2023 Mexico – San Pancho
3rd January 2022
After spending a week with our son and his family in Seattle, we took a five-hour flight to Puerto Vallarta in Mexico. I had arranged for the hotel to send a taxi to pick us up, but the day before, they told me that only official airport taxis were allowed into the airport so I had to leave the airport, walk across the bridge that spanned the motorway and our driver would be waiting for us on the other side. I had always had an overactive imagination which was invaluable for creativity but often got in the way of everyday life. I was convinced that the bridge would be deserted and halfway across we would be kidnapped by a band of desperate Bandidos.
I looked at posts from other travellers and they confirmed the extortionate price of airport taxis but said “If you are feeling adventurous you could walk across the bridge to meet someone.” When I read the word “adventurous” I thought of my brother and his wife Laura canoeing down the Zambezi with man-eating Hippopotamuses on every corner. Seeing the word “adventurous” on Trip Advisor further stretched my imagination even further but I couldn’t bring myself to pay $135 for an airport taxi compared to $35 for one from the hotel. As a precaution, I told our son I would send him a message as soon as we arrived at the hotel. I didn’t want to alarm him with my concern so I hoped that if he didn’t hear from me, he would contact the police to discuss the ransom demand. I also wore my quick-release sandals so I could unleash my bare feet and while they were no longer lethal weapons as they once were, they were still able to inflict a pretty serious case of athlete’s foot. I needn’t have worried. The whole area was packed with people so it turned out to be as risky as climbing a stepladder without a parachute.
Puerto Vijata airport was the most chaotic I had ever seen. Going through passport control was surprisingly quick but once in the baggage collection area, it was a solid mass of people. No one knew where the end of the queue was or even what it was for. At first I thought it was a queue for the conveyor belt until someone put me right. I pushed my way through to the baggage reclaim and realised that the queue was to take luggage through customs. I was dreading having to join my fellow escapees in the queue but ironically, we waited so long for our luggage that by the time we were ready to leave, the queue was half gone and it was easy to find the end. When we finally got out of the airport into the arrivals area there was even more chaos. Once again there was a solid mass of people, only this time they were waiting for taxis. Never had I been so happy to have booked a hotel transfer. It was only a short walk to the bridge, which was entirely free of Bandidos and with plenty of people around, I felt completely safe.
Our driver, El Dhube, far from being a Bandido was a very pleasant and interesting young man who despite never having been outside Mexico, spoke perfect English. We planned to stay in smaller towns as we wanted to avoid the big holiday complexes with their all-inclusive deals. We stayed at the Marii Hotel Boutique in a small town called San Pancho (also known as San Francisco) which was an hour’s drive from the airport. After unpacking, we went to a beach restaurant where I could indulge in one of my favourite dining experiences, eating while my feet were buried in the sand. We had been told that in Mexico, fish tacos were the thing to have, so that’s what I ordered. It sounded so exotic but in reality, it was just bits of fish in small tortillas with some dry lettuce. From what I could gather, the attraction came from putting hot sauces on them which I didn’t like and without them the meal was bland. However, we had guacamole to start with and instead of the usual tiny bowl which was barely enough for one person, this was such a big portion that we struggled to finish it between the two of us. 
It was around 10 p.m. when we got back to the hotel and though we were both shattered, it was too early to go to bed. Then to our horror, we remembered there was a two-hour time difference, so for us, the time was only 8 p.m. We tried to hold out, but it wasn’t long before we surrendered to sleep. We both had a bad night, partly because of the time difference and the thudding of a distant bass drum, but mainly because of the noises outside and in particular, what sounded like enormous trucks with no silencers. Throughout most of the night, roosters did their cock-a-doodling sporadically, but around 5 a.m. they all got together for a jam session. We had chosen our hotel because it was a little out of town where it was supposed to be quiet. I hadn’t yet discovered that there was no escape from noise in Mexico.
On the beach the next day we had our first taste of how expensive Mexico was. We had assumed it would be very cheap but two sunbeds and an umbrella for the day were £20, around double the price of Croatia. There was no bargaining, as they all seemed to charge the same price. Our usual practice on holiday was to find sunbeds and an umbrella and sit there until sunset. The problem in San Pancho was the sea was too rough to swim in. We were used to rough seas in Peru but there we could swim when we got past the breaking waves. In San Pancho, it was very difficult, so we hired the sunbeds for an hour and went to lunch. We spent a very pleasant afternoon watching surfers riding the huge waves, reminding me of the extraordinary things I was capable of when I was young. Surfers were getting wiped out regularly which often involved multiple somersaults, while I struggled to get out of my chair amidst a chorus of grunting and groaning. Federika did try to swim but was soon knocked over by a small wave. Fortunately, a passing lifeguard saw what had happened and went galloping over to check if she was alright. After confirming there was no harm done, it went galloping off on its merry way. 
Next day we went on a day trip to nearby Sayulita, a much bigger resort than San Pancho. There was lot of traffic and noise and we read that at night it turns into one giant party but it made a good day trip. The waves were still very big but much more manageable so we had no trouble swimming. We also walked 500 metres to the Playa de Los Muertos, which is translated, The Beach of the Dead. 
It might not have been the most enticing holiday destination name, but it did have the advantage of being right next to a graveyard so anyone getting into trouble on the beach didn’t have far to go to their final resting place. We had lunch at an upmarket restaurant facing the sea. Federika ordered a Caesar salad which the waiter prepared in front of us. He started by squashing anchovies into a large wooden bowl, and heaven knows what he did after that but it took 15 minutes and I never realised a salad could taste so good. It seemed to be difficult to find whole fish anywhere so I ended up ordering prawn tacos, which again was a little bland.
That night we found a lovely little rustic restaurant tucked away in a courtyard. There was an interesting trio playing live, consisting of an elderly hippy wearing a long skirt who sang and played Spanish guitar, a flute player and a drummer. It was an unusual combination and the volume was just right. Halfway through the set, the hippy announced it was an open-mike night so the audience was welcome to get up and sing, dance, recite poetry or whatever. I usually avoided those things like the plague but recently decided I ought to make an effort and join in. If I was getting paid I would have chosen well-known, uptempo songs to get people animated but as it was for my own benefit, I chose songs that I liked to play, including one of my own. The guitar sound wasn’t great and it was always hard to get up and start playing having not picked up a guitar for a while but I played three songs well enough and three tables were actually listening, which was a bonus. Despite it being 55 years since the first of my many thousands of performances, I still found myself fantasising that there was a record company executive in the audience who would discover me. There was a man in front of us with his only company being a glass of Tequila. He was a definite candidate for the route to stardom but would you believe it, yet another night passed with me being famous only for my anonymity. What was the matter with those unimaginative record company executives? Why couldn’t they see that there was a massive hole in the market for an almost bald, 72-year-old, unknown singer-songwriter with a dodgy hip? 
One thing that was beginning to irritate me was the number of restaurants that were playing techno dance music, often very loudly. A lot of people on the beach brought USB speakers, so anyone within a 30-metre radius was forced to listen to their music. On our last day we paid for sunbeds for two hours but after 15 minutes, a Mexican family sat next to us with dance music blaring in our ears so we had to leave.
We were both looking forward to eating lots of fish on holiday so it was disappointing to find that the only fish on most menus were in tacos or empanadas. Finally, we found a restaurant that served whole red snapper which we selected from a tray. We assumed it would be grilled but they served it deep-fried. It was still very tasty and we enjoyed it, but it gave me indigestion and my stomach wasn’t quite right for a couple of days afterwards. I had a stomach like an ox, so I was rarely affected in that way. By the end of our stay in San Pancho I was beginning to realise that food might be an issue during our stay in Mexico. I wasn’t keen on tortillas or refried beans and couldn’t handle hot sauces and chillis so that excluded me from most of what was on offer.
During our holidays we always liked to take an after-dinner stroll and potter around the shops. Everything was so expensive and whilst we could afford to buy whatever we wanted, there wasn’t much point when it was half the price in Croatia or even Seattle. On the plus side, there was none of that constant pestering by stallholders which could be so tiresome.
2023 Mexico
