I always thought roosters only crowed at dawn. I also was under the impression that if a dog in your house is constantly barking, you would attempt to quiet it down, maybe offer a treat or some attention to quell the noise. Perhaps the propane delivery truck that makes the rounds through the neighborhood wouldn’t blare an announcement, paired with an admittedly catchy jingle, through its roof-mounted speaker, before 8 am. But after almost nine-plus years of near constant travel around the world, I still have a lot to learn about other cultures. While we were warned about the ‘local sounds’ around our accommodation in Punta de Mita, it still took some getting used to. The local roosters didn’t START crowing at dawn, since they never stopped, bellowing all day and throughout the night. The dogs were the same – any time a stray wandered down the street, all the homebound canines would alert everyone to the intruders presence. The gas truck was just the first of several vehicles to make their way through the area – the cheese vendor also made its presence known with an equally loud message, punctuated with the recording of a mooing cow. The scrap metal collector had no such endearing message, just a scratchy blast of unintelligible gibberish that reminded me of an old radio being left to broadcast static after its tuning dial had been moved from the actual station. Fortunately for us, Punta de Mita is that type of place that grows on you, and after acclimatizing to the local sounds after a couple days, the charms of this town, located on a peninsula at the northern tip of the Bay of Banderas, outside of Puerto Vallarta, won us over.

We had settled on Punta de Mita as our base for the exploration of the coastline both north and south of Puerto Vallarta. To the south, we visited pretty little Mismaloya, a small beach tucked into a cove, reached by driving the winding highway out of PV. After leaving the city center, the road twists and turns along the hillside, giving glimpses of the glistening waters of the bay between the resorts and homes built overlooking the water. Mismaloya is a small town, dominated by the massive Barcelo resort at its center. The beach is backed by a series of palapa-roofed restaurants, tour and fishing boats bob in the water and pelicans put on a show by rising up off the surface before diving back down attempting to catch a meal. Most folks visit here on a day trip, occupying the lounge chairs provided by the restaurants, sipping margaritas and enjoying a lunch of fresh seafood before returning to the city. We picked a table in the shade, shed our flip-flops, ordered Pacificos and ceviche and spent a lovely afternoon admiring the view over the water.

To the north, a string of towns attract visitors for sun, surf and relaxation. Perhaps the best known of these towns is Sayulita, just about ten miles up the coastal road. It was our intention to spend some time staying in Sayulita, as we had heard good reports on the town from friends back home in Colorado who had visited on surf trips after the end of ski season. But recently the news hasn’t been as glowing – overdevelopment there has led to problems such as piles of trash rotting on the streets, a sewer system incapable of handling the swelling number of tourists and even people getting sick from swimming in the fouled water off the beach. We decided to give it a pass. Instead, we opted to stop in and check out Rincon de Guayabitos, a further eighteen miles north. What I thought would be a relatively off-the-beaten-path destination took us by surprise. We found a thriving ex-pat community of American and Canadian retirees, a long stretch of relatively uncrowded beach, and calm waters dotted with small rocky islands. We plunked ourselves down at Victor’s Beach Bar, once again kicked off our sandals, ordered lunch (grilled fish sandwiches this time) and sipped cervezas. Yet another perfect afternoon gazing out to sea with our feet in the sand.

Neighbors of ours in Colorado had intrigued us with photos of their recent trip to a desolate beach even further north than Guayabitos. So one more time we pointed the rental car up the coast and made the two-hour drive to Playa Las Tortugas. Passing through a succession of small towns along the highway, we left the paved road and bounced down a dusty dirt road for four miles, passing mango and breadfruit plantations to reach the beach. Playa Las Tortugas is REALLY ‘out there’! We found a place to park amongst the palm trees and walked out onto a stretch of dark sand with nothing, and nobody, in sight. The ten mile beach has virtually no development save for a cluster of homes at its northern end and a turtle conservation camp. The waves crashed against the sandy shore and pelicans glided inches above the waters surface. Under an overcast sky we spread a blanket and set out the picnic lunch Heather had packed for us – steamed tamales, organic cherries and bars of chocolate – all items I had purchased the previous day at the weekly farmer’s market in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, a town along the Bay of Banderas next to Punta de Mita. After enjoying our lunch we strolled the beach, enjoying the solitude, sounds of nature and the sand under our feet.

I don’t mean to shortchange Punta de Mita with my opening comments. It’s a delightful town, known for its forgiving, beginner-friendly waves, welcoming and affordable beach-front restaurants and that ‘boisterous’ local village. Its also got whales – lots of whales. We spotted whales while walking the beach in the mornings, from our guesthouse’s roof-top terrace in the afternoons and from our favorite restaurant on the waterfront at sunset. Every. Single. Day. It’s a great choice for a base to explore the area. And If you’d like to avoid the ‘local sounds’, there’s always the Four Seasons resort at the end of the peninsula – peace and quiet, though, comes with a $1,500 a night price tag.

Our two weeks in Punta de Mita wraps up our time in Mexico this winter – three months in total. Now we’re off to the next destination: Belize. We’ll be visiting Placencia (at least to start) on the country’s southern Caribbean coast, looking for some paddling opportunities and a chance to snorkel its world-famous barrier reef.

We were standing on the pier in Puerto Vallarta, waiting for the water taxi to take us to Yelapa. The folks in front of us looked at our packs and asked, with a tinge of surprise, “You’re staying in Yelapa?”. When we answered that we were, indeed, staying over, they were even more surprised to hear we would be spending an entire week there (most folks visit the town on a day trip), “Hope you find enough to do!”. We were thinking the same thing on the forty-five minute boat ride, which is the only way to access this off-the-beaten-track beach town. But after our first couple days in town, we were wondering if a week was going to be enough time to see and do everything this little gem has to offer.

A view of Yelapa town from the bay

Yelapa sits on the southern side of Banderas Bay, squeezed between the forest-clad hills and the sea. As you enter the small inlet, the golden sands of it’s beach occupy the left side and it’s rambling village climbs up the hillside to the right. A river splits the two areas, tumbling down a narrow valley that reminds one of Jurassic Park. At the top of that valley, after a one hour hike, we found a cascading waterfall that filled a small swimming hole, a refreshing reward for the dusty and sweaty walk. About halfway along the trail, at a slight bend in the river where enough sand has accumulated to form a small beach area, we found the Jungle Garden. This family-run operation offers hammocks and loungers on the ‘beach’, simple meals from their kitchen and beer and cocktails from the bar. It’s perhaps one of the most pleasant places you could ever wish to while away an afternoon, soothed by the sounds of the river, taking in the view of the surrounding forest, listening to the screech of parrots and squawking of the green macaws that frequently pass overhead. While the macaws are an endangered species in Mexico, this little valley hosts the densest concentration of the birds anywhere in the country.

The Jungle Garden

The beach is mediocre – fishing boats and water taxis bob in the surf just off the beach, a handful of restaurants have tables set up and day boats from Puerto Vallarta arrive regularly to disgorge passengers who will eat, drink, wander through town and return to the city before nightfall. In the village we found a couple small shops to buy fruit for our breakfast; a number of stalls offering micheladas, the classic drink of beer, lime and tomato juice served in a glass rimmed with chile salt, as well as raicilla, a regional liquor made from agave; and a number of restaurants that open for dinner, or not, depending on the whims of the owners. We were impressed by our meals – sublime octopus tostadas, simple fried shrimp tacos, over-stuffed burritos, BBQ chicken and choco flan – a layer of custardy flan topping a base of moist, rich chocolate cake.

Mornings in Yelapa are prime whale watching time, when the ‘whale soup’ is most active. Each day Heather and I would take our bowl of fruit, yogurt and granola, along with our binoculars and her camera, to the rooftop terrace of our guesthouse. Over breakfast we would watch as humpbacks would cross the mouth of the small bay, new calves often breaching repeatedly. On the backside of the building, facing the hillside, a variety of birds would sing and flit from tree to tree. Iguanas would perch on exposed limbs sunning themselves. While watching the whales from afar was exciting in its own right, we needed to get out into the ‘soup’. Our host arranged a half-day boat trip with Luis, who picked us up from the town pier one morning promptly at 8 am. We motored out of the bay into Banderas Bay proper and headed east. It wasn’t long before Luis spotted the spout of a whale in the distance. When we caught up to them, we could see it was a group of two females and a calf. For the next hour and a half we slowly trailed behind them as they spouted, showed their massive backs, leapt out of the water, showed their tail flukes before diving for several minutes and then returned to the surface to entertain us yet again. When they eventually tired of playing and submerged, Luis set out two trolling lines and we motored west towards the open sea. We passed rocky coastline, an occasional fishing shack and stretches of deserted beach before the lines started to sing indicating we had fish on. Simultaneously we reeled in two nice bonitos. With the important work of whale-spotting and fishing done, Luis turned the helm over to Heather while he prepared a batch of bonito ceviche, which we all enjoyed along with some ice cold beers he had stocked in his cooler. As luck would have it, Luis also owns a restaurant in town, and offered to cook the remainder of our catch for us the following day. At the appointed hour we found him behind the bar of La Manguito, where he introduced us to his wife (serving) and his sister (cooking). The bonito, grilled with garlic butter and served with rice, steamed vegetables and salad, was exquisite. The mango margarita was delicious and the choco flan almost stole the show.

As we expected, our week was up far too soon. Reluctantly we left Yelapa on a mid-day water taxi back to Puerto Vallarta to pick up a rental car that would take us around Banderas Bay to it’s northern point – Punta de Mita, where we planned to stay for the next week. Our visit there, and the beaches to the north in our next post!

My dad is 94 years old. As a matter of fact, he turned that ripe old age while in the hospital in early December for treatment of a case of pneumonia. It was because of that hospital stay that I found myself flying back from sunny and warm Mexico, wondering how my wardrobe of tank tops, shorts and flip flops was going to fare in wintry New York. My father’s a tough guy and he’s a wonder for his age – he only gave up playing golf (always walking nine holes a couple times a week) a few years ago because he had outlived all his playing partners. He’d been hospitalized before in order to have a pacemaker implanted – my brother and I only received the notice of this procedure after dad had returned home and was already back working in the garden and mowing the lawn with his old push mower. Mom stuck the news of his health issue in between talk of the weather and the current state of the Yankees season (two of her favorite topics). But battling pneumonia, and a subsequent episode of heart arrhythmia, took its toll and he and mom needed a little help around the house until he could get back on his feet. I’m happy to report, after three weeks of separation from Heather, who had to make the best of a lonely holiday season nearly three thousand miles away, I’m back in Mexico and we’ve resumed our winter travels.

While I was gone, Heather spent most of her time in Zipolite, a small town on the Oaxacan coast. She first stayed there just after I left Mexico for New York, sticking to our plan we had made back in November. After five days there she continued on to Huatulco, just down the coast, but quickly returned to charming and friendly ‘Zip’, not enjoying the vibe of busy and noisy Huatulco. A friend had introduced her to two couples spending the winter in Zipolite, and the prospect of having company through the holidays was appealing. She was right about Zipolite – the scenery was beautiful, sunsets spectacular, food delicious and the vibe was relaxed, low-key and welcoming. The cobblestoned ‘main’ street, which runs behind the beach, came alive at night as restaurants set up their tables on the curb, stalls appeared offering ice cream and other snacks, and artists displayed their handicrafts. There were plenty of dining options right on the beach as well, offering the added spectacle of the setting sun and crashing waves. We were tempted to ditch the plan at this point – settling into friendly Zipolite seemed like the right thing to do. But it was high season and rooms were scarce, and nonrefundable flights and accommodations for our next leg meant we would be moving on.

Our next stop would be the tourist mecca of Puerta Vallarta, further north in Jalisco state. Since we were flying into ‘PV’ in order to visit some beaches north and south of there, we thought we’d spend three nights and see the sights. We weren’t expecting much – a fairly large city and tourist hordes aren’t our cup of tea, but we scored a decent hotel room just two blocks from the beach and some online research and friend’s recommendations told us that there were good dining options just steps away. I must say – we were pleasantly surprised by the city: the wide malecon fronting the bay was a pleasure to walk, we caught a brass band concert in one of the parks, a profusion of murals added color to the streetscape and the food was outstanding. Our first night we dined on fresh snapper served over white beans with fennel and a lemon sauce; while waiting in line at one of the city’s most popular taco joints we met a local family who invited us to join their table where we had the best tacos pastor EVER, along with great conversation; and our final night we met up with some old friends (they’re spending the winter in PV) for yet more tacos and beer. We could have stayed longer, but felt like we had experienced the best town had to offer and we were ready to head to our next destination, which would offer a complete change of pace from the bustling city.

Note: After this post went out Heather reminded me of one teeny-tiny omission in my description of Zipolite: this beach is the only officially-sanctioned nude beach in Mexico. Something to be considered if you’re thinking of visiting. Don’t know how I overlooked this. Some things can never be unseen.

Bob Marley’s Waiting In Vain wafted from the single speaker to our spot in the hammocks. Looking beyond the tables under the palapas, and past the loungers under colorful umbrellas, the Pacific glistened under the mid-day sun. It was hot, and no one was out on the beach. In fact, no one was in the water. Or at any of the tables, hammocks or loungers at La Punta, the restaurant on Playa Zicatela where we had chosen to spend a Friday afternoon. There simply weren’t any visitors around, explained our host, as he handed me a frosty Pacifico beer – the crowds wouldn’t show up until Christmas, and it was still early in December. We had braced ourselves for a crowded, raucous scene on Puerto Escondido’s most famous beach, but instead, we enjoyed one of the most relaxing afternoons ever – swinging in our hammocks, sipping cold beers, listening to the music, eating a plate of fish and salad and watching the sun dip towards the ocean.

There’s a beach for everyone in Puerto Escondido – beginning surfers and the backpacker crowd spend the day at Playa Corrizalillo; locals flock to tiny Puerto Angelito or Manzanilla; those seeking solitude (or to watch the nightly turtle hatchling release) head up to the long stretch of sand at Playa Bococho; and for advanced surfers and those looking for a late-night scene, there’s Zicatela. With an international airport and the main coastal highway running through town, Puerto Escondido has easy access. We had flown in from Cancun after our month in Puerto Morelos, ready to explore a region of Mexico neither of us had visited before. The coast of Oaxaca boasts a string of beach towns that we plan on seeing over the next month – after Puerto Escondido there’s Mazunte, Zipolite, San Agustin and finally Huatulco. Another thing we were anxious to do here was view sunsets over the Pacific, which were lacking over in east-facing Puerto Morelos. While each beach here in Puerto Escondido may appeal to different segments of the traveling population, they all have one thing in common: stunning sunsets.

Our week in Puerto Escondido passed quickly. Besides our relaxing afternoon on Playa Zicatela, we enjoyed delicious breakfasts and fresh juices at a local cafe, went to quiet Playa Bacocho to set up our sunshade and spend the day cooling off in the protected shallows behind some rocks in the otherwise rough and riptide-prone surf; and savored delicious dinners at a variety of ethnic and Mexican restaurants. Too soon, it was off to little Mazunte, a village about one-tenth the size of Puerto Escondido. Here we had a room at Posada Ziga, a family-run guesthouse with an eclectic mix of rooms stacked at the end of the beach, perfectly quiet, with a thatched palapa where we could hang our hammocks for the afternoon, and when thirst hit, take a few steps over to the bar next door for a beer or mojito. Seems we had found paradise yet again.

After a few days we had settled in to our new routine – breakfast at our hotel, morning beach walk and swim, afternoons in the hammock and evenings choosing among the many dinner options available in the village. It would be hard to leave Mazunte at the end of our week, even though we were planning to move just down the coast once again to Zipolite. However, news from the US would have me moving sooner than expected, and not to another quaint little beach town.