Day one: June 15, 2012
Up at the ass crack of dawn making drip coffee in preparation to put a stamp in my passport today, Puerto Vallarta Mexico (please say in Charo accent). Coffee down, shit, showered and shaved and I was on Bart heading to SFO with my Mike (my partners name is also Mike. I know, gag me with a spoon, right?). Excited like the night before Christmas my legs were running in place in anticipation of this first journey of my summer.
One, two, three, check-in and security was a breeze except for the few times the airport employees expected humans to be smarter than they actually are which caused line back ups. One disappointment was when I flew few security with nothing more than a common pat down. No accidental ball touching while checking my inner though for weapons or nothing!
Squeezing into our seats, coach (see donate button one sidebar if you want to hear stories of me in first class), I wasn’t worried about having to get up to take a piss or anything because of a queasy stomach I had this morning I popped two anti-diarhea pills which clogged me up from every which end (and most likely for the rest of the week). My spanish speaking partner made a new best friend for our 3 1/2 hour flight and I nodded in and out of sleep and missed all meals and beverage carts.
After landing in Puerto Vallarta we seemed to go from line to line and 5 different customs. We darted through a sea of well dress men trying to convince us that their cab or services that they offered were what we needed. Us knowing better made it through unharmed. We jumped in the back of a taxi and all I could think about was the Amazing Race on ABC. The humidity was unbearable and I am not sure how the driver did not kill at least 10 people by the insane manner he was driving. After driving a miles or so through what looked like the Tenderloin of Puerto Vallarta we ended up at our destination the Zona Romántica district.
This charming south side neighborhood is like a detached, unpretentious beach village that serves PV’s more laid-back and less resort-conscious tourists. It’s also the center of the city’s strong gay population, and has a host of gay beaches, bars and restaurants.
Most agree that Zona Romantica is a must-see. The area contains the city’s best restaurants, excellent cultural opportunities and the most popular beach in the city: Playa Los Muertos. One traveler on TripAdvisor notes, “If you stay away from the beach, you will encounter neighborhood shops, such as little grocery stores, tailors, restaurants, internet cafes, and other similar stores.” The same reviewer also found there are fewer peddlers selling souvenirs. via
We were greeted by our concierge who took us to our cottage, Casa de Dante, placed in a maze on a hill including an infinity pool. Long story short, our place was 10 times more exquisite than we thought it would be, ocean views, extra room, safe, the whole nine yards. Sweating like we had just finished a marathon we lathered ourselves in 50 sun block and went straight to the infinity pool looking out over the ocean and town. Okay, pump your breaks. The big negative and slight downer was that the pool was hotter than bath water and in order to cool off you had to get out. Sigh, #middleclasspeopleproblems.
Showered up and put on my finest vintage t-shirt and a pair of knee-high black socks so I could look like an ironic tourist. Later to realize I looked just like a tourist. We hit the town to explore and feast. I wanted most to see this place The Blue Chairs that every seems to know, love or hate. Every other person on the street wanted to sell us something and take us somewhere. Mexicans are not shy and they were hungry for our money and business. The street smelled of desperation, my partner disagreed.
We chowed down some delicious mexican food at Cafe de Olla which we absolutely suggest to other visitors. Earlier on our walk around the Zona Romántica district we caught wind that at 8:30 something at The Blue Chairs bar called, “Dirty Bitches” was happening. So we added this to our checklist for the night. As we enter the elevator to the bar on the 6th floor where “Dirty Bitches” was taking place we were overwhelmed with the smell of covered up vomit with cleaning products. Take the stairs!
There were at tops 20 people in bar and a gorgeous drag queen was on stage performing an Annie Lennox song. Following her were a few other sassy high kicking gals that put on a polished act to rival any in states I have seen. To finish off the night, as Whitney Houston moved off the lips of the queen on stage, a pirate ship (I’m not kidding) blasted fireworks into the air. It was a moment.
End scene (I like to pretend my life is a movie. Strange?).