Yelapa back to PV, Tuesday, February 27. 

     I packed my shit, and was hoofing it to Dave's side of town a bit before 10am. I made it passed the beach, and soon passed the psychedelic hippy camp. I spotted a familar bridge, and soon found myself climbing, and climbing stares. I texted Dave I was near, and said “fuck these stairs”. At the top of the stares there were a few residences, and none of them looked familiar. Soon, an English speaking man spoke to me. He asked me where I was going. I told him I was looking for my buddy Dave’s Air BnB. He asked me the name of it, but I did not know. He informed he these were all private residences. I thanked him, and told him I must be lost. I then txted Dave, and asked him the name of the place, and if he could drop a pin on Google Maps. Cell service was sketchie, but good enough. By the time I climbed the stairs up to Daves place. I was breathing heavy, and the back of my shirt was sweat-soaked through from my backpack. I found Dave with a tooth brush in his mouth. I let him know I was helping myself to a can of Victoria from his fridge.

     Last night Dave made friends with a kitty. The kitty-friend had brought a dead bird in, and consumed it. I removed the remains from under Dave’s bed. We were on the water taxi back to Puerto Vallarta (PV) a little after noon. The water was smoother than it was on our way out, and we did not need to strap on life vests. Come to think of it. I did not even see any on this boat. As we disembarked our taxi. I noticed my brunette heart-throb from the night before. In daylight I could see in her face. She was mature enough for guilt free creepin’.

     Back in PV we got checked into our hotels. Dave’s is fancy with a rooftop patio, and both a hot, and cold pool. Mine is just 2 blocks east of his. I have a small budget room, on the ground floor. You enter from a gate, into a European style courtyard. You then, enter directly into my room from the courtyard. There is a pool, and a patio here, but there is no view. It’s good enough for my needs.

     There is a place in PV called Pancho’s Takos. Tourist believe they have the best tacos in town. They are just one block up from the beach. There is a 30 minute wait in line… Across the street, and down half a block is another stand. It is poorly marked, and much smaller. I knew of it from YouTube. We ate there last night surrounded by locals. It was cheap, and amazing! As a food guy, I understand something. A great taco is simply amazing. Once you get to a certain level of amazing, it tops out. With my professional understanding of sensory analysis. I understand, if you are having an amazing time, and come up the beach for an amazing taco. It will be the best in the world. We did our bar hop thing. Chatted with some interesting folks, and faded into the night.

     We are staying in the old town. It is called Zona Romantica. It also just happens to be the LGBQT friendly area. In the pool yesterday, Dave and I were the only heterosexual male pare. So, I dubbed it the Zona Bro-Mantica… it was a bunch of gay dudes, one guy, and his hot-wife, then Dave and me. That name has layers….

Zona Bro-Mantica…

I guess there were some old couples up there when we got there, but that was the scene by the time I came up with my clever name…

     Moral of the story, be careful about the pussy you bring home. You could wind up with itchy bumps, and some odd shit under your bed… 

     In writing we have a saying; Write drunk, and edit sober. Welp, this writing was both, and the final edit is not sober. Bear with me friends….