On our way ... a brief layover in Houston on 2 hours sleep. Yee-haw!
Charging the "Little White iBook," as it is formally called. We brought it along in case of Internet withdrawal emergencies.
Puerto Vallarta, at last. The line at customs was long.
We met up with Amy and Graham in Houston IAH. We had met them once before at Patrick and Erica's wedding, but that was several years ago and we had much re-acquainting to do. We soon knew intimate details about one-another's eating habits. They learned my obsession with grits, for instance. And we learned that Graham has a somewhat frightening watermelon fetish and consumes so much Vitamin C he can cure colds just by looking at you.
The lines were SLOW! Oh, and see that guy on the left? He was on our flight from Newark. And he had arms as thick as my legs, even without the cast.
We hooked up with the rest of the group and went over to the car rental place, where we immediately broke into doo-wop ditties while we waited for our cars. Everybody but Eric, that is. He doesn't do doo-wop.
We all agreed that sunglasses were cool and we would not take them off for the rest of the trip.
I wish I'd taken a photo of our car. Dammit. Sometimes I'm an idiot. Anyway, here's the back lock and part of the license plate. It was a Chevy Comfort. Look it up. We called it the Chevy Dis-Comfort.
Inside the Mega, where we stocked up on food.
Patrick was momma duck. We just followed him everywhere.
Unpacking groceries in the kitchen. Graham's making preparations to cut into his first watermelon.
Kim on the back porch. We spent most evenings around that table.
There was a period of giddy, uncontrollable laughter.
Pat let us know how things were going to be in the kitchen.
Amy briefly considered jumping off the balcony into the pool, then decided she'd wait til later when she was more drunk ... and naked.
Here's where I started really missing those cold days back in New Jersey.
Graham sizing up the boogie boarding situation. By the way, all of us learned the best way to boogie board: wear fins to help you ride the wave, and wear wet-suit to keep your stomach and chest from chaffing. Too bad we learned this on the last fucking day.
Oh no! I miss the 40-degree days in New Jersey! What was I thinking coming to this God-forsaken place?!?
Graham and Amy, pre-chaffing.
This is where I went a bit crazy taking pics of footsteps in the sand ...
And silhouettes ...
And foam ...
And more footsteps ...
And the odd palm fruit washed up on the beach ...
And waves crashing on rocks ...
I mean, I may have gone a bit overboard with the beach photos ...
But it was just sooo purty.
That night Pat made obsene gestures at Graham's head ...
And Graham played it off all cool like Barack Obama.
Pat practiced tai-chi while sipping beer and smoking a cigarette, which I didn't think was a good idea. But he seemed to know what he was doing.
We had horses parked in back of our house. Sometimes they'd make noises, but mostly they were quiet. Not so quiet were the roosters. Fucking roosters.
Another thing that wasn't so quiet was the construction going on at the white house across the way. They would start jack-hammering at 7:30 am and would stop at 4:30 pm, with a two hour break at lunch for siesta-ing. The noise kind of reminded me of DC. And it made me a little nostalgic and teary-eyed.
But with this view, you couldn't let construction sounds bother you.
The sunset lulled you into complacent love for everything and everybody, including screeching roosters.
Night falls ...
The dome on our house had a great look at night.
First morning ... chorizo!
The pool, surprisingly, was a bit cold-ish. But it gave us a nice break from the heat of the sun ...
Hairy leg ... pool ... grotto.
It was a very photogenic house.
The cobblestone road to town was pretty hard on the Chevy dis-Comfort.
Kim and I on a trip back from the grocery store. I can't believe I didn't take a picture of the grocery store.
Costa Azul was the hotel down the street from us. We ate lunch at their restaurant, called "Wahoo's," one afternoon.
All of us at the pool.
Pat entertaining us with his "flailing dog" routine. God that one gets us every time.
At the Beach for a sunset. I need to lose that hat. Yankees? What the hell? Could I be any more East Coast white boy?
Amy and Erica.
This is what people do in Texas. Only there, you don't have the water to look at. Unless you live in Galveston, I suppose. Or ... come to think of it, I guess there are a lot of places in Texas where you have the water to look at. But the Gulf of Mexico ain't so pretty.
Dang. Purty colors.
Me and Pat, camera-ing.
Ha.
Eric was the designated grill man. Because he was the Alpha Texan, and was the only male in attendance who actually still lived in the Lone Star. Anyway, he took to the role like white on rice. Or shit on a pig. (Substitute your favorite expression here).
Whatever expression you use, it was like watching an artist work.
Pacifico Clara was the flavor of choice for most of us ...
With Corona running a close second. I was bummed that they didn't seem to do IPA's in Mexico.
Guacamole and margarita.
C against yellow.
Eric catching up on his reading ...
This was one of the streets in "downtown" San Pancho where we stayed (also called San Francisco). It's not the best shot of the town, but it's the only one I seem to have freakin' took, which I can't believe.
We ate breakfast at Maria's twice. It was yummy.
SanPanchOlimpio. Hee hee.
Pat describing the fish he caught earlier that day. (Actually, they did catch a pretty big fish - a "Rooster Fish" which we pretended was the actual rooster making all the noise as we ate it.
I thought Pat was channeling a bit of the Hunter S. Thompson for this shot ...
Until later that night, when we all realized the ghost of Hunter had actually infected Eric something fierce.
And that had us all in stitches.
The Grotto by night ...
Wednesday C and I hung out in Puerto Vallarta while the rest of the group went zip-lining.
We actually saw a whale surface out in the bay behind C there, which was pretty cool.
Puerto Vallarta was full of American tourists, but of course we blended right in with the locals.
See us blending in?
These sculptures off the beach in PV were kind of cool, but also kind of spooky ...
They made for good photos.
And more photos ...
Ehem ... Aaaaaahhhhhh.
This one I think was my favorite.
Street in Puerto Vallarta.
Obligatory Hard Rock shot. Had to be done.
Wishing I was back in New Jersey away from this hell.
Friday, Eric and Kim and I ventured into Sayulita.
Where I finally got a REAL hat.
See how much better I fit in?
Eventually we all settled into our little routines. Pat and Graham tried to knock down a palm fruit.
Graham went about eating watermelons. C fell into reading.
And reading ...
We looked at more sunsets. Does this ever get old?
And we took obligatory sunset shots of everybody. Here's Amy and Graham.
And Erica and Pat
And Eric and Kim.
And these two ...
The last night, we went out to Ola Rica, which was the hip restaurant in town.
We looked at the menu and talked about blow and gas and fingers in juices.
Eric and Pat studied the meat selection.
And decided on this ... which was delicious.
I had lemon chicken.
And that was that ...
