Traveling solo in Vallarta

The highlight of my trip, which was in the rainy season of September, was a horseback ride up into the Sierra Madres. It may feel as though you've taken leave of your senses as you mount a horse no taller than yourself and trek up into the jungle covered mountains on trails barely wider than a horse's belly. Half the thrill on this 3 hour tour from Rancho Capomo is contemplating what kind of insurance coverage you have as you make your way up winding trails to the day's reward, a baptism of sheer joy under an 80 foot water fall. A simple but delicious meal back at the Rancho finished up the excursion.

Another simple pleasure was waiting out the daily afternoon cloud bursts in small cafes about town. You can easily lose yourself meandering through the old cobble stone streets in search of the perfect Talvera plate or "Day of the Dead" handicrafts. If you are a collector of pottery as I am, you'll find the prices and the quality quite good.

Quick Tips:

Maybe because Vallarta is relatively inexpensive, there seemed to be more students and single people there, as opposed to the ever present army of honeymooners you find in places like Cancun. Everywhere I went I found myself in conversation with people from around the world. The day-long excursions from the marina are a great way to meet people. As a solo traveller I felt quite at home and quickly got acquainted with fellow travellers. I had my first attempts at kayaking and snorkling off cruises into the Bay. Snorkling was a bit of a disappointment, as the water in Banderas Bay was cloudy, especially on the south shore. Kayaking, however, was great.

Time share salesmen are everywhere. The guy selling ice cream will try his luck in selling you a time share if you sit still long enough. Be firm and say no quickly.

Best Way To Get Around:

The best way to get around is the local bus. For just a few pesos you get more than a ride, but a slice of life you won't find in an air conditioned taxi.

One afternoon I climbed aboard one such bus headed into town. I was about to throw myself onto a rain drenched seat in the back, when an older gentleman, a charming fellow with a sparse collection of teeth and an eager, wide smile, leaped out of his seat and whipped off his shirt. He began to mop the seat for me, all the while smiling as though it were the highlight of his day.

I was really pleased with my choice. The Fiesta Americana is comfortable, visually appealing and well-run. The lobby is a huge open air affair several stories tall that gives the the place a grand tropical feeling.

My room was good by my standards: a comfortable bed, a serviceable bathroom without any over the top thrills (the shower was a little disappointing - something I look for in a good hotel) and a small balcony to watch sunsets from. I didn''t have a terrific view, but none-the-less I could see the ocean. For the price, the place was great. I''ve stayed at other Fiesta Americanas and I like them on the whole. They manage to create a homey Mexican atmosphere without glitz. The pool was quite nice. The beach, right beyond the pool area, was, well, a little disappointing: flat, rough surf. I was perfectly content to sit in a lounge chair around the pool.

On another day excursion booked through my hotel, I went on a package cruise to Los Arcos and Quixtimo. Given allowances for off days and so forth, I would caution that I was disappointed and wouldn't recommend it.

Los Arcos is a rock formation in the southern part of the Bay of Banderas. Big rock arches carved by rough seas and time, they probably make for great snorkeling and scuba diving. On this particular day the water, while not rough, was churned up so much that it was cloudy, making my very first snorkeling experience a dud. I can blame this on the weather, as a tropical storm had passed through a week before, so who knows? There were fish there to be seen, I just didn't see many. In retrospect I could kick myself for not trying snorkeling at Maritos where I was the day before.

Okay, not so great. Then it was on to Los Animos, a tiny spot along the southern end of the bay, for aforgettable preplanned lunch and some beach time. The surf was so rough I was afraid to go in. Fortunatelym I met some students, real nice folks from Mexico City, and got in a quick volleyball game before heading off to Quixtimo for horseback riding.

Quixtimo, it seems, is a small villge set up for the sole purpose of renting horses to tourists. These horses: old, tired, with bleeding saddle sores and cracked horse shoes, broke my heart and gave me serious doubts as to whether they'd make it. After a terrific experience at Rancho Campomar, this was clearly inferior. The trail was muddy, frighteningly steep and rutted from the rains so much that the horses slid as they fought their way up the hills. Needless to say, I wasn't digging this. Our destination was a mountaintop waterfall an hour or so along the trail. But you couldn't get near it, unless you patronized the conveniently located cafe at the base of it. If you just wanted to sit near the falls, it was 20 pesos.

Here comes the climax of the day: I had the extraordinary pleasure of watching an old couple, two European octogenarians, if not older, dismount with great help from hired guides and proceed to splash about topless in matching flourescent thong bottoms. Fortunately when they rolled in it was time to go.

I'd pass on Quixtimo. The jury is out on Los Arcos. If you want to snorkel, scuba, kayak or horse back ride, there are better places to do it.

This three+ hour trek into the Sierra Madres is more than just sitting on a pony, it's a true adventure. We stopped first in the town of Las Palmas; sorry to say, it’s a dismal burg of cinderblock huts, roaming dogs and dirt streets. The locals came out to sell us things. A woman behind a table full of towel covered pitchers, drew back one damp towel to reveal a yellow-green slurry of pulp and water. I could only guess it was limeade. A swirling squadron of flies scattered. I passed on the limeade, as should you, but check out the colorful white-washed church in the center of town. We carried on to Rancho Camopo. Friendly and clean, I was immediately impressed by the pleasant staff and healthy horses. Our guide selected mounts for us and we were off. Our horses were short (around six feet) fat creatures with black and auburn hides. Calm and well trained, they trudged off on their own accord single file immediately into a raging brown creek, flooded from the previous night’s thunderstorms. The horses didn't blink, but plowed right in up to their noses. My horse, gentle Losario, struggled so that I was sure I was going to get swept away. This was just another day for Losario. We emerged unscathed, only to do it again a few more times. We carried on through lush jungle perfumed like Mexican spices. I saw huge grasshoppers and exotic spiders, purple thistles and sweet white blossoms, and butterflies the size of my opened hand. An hour later we stopped at a widening in the river. We’d have to walk the rest of the way. To what? I asked. The waterfall: an 80-foot thundering column of water. Amazing, breathtaking, and certainly, refreshing. We lingered for a swim, then off again up the steep mountainside. This time the trails were muddy from the rains, and were only as wide as the horses. What happened if someone had to turn around, God only knows. I began to have serious doubts again. I must have looked pale, because the lady in front of me explained that this was why our horses were so short and fat, they were built for mountain climbing. These horses could probably make this ride with their eyes closed, she assured me. How do you know? I demanded. I raise horses for a living, she said. Okay, I’d have to take her word for it, because I couldn’t turn back. Eventually we emerged on a grassy plain and were back, safe and whole, at Rancho Camopo. We were treated to a tasty feast of chilies rellenos, corn tortillas, beans, chicken, guacamole and cold beer in the Rancho’s pavilion. Situated in the Sierra Madres near Las Palmas, Rancho Camopo is about forty five minutes from PV. I signed up for this tour through the Fiesta Americana. Inquire at your hotel -- ask for the Rancho by name, they aren’t all the same.

Even this hardened New Yorker found the constant onslaught of time share salesmen to be an annoyance. By the end of the five day stay, I became so expert at cutting a sales pitch off at the start that I was beginning to feel quite the gal about town. But I learned a valuable lesson.

It was my last day in Puerto Vallarta. I had a few hours to kill before my taxi would come to the hotel. I hopped on a bus and went into town, convinced that there was some art gallery or pottery store I missed. I shopped a bit, then bought a Fresca and wandered to the water's edge to get a look at the boats. A man spotted me and made a bee line across the plaza, waving a spiral bound notebook and calling out to me.

"Oh, no," I sighed felt a little angry. All I wanted was to enjoy the last hour of my trip in peace. I braced myself to deflect his pitch. As he approached I cut him off curtly, "No! No time share. No gracias." The man shook his head. "No, no, no." "I mean it," I snapped. "No time share, go away." The man opened the notebook and held it out to me. "You American?" he asked. "Yes, now go away," I turned for the bus stop. "Please, miss. Help me?" I looked at the papers in his hand. It was his English homework. "Please, miss. Help me with lesson?" I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as he gestured to a bench along the waterfront. Still not sure if this was an elaborate trick, I sat down and warily took his note book from him. We spent a half hour there on that bench, Carlos and I. When we had gone through a list of simple verbs and reviewed telling time, I glanced at my own watch and said with genuine regret that I had to go.

Maybe I was just lucky, but my short stay in Puerto Vallarta was filled with little moments like that that still make me smile.

It is unlike any humidity I have ever known. Word of advice to those who are sensitive to such atmosphereic conditions, choose the time of your visit carefully. I, of course, visited in September, between two significant tropical storms. The first blast of humidity and heat as I stepped off the plane was stupifying. Then I got used to it, but my clothes never seemed to dry, and my hair defied every attempt I made to tame it.

It rained every afternoon, almost like clock work, around 4 pm. Rained in the "Noah and the Arc" sense. The streets in the Old Town area flooded like small rivers. Notice, ever observant traveller, that the curbs on the streets in town are at least one foot high. Ahhh... I get it, it floods a lot in Puerto Vallarta.

My first day there, I was positive that because of the rain, my entire vacation was doomed. It rains; get used to it. That doesn't mean that you won't have fabulous sunny mornings and ample time to catch sun. Trust me, by the time siesta time rolls around, you welcome the rain. And when it hits, and it will, wait it out in a cafe with a margarita. Watch the salt, the humidity already has you swelling up like a balloon.