned.

 

We arrived in Bucerias on the 24th after a very quick ride, courtesy of a kamikaze taxi driver who ultimately overcharged us. A nice term for ripped us off. We never seem to learn. We could write a book on the “dos and don’ts” when travelling, but God forbid we would follow our own advice!

We then met up with Kristina and Lucy at the Royal Decameron Resort, which we had booked for 7 nights. The days have really flown by.

The days were like vacation days are supposed to be. Breakfast, lather up with SPF, then hit the beach by 10:00 am; lunch at around 1:30; a little R&R and technology time; shower; meet at the beach bar around 5:00 pm; drink; head to the next beach bar at 6:00 (the first one closed at 6:00); drink a little more; and then head out for dinner. We did actually walk into town one day, and it was stifling hot away from the beach, with semi-hurricane-force wind at the beach—but refreshing, save for the intermittent sandblast.

When Joyce and I first arrived, we were early and our rooms weren’t ready, but we were assigned rooms in the furthest building from the water. There was a nice pool, but no sea breeze, and it was hot. So, after asking nicely to change our rooms, we were treated nicely and rewarded with rooms steps from the beach, on the second floor in Block #4, with a pool and ocean view—and what we thought was probably the best location in the whole complex.

The food was good, the sun was hot, the beach was nice and the waves kept Lucy (and me) busy.

Next stop was Puerto Vallarta for 5 days, where we went back to the San Marino Hotel, where Joyce and I stayed a couple of weeks earlier. It’s an affordable, three-ish-star all-inclusive popular with Mexicans, right on the beach at Los Muertos Pier and in the heart of Old Vallarta, Zona Romantica. We snagged two renovated oceanfront rooms on the seventh and eighth floors and proceeded to do what you do at the beach. The food was not bad: less selection than at a popular resort, but fresh and varied. Kristina said she would definitely go back, and we would also, but don’t go with a five-star expectation. It’s relatively small but nice, and you mix with the locals, especially on a Sunday at the beach, and it is close to everything.

We looked into booking a snorkelling trip in Bucerias, but didn’t trust the huckster trying to sell us timeshare BS on the side, so we waited until PV to organize it. We ended up with a private boat for the four of us and headed out to Los Arcos for some so-so visibility among a fairly large group of tortilla-fish-feeding foreigners, floating among several boats all jockeying for position around the buoyed-off snorkelling area. But this is what you have to expect in a heavily touristed area. It was still great, and we saw fish and travelled the shoreline on our way there. We were able to get a really good perspective of the beaches and small resort areas lining the coast.

All good things must come to an end, and so we bade the ladies farewell on April 5th and headed to our next destination…

 

We arrived in Yelapa by water taxi on Thursday the 14th and settled into our cool little bungalow by the seaside. The place is called Lagunita and has 32 bungalows spread along a seawall, the mountainside behind it and the beachside, all with patios looking out to sea. There’s a great freshwater rock pool, a little beach bar and a good restaurant, all located on a large area of beach for the use of guests only. A very cosy place.

The main village is located on the western shore of the bay and is built up along the lush jungle mountainside, with small cobblestone streets and dirt paths linking the upper and lower portions of the town. It’s a little bit of a hike from the eastern shore of the bay, but if you’re too lazy to walk the beach and then climb some serious concrete stairs (the shortcut) to access the village, you can take a water taxi from the eastern pier to the western pier. Then you only need to climb a few stairs to the roads into town.

Behind the main beach, there is a river valley where the Rio de Tuito flows down from the Sierra Madre and forms a small lagoon behind the beach during the dry season. There’s some great hiking along both sides of the river, with the first kilometre or so lined with quaint homes, chickens, mules and a taste of true and authentic Mexican existence. It was refreshing to see life relatively unchanged. There are ATVs—the local Uber—that transport goods from the piers and people wanting to go from A to B. Mules are still widely used for day-to-day village transport, but the ATVs are winning out.

There are a few waterfalls (cascadas) in the surrounding mountains, so after a couple of days of cloudy weather and zero exercise, we headed off on a 4 1/2-hour round-trip journey to the nearest falls. We followed a stone-paved path for about 1 km, then a meandering sand-, clay- and rock-strewn path leading deep into the jungle. Jungle is a relative term. It was definitely jungly, but there weren’t any snakes or giant spiders, and we didn’t get covered in leeches while thrashing through knee-deep mud and quicksand. We did have to take our shoes off not once, but twice, for river crossings, and I did save a giant frog from what I was sure was a deep, no-exit pit. But it was still jungly nonetheless.

Several parrots screeched their dismay at our arrival at the falls, but two large woodpeckers greeted us. They reminded me of work. Bang your head against the wall long enough and maybe you’ll get a bite.

The falls were nice. We’re spoiled living in British Columbia.

There were no bugs to speak of during our hike—in fact, anywhere—but Joyce is a magnet for biting little bastards, and she of course came home with several distinct bite profiles. We first had to eliminate the possibility that the bites were from bed bugs. They weren’t, and with that being said, in all of our travels and my business travels over 35 years, we have never experienced bed bugs. How about that. But what are the bites? Her main bites have a small red puncture in the middle, surrounded by a red outer circle with a white halo. Not sure what kind of deadly bug this was, but if she starts to go crazy in the next few days, maybe it’s the feared Loco de la Joko. Or maybe they’re just unique mosquito bites.

We finally had sunshine on our last day, and we took full advantage. My eyelids are a little burnt. I promise to start wearing my sunglasses while tanning, and yes, I know I will not look like a raccoon. That only happens when spring skiing.

Tomorrow we head back to Puerto Vallarta, and we’re leaving a really nice little village place, but we made a contact who has a nice home for rent along the riverbank for a very good price. Maybe we’ll rent it for a couple of months in early 2020?

It’s beautiful in PV this time of year. Facing west onto the Pacific Ocean and the Bay of Banderas—next stop, Asia—you have a full western sunset and then an amazing western moonset.

The moon rises in the east over the Sierra Madre mountains, chasing the sun, and is then swallowed up by the Pacific 3 1/2 hours after sunset. I’m not sure what the astrophysical term is, but they are following an almost exact path from east to west. Very cool, as we watch the moon slowly changing over the days from a sliver to a slice. The full moon is March 20th.

 

We started in Puerto Vallarta and stayed in “The Old Town,” aka “Zona Romantica.” In our opinion, this part at the southern end of PV is the best area to stay if you want a more authentic experience: hanging out at the beach with Mexican families, enjoying a clean, swimmable beach and great music surrounding you, and choosing from a cornucopia of fresh oysters and skewers of freshly barbecued shrimp and marlin—with hot sauce and lime on the side—being hawked by the local beach vendors.

A short walk takes you to more restaurants and bars than you could ever visit unless you lived here. There is a fantastic music scene, and from what we’ve listened to so far, the level of talent has been outstanding. 

We’ve had a cold winter in Vancouver, with temperatures a fair bit below normal, but fortunately nowhere near as cold and crappy as the rest of Canada and the Midwestern US. The crocuses are popping up now, a little delayed by a dusting of snow, and like the new pre-spring flowers, we are in need of some warm weather—so off we go to Mexico! We have 6 weeks and will spend the first 10 days at a cheap all-inclusive in Puerto Vallarta and then head off to, well, we’re not sure, but we will keep you updated.