Arriving in Puerto Vallarta reminded me of arrival in Houston – walking off the bus, I felt as if I was dipped into a sauna. The combination of heat and humidity was strong enough that I began to sweat immediately, and I realized I wouldn’t be using my jeans or sweatpants for a long time.
It was low season for Puerto Vallarta, and there were only five others in the entire hostel – Daniella, a Mexican student on summer vacation; Angel, a musician busking his way throughout Mexico; Graeme and Joel, Brits living in Australia and who’d taken a year off, and Marco, a psychedelic enthusiast who’d recently finished a photography gig for the NYT.
I was surprised to discover there was no surfing in PV, but I had already booked 2 nights in the hostel and was determined to make the most of my one day in town. The receptionist, Liz, recommended a hike an hour to the south. Everyone was interested, so our entire hostel left for the hike to Boca de Tomatlán.
The hike followed the seaside, but even with the wind in our hair, the heat and humidity was oppressive. Every 30 minutes or so, we’d catch a break and find a beach tucked between the hills and trees. For something so remote, the beaches were packed, but it was well worth taking a break to get in the water. After our 4th “hidden” beach, we were tuckered out and took a water taxi back to the bus stop, and headed home.
Through the hike, I got to know Angel fairly well. Formerly a male stripper in Cancun, he decided to follow his passion for music. He was a constant winker – at least once a conversation, and often more than that. He was funding his travels by busking, and he was serious about it too – he skipped our post-hike dinner to get some busk time in.
He was also very serious about practicing and learning new music. On the day we left for Sayulita, Angel was learning the newest Bad Bunny hit, “Callaita”, about a quiet girl who gets swept into the party life. Go ahead, check it out:
He played it on repeat for the entire morning before we left for Sayulita – nearly 2 hours straight – so I also learned the whole song.
On that bus, Angel and I sat on different window seats, and when a cute girl sat down next to him, he immediately started chatting with her. Before I knew it, he was singing to her as well. Picture it – a half-full bus, quiet other than the sounds of the road, punctuated by Angel belting out a reggaeton ballad at full volume, complete with hand and hip gestures1Reggaeton is more sensual than American pop music, and songs revel in describing the scene, the foreplay, the actions of romance. It is also plenty vulgar, as Gerardo noted in Chapter 4.2It was at this exact moment that I had an epiphany only my high school friends will be able to appreciate: Angel was the Mexican Aisen. It was all there: the need, not the want, to share himself with others, the willingness to be vulnerable and look ridiculous, the fearlessness to disregard social norms. As with Aisen, I found it both hilarious and inspiring. Inspiring because I think that disregarding norms and embracing vulnerability is a weakness of mine. Hanging with Angel (or with Aisen for that matter) was sure to rub off on me, to make me a bit more courageous in that area..
Sayulita was a quaint surf town 1.5 hours north of Puerto Vallarta. As soon as Angel and I got to the hostel, it was clear this was the place to be. Longboards and shortboards surrounded the ground floor, which was complete with cushy beanbags, a plethora of fans, and a full bar. The people were cool too – in quick succession we met Kristian, a Norwegian in town for two weeks of surfing, Mark, a dutchie spending a month in Mexico between jobs, and Omar, an American who had finished a stint in management consulting and decided to take surf lessons before his next role.
I was anxious to surf. As I mentioned in Chapter 2, I broke my wrist last September, and doctors made a point to tell me I was unlikely to return to full functionality. In many ways, surfing was my final functionality test. Sure, push-ups were a good test of weight bearing, but they could be done slowly, and I could stop at the first hint of pain. Surfing requires speed, and trust.
That first Tuesday, I rented a board from the hostel, practiced my pop up a couple times on the beach, and paddled out. The waves were mellow, perfect for someone who hadn’t surfed in 8 months. I waited and watched the break for a moment, and saw a crisp wave moving toward me. As soon as I started paddling, muscle memory took over and I popped up easily and pain free. It wasn’t a huge wave, but it felt exquisite to be back in the water and to trust my wrist again. Callaita was stuck in my head, playing triumphantly on repeat. I was only out for maybe 45 minutes (best not to overdo it on the first day) but felt completely stoked.
The next night we went out – I, Angel, Kristian, Mark, Daniella, (she’d just made it to the hostel to start her workaway at the reception) and Omar. Callaita was the song of the night, and we ended the outing with a freestyle session between Angel and I3I’ve been a freestyler every since I got out of prison. That’s technically a true statement – I went on a prison tour in college to better understand how the criminal justice system operated, and later that night learned to freestyle by watching my friend Troy go off for 30 minutes and imitating him until I got the hang of it., after which he proposed making a production company together.
Usually this would be exactly the sort of tipsy, half-coherent conversation I’d engage in noncommittally, but this time I’d be willing to follow through. My time in Mexico so far has taught me the magic of inviting others into my life in a more tangible way, and it would almost be a betrayal of that lesson not to reciprocate. We’ll see what develops.
Miscellaneous Notes:
- I didn’t mention anything from Guadalajara, my stop between Guanajuato and Puerto Vallarta. Sometimes the events in a city simply aren’t noteworthy enough to make a blog post. I had a great time in Guadalajara – did an epic hike, went on a tequila tour, stayed at a hostel with a bar4The presence of a bar is generally the mark of a good party hostel. It shows a commitment to having a good time., went out every night, and met some awesome people. But nothing about those experiences stood out, so I didn’t write about them.
- One of the things that didn’t fit into the narrative this time was Angel’s concept of “five degrees of separation.” When he mentioned it to me, I started to correct him – the phrase is six, not five, degrees of separation. But maybe that’s an American thing; 5 seems more accurate for Mexico. In my time with Angel, we realized we were both friends with a cool Spanish dude living in Guadalajara (shoutout Rubén!); spent a couple hours with a high school friend of his who happened to be in town for only that day, and Daniella from Puerto Vallarta met us again in Sayulita.
- I’ve noticed I get tipsy here very quickly. Because it’s so hot, I’m sweating a lot and I think I get tipsy quicker because I’m already so dehydrated.