I’ve been to Puerto Vallarta so many times that it’s hard to find something to entertain myself here that I haven’t already done. In fact, every time I pass by the guy on the street in front of my place, I have to say, “I’ve already done that” to his entreaties to get me to sign up for one of the activities he sells. Besides, having lived here for four months while working at a hostel, I know how to pay less for any of the activities he has to offer.

I know the area so well in fact that I found myself staying inside for entire days just watching shows or working on my computer. While it’s nice to be retired, I was beginning to get bored, so I started looking into finding something further afield that I hadn’t done.

I went to the Mexican tourist website, Visit Mexico, and looked under a tab called Pueblos Magicos because how can you go wrong with a Magic Town? Having been to many of these while visiting 19 of Mexico’s 32 states, I know there are some that I would argue don’t qualify as “magic”, and clearly someone is paying (or pleading) to have their otherwise insignificant town featured.

I’d often heard tour promoters here talk of visiting a traditional Mexican hill town, and I finally stumbled across a place called San Sebastian del Oeste under the Pueblos Mágicos. I entered it into Google images and, while it was high in the mountains, it didn’t seem particularly impressive compared to other Mexican hill towns I’ve visited, like Taxco. I researched how to get there, and it seemed possible with nothing shorter than a two hour bus ride and transfer to a local taxi to complete the final distance to the town. While that type of adventure is normally appealing, I was still not convinced by the pictures I saw online that San Sebastian was worth the half day investment in travel.

There was, however, another place that I’d seen once when traveling south along the Mexican coast from Puerto Vallarta. My boss from the hostel had recommended I visit a quaint Mexican beach town called Barra de Navidad about 6 hours south of Puerto Vallarta. The bus trip there crossed a mountain range so high that I saw pine trees as the bus crested a winding mountain road that separated the two places. 

I turned on the satellite view on Google maps and found a town called, el Tuito, near the crest of the mountain range. Having taken a bus to get to the botanical gardens in the mountains above Puerto Vallarta, I remembered seeing El Tuito on the front of the bus so I knew there was a local bus that could take me there directly from the center of town.

I decided to make El Tuito my own Pueblo Magico since it would be much easier to reach. As it turns out, it cost me a whole $1.50 to get to the town, and the bus drove me all the way to the center. It was no less impressive than many of the other Magic Towns I’d visited. The town square was typical of any Mexican village, and I found a nice coffee shop to sit outside while I took in the town.

While it was still morning when I arrived, I found myself irresistibly drawn to the restaurant at the far end of the colonnade from my coffee shop. Overwhelmed by the desire to try one of the tacos that so many others had lined up for, I asked the proprietor if she’d watch my coffee while I went to get a couple tacos.

I love the flexibility of Mexican culture: that I could simply leave my coffee sitting at an empty table while I went to the taco shop, bring food from another business to eat at the coffee shop, and that the taco place was happy to let me bring my plate from their business to the coffee shop. They didn’t even ask me to pay in advance.

I was soon reminded that foods popular in other cultures are not necessarily foods that I like. I knew I was eating some part of the pig, but I’d neglected to inquire as to what part, as I normally do, by pointing to different parts of my body while asking in Spanish, “from here”. I knew by its texture that it was not the locally revered intestine or brain, but as of today, I still can’t tell you what part of the pig I ate. Let’s just say the texture did not match my expectations. Fortunately. I’d spooned on enough hot sauce and still had enough coffee to chase down the unidentifiable pig parts.

To show my gratitude to the owner of the coffee shop for her flexibility, I brought my empty coffee cup back to the counter when I went to pay. Of course, I did the same with the plate from the taco place and paid $1.50 for my pig parts. It was time to do a further inspection of the town. 

To be honest, I was a little uncomfortable on my initial walk into town as people weren’t particularly friendly. I’d had a similar experience the year before. I was walking through a town and kindly greeting people as I passed, something common in Mexico, but as I headed down a more remote street, I felt something different, and I noticed that people had stopped returning my greetings. At that point I turned around and headed back to the more populated part of town. 

I got that same feel when I first entered El Tuito which is why I decided to sit down and take in the place a little more before exploring. During that time I saw families gathered for breakfasts and friends greeting each other and felt relieved enough to explore further.

It didn’t take long to walk to the edge of a town that only extended four blocks in any direction, but I’d seen what looked like a park on the outskirts of town so I continued until I realized it was a cemetery. I always find cemeteries interesting, especially in a country as deeply religious as Mexico, but I also noted that it topped a small hill that would give me a 360 degree view of the surrounding hills.

When I reached the driveway to the cemetery, there was an orange cone in the middle of it and a police truck parked just beyond. My mind quickly pieced together the potential problem. Covid was on the rise in the state I was traveling in, and I had chosen to visit the cemetery on The Day of the Dead. This is a celebration where Mexican people bring tables, chairs, and food to cemeteries and dine with the spirits of their ancestors.

Unfortunately, that was exactly the kind of gathering that was banned just a few days earlier, and the policemen told me the cemetery was closed. I considered pleading with them, since clearly I wasn’t there to picnic with any unknown ghosts, but I erred on the side of humility, and acquiesced to their denial. Besides, I didn’t know that I had the Spanish vocabulary to explain why I should be granted an exception.

I returned to town and decided I’d exhausted what there was to do there. Besides, I’d seen another town on my way there that I wanted to explore on my return. Since, I’d left the center of town, I didn’t know what route the bus would take so I headed out to the main highway to wait. A nice thing about buses in Mexico is that you can simply waive them down from the side of the highway.

Because I had chosen to flag the bus down on the highway, I had to find a place where I could see the marquee far enough in advance to raise my hand, as well as a place where the bus would have enough room to pull off the road. Unfortunately that spot was devoid of any shade, and I roasted for about 20 minutes before a bus came along.

As I mentioned, I’d seen a little village climbing up a hillside during the morning bus ride to El Tuito, but I didn’t know the name of the town, so when the conductor asked me where I was going I told him, “to the small town near the Botanical gardens”. He looked into the air to calculate a price and came up with 20 pesos or $1 USD. I found it a bit random, since it had cost me just 32 to pesos for the entire morning trip from Puerto Vallarta, but when I handed him the money, he gave me a receipt with 20 pesos printed on it so I guess it was a common distance.

When the bus dropped me off at the hillside town, I noticed a bridge crossing a river that I hadn’t seen when we originally passed through. I decided to follow the road a little to see if there was somewhere I could eat my lunch while overlooking the wild rushing river.

When I got to the sign above the highway that thanked people for visiting, I turned around realizing there wouldn’t be businesses any further down. I walked back a couple minutes to a place that I’d originally assumed was a ghost of a former resort. These are quite common in Mexico. They build these grand developments which end up abandoned only a few years later because a newer one is built beside it.

This place had the look of one of those. There was a huge sign identifying the place as Chico’s Paradise, but the sign was weather worn and looked like it hadn’t been painted since the grand opening, which judging by its condition was about 20 years ago with no maintenance since. I entered Paradise Lost.

The only reason I continued onto the property is that it looked to be built over the most beautiful part of the river, and I was curious to see if I could get access to it. The first gate was rusted shut, and I continued on to a parking area that had a couple cars parked there so I knew there was a possibility of running into someone.

What I didn’t expect to find was an open restaurant with a giant outdoor patio overhanging the river. It was beyond what I could have hoped for when I had decided to look for a restaurant on the water. There was a full bar and kitchen, and the waiters motioned me inside.

They must have been surprised to get a walk in guest as it turned out to be one of those places that caters mainly to organized groups in between their zip lining and tequila tasting adventure tours. That explains why the only vehicles in the parking lot were a couple of sprinter vans. Still, they were happy to give me a table to myself, and a menu with more choices than I knew what to do with.

Though I wasn’t that hungry, I decided to cleanse my palette of the mysterious pork tacos with chicken quesadillas and a limonada. I had forgotten about limonada until I saw the guys at the table next to mine order a round of margaritas. Unfortunately, I’m not a fan of tequila, so I stuck with the iced citrus water. It was perfectly refreshing since my body had been dehydrating under the warm Mexican sun.

I was wishing I’d been in shorts but I was in pants since it was a Sunday, and Mexican people don’t typically wear shorts away from the beach. I try to respect the local culture when traveling. I realized what a great place this would be to bring people on future tours, which also triggered the realization that I could treat my lunch as a business expense. One of the great things about having a career as a tour guide is that pretty much any travel expense can be considered a tax write off if it is done with the intent of supporting your business.

After lunch, I scaled down to the rocks above the rapids for a few pictures and then headed back towards the bus stop. I noticed a side road following the river in the direction opposite the one I’d walked initially and decided to see if I had missed any restaurant opportunities there.

I came across a gift shop and a tequila tasting room that catered to tourists, like the ones I’d seen at Chico’s Paradise. After that it became a typical dusty Mexican town with rough cobblestones and the unmistakable polka style of Ranchero music playing nearby. I continued on with the hopes that something else magic would materialize along the river that day, but nothing did.

At the end of town, there was a line of cars on the side of the road closer to the river and scores of Mexican families along the river’s edge, grilling or sitting beneath the trees. Children splashed in the river or jumped off the suspension bridge crossing the river, despite the sign prohibiting it. I took a couple pictures of the river and of a Sunday afternoon in a small Mexican town before heading back up the road to my bus.

As with everywhere in this region, there is no posted schedule. You just wait, and you will eventually find conveyance home, whether it’s on a bus or in the back of a pick up truck of a kind stranger.

To keep me company, one of the town dogs came over to lie down in the shade beneath my legs. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep with one of his paws resting against my ankle. In this position, we waited for about 45 minutes until the bus finally came along.

It would be another 45 minutes before I arrived home, and I was tired from my day but happy that I had indeed discovered my own Pueblo Mágico.