Puerto Vallarta and Everythings are Bueno

Treating myself to another internet cafe session today-at 15p an hour, I really do spoil myself. Today there is a boy running the desk who looks like he has just stepped out of a time machine from Ipswich in 1992. He has long greasy curtains, chains on his jeans, and is forcing me to listen to some non-descript, dated thrash metal.

This weekend I went away to Puerto Vallerta on the Pacific coast to visit Fi, a really good friend of mine who happens to be there doing a similarish travelling project. I was really excited to see her, and also at the prospect of being about to chat to somebody English.

I set off at about 8am on Friday, all backpacked up and keen. The bus to the central bus station stops just around the corner from my house, but for some bizarre reason I got horribly lost again. I think because it was early, I wasn´t awake, and tend to get stuck in wandering mindset where I just follow my feet in a stubborn determination not to turn around or ask for directions. I knew I´d gone way out in the wrong direction long before I reached a tube station (turns out Guadalajara has a subway system?!) but actually, I quite enjoyed the opportunity to try it out. There is something quite comforting about subways- as much as I hate being underground, tubes tend to be pretty idiot-proof no matter which country one is in. It cost 3 pesos to get in through the gate (less than 15p!) which I didn´t have in exact change, but a nice man paid for me.

At Zapopan bus station, I muddled my way through buying a ticket to Puerto Vallerta, which cost about fifteen pounds for a 5 hour journey. The coaches were pretty comfy as well, complete with a TV screening films with hilarious Spanish dubbing. I watched something with Reese Witherspoon in it for a while, in the hope that I might learn something, but gave up after eventually realising that without a proper dialogue, not a lot really happens in Rom Coms. It was just a series of scenes with the actors alternating between looking giddy and depressed. I assumed the film would end with the giddy expressions and listened to my ipod whilst watching the impressive scenery outside the window.

As I stepped off the coach in PV, I could literally feel my hair expand with the humidity. A weekend looking like Simba was to be expected, really.Another bus ride and I was on the beach, meeting Fi and her friends from the project. Really quite surreal.

Puerto Vallarta is a small but busy coastal town- pretty but very touristy. It was quite bizarre coming from such a non-english speaking place to an American holiday hub, with english signs and hitched up prices. The beach was gorgeous though, and I really felt like I was on holiday.

Me and my cocktails...

Fi, looking like a local with Beth and Molly

Anna practising her fire dancing on the beach

The weekend was spent eating, drinking and melting in the heat. I had my first experience of a Mexican club- quite a contrast from British clubs simply because Mexicans can ALL dance. Really well. But I´d had enough cocktails to believe that I could dance just as well, so it was fine. The 3am kebabs or cheesy chips were replaced with tacos, and we finally retreated to our respective homes and hostel.

On the Sunday, we spotted humpback whales breaching close to the beach, and I went in the sea- with waves to big I had to dive in through them. I'd say it was with the grace of a mermaid, but I would be lying. I am still finding sand in my ears.

That evening, Fi and Molly's host family were holding a fiesta, which I gladly gatecrashed. In true Mexican style, the party mostly took place in the street, causing passing buses to occasionally reverse back down the road rather than attempt to drive through the inflatable bucking bronco which attendees of all ages were having a go on. The snail salad and tequila were plentiful, although I'm ashamed to say I had neither as I needed to awake and healthy for the journey back later that night.

There were several young muchachos who were clearly quite baffled and excited by the group of white girls, and several hilarious spanglish conversations ensued. One boy proceeded to tell us all in turn that we had beautiful eyes, but soon after that had exhausted his english vocabulary and spent the rest of the night repeating the only other phrase he could drunkenly remember: "Hey, how is everything?" (emphasis on the EVerything), "Everythings are good?"

Luckily, a beautiful man dressed up as Shakira soon burst through the front of the house and began a (REALLY impressive) belly-dance and lip-sync show along to Shakira's music. This beautiful wig-wearing, bum-padded interderminate-gendered being turned out to be the son of the house owner, Ivan: a professional transvestite. I can honestly say I have never been so confused by or so attracted to such a confusingly attractive being. The mexicans were all over it.

And then it was my queue to go and catch th night bus back to Guadalajara. Not the best sleep I've ever had, but I did feel pretty invincible once I made it back to the city and crept into the house like a ninja at 7am. Pretty good weekend.