My friend John is a typical loud-mouthed New Yorker.  When I first met him in college, I thought he was  a total dingas, but as the years passed, he slowly grew on me and by the time we graduated from Bucknell, we were close friends.  We both had a passion for good food and cheap beer (do you see a pattern here?) and when he asked what I was going to be doing in late November, I said, "Hanging out with you in Puerto Vallarta!"

He bought a ticket and showed up for a long weekend that he tacked onto the end of a business trip.  I decided to dock at the infamous gator-slide marina to pick him up from the airport and we spent the first day in the lap of luxury, enjoying tropical drinks and lounging around the pool.  We hadn't seen each other since graduation, so it was great to catch up and hear about what he had been doing.  It's sad how easy it is to fall out of touch with friends as the years march by.

We stocked up on food and beverages at the grocery store near the marina and just as we were preparing to leave, I realized my phone was gone.  We slowly retraced our steps, but were unable to find hide nor hair of it.  Its unclear whether it fell out of my bag or if it was stolen while we were inside the crocodile slides, but we were unable to find any clues as to its whereabouts.  

We realized that it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to continue to enjoy the amenities of the marina for a while longer so we stuck around in hopes of finding the phone and finding the fastest way to get down the crocodile slide.  We only succeeded on one out of two counts and the next morning, we decided it was time to set sail for La Cruz.  The sail between the two ports is only a half dozen miles, but in that time, we managed to spy whales, dolphins, and even a sea turtle.  Despite all of the fishing and tourist traffic, Banderas Bay is still teeming with natural life.  

We wandered around town for a couple of hours and decided to pick up a roadside roasted chicken to complement the collection of ice cold beers we had on the boat.  This, naturally put us into a coma until that evening.  

As the sun was setting, we hopped in the superhighway and motored back into town for dinner.  After some more wandering and exploring, we decided on some street tacos and found that they paired nicely with margaritas and mojitos. Surprise surprise!

John had to fly out the following day, and my brother was slated to arrive that morning, so we hopped on a bus for the airport and met up with Porter just as he popped out of customs.  John hadn't gotten to explore downtown Puerto Vallarta yet, so we decided to boogie down there for breakfast.  During our perambulations, we ran across a street taco stand that was emanating the delicious smell of barbecued goat and we had to stop for a few tacos.  They were absolutely scrumptious and just the right thing to cut the edge off of our hunger.

Some morning beers rounded out the pre-breakfast snacks and we sat down by the beach to enjoy them.  

With all of that accomplished, we decided we ought to grab a proper breakfast someplace before we shoved John on an airplane and we found a little palapa joint that fit the bill perfectly.  We all sat down and the waiter looked over at us and jokingly asked "How many margaritas?" with a laugh.  We all looked at each other and simultaneously said, "Three!".  

The breakfast (and the margaritas) were exquisite and we ran the full gamut from chilaquiles to machaca to huevos rancheros.  Morning was fading into midday, and with a full belly and a big bear hug, we sent John off to the airport to return to the states.  

Port and I hopped on a bus and, despite our best intentions, slowly started winding up into the hills in the wrong direction.  We eventually got off after a couple miles of misdirection, and caught another bus back down towards La Cruz.  When we finally got back out to the anchorage, both Porter and I were fired up for a few friendly rounds of cribbage, and I don't know if Porter was too drunk to operate effectively or what, but I trounced him with a tremendous skunking.  His wretched game-play was embarrassing for the both of us.   

After a much needed nap and a glorious sunset to rouse us, we headed back into town for some dinner.  Some chicken wings and a bowl of guac put the cap on the day, and we let the Rascal gently rock us to sleep in La Cruz harbor.  The following day would be a day of errands and provisioning so we got up with the sunrise to seize the day.

First, we dropped off some laundry in La Cruz and took a micro bus out to the big grocery store in Bucerias to stock up on essentials and produce.  

Next, we stopped in town to get Porter some Mexican data for his phone and a glorious lunch of chilaquiles (some of the best I've ever had) and a chicken fried steak at a loncheria in the central town market.  

Last, but not least, we decided to swing by the seafood market in the marina and we picked up some monster prawns to cook for dinner that night.  They were absolutely enormous and could've easily been mistaken for lobsters.  We had a couple of hours to burn before laundry was ready, so went back out to the boat and Porter proceeded to lengthen his cribbage loosing streak a bit more.  

Eventually we got our laundry, a final bag of ice, and a final case of beer and decided to set sail southward.  Porter picked this moment to reveal a present he had bought for me.  Its called a capsac - which is, of course, a fanny pack, in the form of a visor, that you wear on your head.  With a brave salute to the citizens of La Cruz, we pulled anchor and started the overnight sail towards Perula.  

We caught some pretty healthy breezes around the point, but a fair bit of the sail required the use of the diesel, and she beat her little heart out to move us along.  The added benefit of the calm seas, however, is that we were easily able to cook up our jumbo prawns in a bath of butter and garlic.  This picture doesn't quite do them justice, but they were absolutely delicious.

We traded off three hour watches through the night, and didn't pass a single other boat the entire time.  Just as dawn was breaking, a pod of dolphins came alongside to join us.  

We had been trailing a fishing line all night to no avail, but when morning came around, and we got further away from all of the sportfishing activity in Puerto Vallarta, the line started whizzing out with tuna after tuna.  Porter hauled them in with aplomb and before we knew what was happening, it was time for a ceviche lunch.  True to the form that he developed when we were kids, Porter is still very effective in avoiding having to touch wiggling live fish and conning me into unhooking and cleaning them.  

Towards midday, as Porter was hauling in yet another skipjack, the line started pulling harder and it was clear the the fish was fighting more frantically.  We both looked back and from behind the fighting skippy, we saw a big dark fin rise out of the water.  The fish gave a final lunge away from the boat and the line came taut and then immediately went slack.  The fin made one last slash and disappeared below the surface.  Some dirty rascal of a shark had stolen our tuna!

Despite the loss of the skipjack, Porter was able to rally during our afternoon cribbage games and won his fair share of hands again.  As the afternoon wore on, we passed a few sea turtles (which were neither teenaged nor mutant) and we pulled into Chamela Bay right around sunset.

Some dolphins decided to rouse us from our slumber the following morning and we motored across the bay to try our hand at some snorkling in a little cove near the point.  The visibility wasn't great, but there were some interesting creatures around, and eventually we decided to head intto the town of Perula to do some exploring.  

It was a classic little fishing village that was making some failing attempts to attract tourism.  We stopped into a few tiendas, bought some fishing gear and a bottle of Raicilla, and slowly worked our way back out to the boat.  

We had already completed more than half of the distance to Manzanillo, but there were a half dozen neat little coves and towns to explore still, so we decided to bounce down the coast a bit further to check the next one out.  We had just enough wind to move us along and we trundled our way into this tight little nook in the coast that was bordered by rocky headlands and ended in a glorious sandy beach.  

It would have been a pretty nice spot to anchor, except the water was this really ugly turquoise color and it happened to be a really cloudy day.  Porter was as nonplussed as I was.  

We explored around the beach and the craggy nearby islands and everything was totally pristine.  Its nice to be able to go out for a rip in the dinghy whenever you want - the Superhighway really was a great investment.  We rounded out the evening with big, glorious steak salads and another few games of cribbage that Porter managed to quickly lose several games with another skunking to boot.  The following morning, we abandoned our Eden and bounced down the coast again to the town of Careyes.  It was a pretty ritzy zone with plenty of gorgeous beach homes and mansions nestled into the mountainous, jungley coastline.  There was even one house with a suspension bridge to a private island.  

It was a gorgeous stretch of coastline, but all the land seemed private and there was no town or beach for us to explore.  Thus, we decided to continue down the coast.  We continued to catch skipjacks along the way and the bright-colored Mexican mansions marched along the coast with us.  

That afternoon, we sailed into La Manzanilla bay and found ourselves surrounded by a beautiful, vibrant fishing village with a handful of delicious palapa restaurants and a small crocodile sanctuary.  We decided not to go for a swim that evening.  

After stopping in a couple of the palapa restaurants to grab a beer and watch the beach combers pass, we finally selected one for dinner just as the sun was setting.  

We had heard tales of a legendary dish typical to Costalegre and it was in this palapa that we finally found it.  The term for this glorious concoction is "Rollo del Mar" or "Roll of the Sea".  It involves shrimp stuffed with chopped octopus, wrapped in cheese and bacon, which is then rolled up in fish filets, smothered in a buttery almond sauce.  Mine happened to have a few pomegranate seeds sprinkled on top for added effect. Its like a turducken of the sea and it is absolutely delectable!  It might shorten your lifespan by a few years, but what good is a long life if you're not really living it, right?

We slept like the dead that night and it was only a breakfast of extra cheesy Lit'l smokies that could revive us the next morning.  We heard there was a long winding estuary on the other side of the bay (perhaps a 4 mile trip to get over there) and we decided to put superhighway to the test - her longest mission yet.  Thus, we buzzed across the bay, threaded our way through the surf, and inched our way into a maze of mangroves and muddy water. 

Porter isn't very fond of crocodiles, but he is even less fond of Mexican narco-trafficers, and he was pretty convinced that this remote, silent, creepy estuary was bound to be full of them both.  There were definitely a few sketchy looking skiffs tucked into the mangroves and a some distant noises echoing through the swamp to add to the effect.  After a couple of miles of sneaking into the depths of this mangrove swamp, and though it was teeming with interesting birds and plants, the hairs on our necks had really begun to stand up and we decided to turn tail and motor our way back to freedom.  

A few really shady looking hombres passed us on our motor back to freedom and I think Porter was glad to be alive when we finally emerged from the depths of that estuary.  We managed to find a few cold beers at a palapa on the beach and we rode Superhighway back across the bay in style.  She performed valiantly all day and really proved her mettle.  

After such a stressful morning, we decided to calm our nerves with some micheladas and some very buttery, garlicy, cheesy shrimp.  Just what the doctor ordered!

With hunger staved off for another few hours, we sailed out and around the point to the town of Melaque with a few games of cribbage and a handful of beers to keep us occupied.  We went in to explore town, and though it was a bit more touristy, the people watching was superb.  Even the goat watching was superb, with a few little baby goats stumbling around on the sandy beach beside the fishing pangas.  

The dining options were mixed, with most of the places looking a bit too touristy for our taste.  We eventually decided on a restaurant that claimed to offer both French and Mexican cuisine, and when we sat down, neither of us could tell whether or not we had made a terrible mistake.  The proprietor of this establishment came out to take our order and it became clear that he was very french and took his work very seriously.  Our beers came out with frosted mugs.  Porter ordered a chile relleno and I ordered arrachera.  

Let me take a second to explain the glorious cut of steak that is arrachera.  I was first introduced to this buttery, tender, flavorful cut in the form of tacos in La Paz.  I immediately fell in love and I've been ordering it frequently ever since.  It isn't a cut that is commonly served or sold in the states and I think its American analog would be the skirt steak.  Its common in Mexico as the upscale alternative to Carne Asada which can be pretty much any cut of steak, but is commonly something of a lower quality that gets cut into small pieces and charred on a flat top.  Arrachera, by comparison, is always exceptionally juicy, flavorful, and tender.  I've never had a plate of arrachera that has let me down.

The arrachera from this french culinary maverick, however, took things to the next level.  It was everything I've ever wanted in a steak and more.  Not only was the steak superb, but it came with a mixed green salad with homemade dressing, an assortment of rolls with compound butter, and a baked potato smothered in herbed butter sauce.  All of this for typical Mexican prices.  Porter's relleno (which is a pepper stuffed with cheese) was also quite delectable.  Even the atmosphere of the restaurant was super.  It wasn't because of the other clientele, however.  In fact, there was only one other couple in the place.  The proprietor's young son had decided that their family cat might like a swing in the hammock, and was swinging her in big circles while the cat howled bloody murder.  The proprietor had been concentrated on the food and the cat's plight had gone unnoticed until the other couple mentioned it to him.  He let out a couple of fierce sounding French curses in the direction of his son, and the kid stopped until his dad's back turned again, and then continued with his swinging session.  

There was a sizable contingent of retired Americans and Canadians in town and after a breakfast of waffles and chilaquiles, we decided to walk past their campground and go up to an overlook above town to survey the scene.  

We had heard about a pretty swanky marina across the bay in Barra de Navidad that was attached to a resort and we decided to spend the night there.  When we pulled in, we were quickly greeted by an apparently crazy woman on an old, downtrodden boat named "Solitary Bird".  She screamed greetings at us, at the top of her lungs, from her cockpit and demanded that we come talk with her.  We told her we needed to check in first, and promptly ran away.  I suppose there is a reason why her bird is "solitary" after all.  The best part about the marina is doubtlessly the free access to the resorts many pools and hot tubs.  We spent the afternoon lounging in the shade and exploring the network of pools, luxurious amenities, and expertly mixed pina coladas.  

True to our Haney roots, we even managed to make full use of the water slides that connected all of the swimming pools.  

That afternoon, we took a water taxi into town and found a place that served up "the best margaritas in town".  Their margaritas were alright, but their queso fundido was first class and we proceeded to amble down the street to the bar that claimed the "best sunset in town" where we enjoyed a few beers in addition to the sunset.  

We continued to explore the town for the rest of the night and happened into some exquisite al pastor tacos, a handful of crusty old cruisers smoking dope in an expat bar, some street enchiladas served out of a 80 year old Mexican woman's kitchen, as well as some carne asada that was being flame kissed on an improvised grill made out of an old rusty wheel rim.  We even managed to dance the conga to some aggressively loud local music with some complete strangers in a park.  Barra de Navidad is a wondrous place and we were sufficiently charmed that we decided to spend an extra day before completing the last leg of the trip down to Manzanillo.  

We spent the next day in a very similar manner, with lots of time by the pool drinking pina coladas, reading our books, and playing cribbage.  Porter wanted to catch the pats game, so we took another trip over to Barra to see if we could find a bar that had it on.  We managed to find one and were delighted to find that their nachos and arrachera were both first-class.  We made it an early night in anticipation of an early departure the next day for Manzanillo.  

The sail to Manzanillo was pretty casual with a few tanker sightings and a couple boobies that wanted to eat our fishing lures.  Luckily we had a healthy wind so we made good time.  Porter was dissapointed to find, however, that he steadfastly continued to lose cribbage game after cribbage game until our overall tally was finally tied (after a three game deficit at the start). 

We anchored up near a marina and went into town to explore, grab some grub, and reprovision for my next leg of the voyage.  We happened into some monstrous quesadillas that were sufficiently huge that we couldn't even manage to eat dinner later that night.  Porter focused all his efforts that evening on winning a round of cribbage and we ended up parting ways with the all-time-register at 8 games to 7 in Porter's favor.  

The sunrise came early the next morning, and we had a breakfast of street quesadillas before throwing Porter in a cab for the airport.  Off he went to the states and I set my sights further south - to Ixtapa!

There are lots of folks who have offered to contribute to the trip over the course of the last year. I really appreciate that, but I don't feel comfortable taking handouts - especially when I'm living this charmed life.

It seems to me that my most valuable assets right now are my stories and experiences. I got to thinking if there was any way that I could add some value beyond what I'm already doing with the blog (which I intend to keep pure and free of ads) and it dawned on me that people might enjoy prints of my photos. Thus, I put together a website with a couple dozen of my favorites.  

When you click on one of the images, it will take you to a landing page with a bigger version.  While I'm quite fond of all these photos on their own, it's really the story behind them that makes each shot special, so I wrote up a paragraph about the circumstances behind each shot. In the end, you'll be buying a story, not just an image.  If you decide you like a given picture and would like to see it hanging on your wall, above your desk, or in your grandma's kitchen, click on the green "buy" button in the bottom right corner.

The site will allow you to pick between a bunch of different print options - canvas or photo paper, different sizes, etc.  It will even show you if the aspect ratio doesn't quite line up and allows you to crop the photo if you like. Once you select a print you want, it will be added to your "shopping cart" and the rest of the experience is just like any other online shopping you've ever done.  All the payment is handled through smugmug, so its totally secure and I never see your payment details.

I'm not going to pretend to be a professional photographer, but I tried to go through with a fine toothed comb to get rid of any shots that were grainy or out of focus, no matter how much I was in love with them. In the end, I'd imagine that most folks will buy prints to be a part of the adventure (not to hang them up in their fine art gallery), but if you're dissatisfied with any print you receive, let me know and I'll make it right. Full refund, no questions asked.

To get to the photo website from my blog - just click on "The View" link on the top of every page.  

Thanks in advance for your support and happy shopping!