Bobbing like a cork, I lay prone, fingers interlaced behind my head; the water, like strands of warm silk, licking at my skin. It was seven in the evening, but neither the temperature of the air nor the water gave any indication that the day was waning. It had been a pleasant initial few hours in Puerto Vallarta. I arrived at the hostel late in the afternoon after a five hour bus trip through the imposing coastal range that isolates this beach city from Guadalajara.

 

The hostel, tucked away in the quaint little neighborhood known as Viejo (Old) Vallarta, possessed all the amenities desirable for an extended stay: industrial sized kitchen, four communal dining tables, three hammocks, a hot tub, and several pillows strewn about the floor beneath a thatched roof to make up the primary social space. As with some of the other good hostels I’d stayed in, this one had next to each bed an outlet to charge your increasing array of electronic devices, a reading lamp, and a little shelf conveniently located to place your book and ear plugs should you require either over the course of the evening.

 

 

The front desk host gave me a map on which he had circled a grocery, a couple good restaurants, and the best beaches. I left the hostel and lost myself among the cobblestone streets of Viejo Vallarta. There were shops for everything one could desire while on holiday – snorkels, towels, flip flops, cigars, tequila. When I saw one claiming to have imported foods, I went inside thinking I might find some exotic ingredient for my dinner. What I found was that ¨imported¨ meant imported from the United States and should I desire Hamburger Helper, Cheese Whiz, or Cocoa Puffs, I could count on this place to provide me with the comforts of home.

 

 

I left the store, returning to Mexico, and soon found myself sitting at a streetside food cart. Knowing that I had a bathroom in my hostel room gave me the confidence to try this experience, despite the many warnings I’d received back home. I asked for a tortilla and pointed to a meat that looked the least like intestines. At a cost of less than a dollar for a meal, I determined I could easily spend the winter here. I ate my taco, watching the owner peel a fruit I didn’t recognize. He noticed me watching, and when I paid for my dinner, he offered me a piece of luscious papaya.

 

 

After my meal, I decided it was time to take advantage of my coastside location and head for the beach. Along the boardwalk were numerous little restaurants with lamps hanging from thatched roofs and chairs that allowed you to dig your feet into the sand as you dined on fish caught just feet away from your table. Music permeated the evening air as I walked towards the water.

 

 

I removed my shoes and shirt and tested the water with my toes. I may as well have been sticking my feet into a warm broth. It took no coaxing to immerse the rest of my body into the crescent shaped bay that draws people from all over the world to visit this tropical destination. Floating there with my hands behind my head, looking at the twinkling lights of the city before me, I thought, ¨perhaps I’ll stay awhile¨.