Okay disclaimer, that title is completely overblown and exaggerated, but it certainly got your attention didn’t it?

But there were both adventures and misadventures in my short trip to the Mexican city with my family. A day after I got back from Europe I was back on a plane, bound for Mexico for the first time. Puerto Vallarta is a town on the western coast in the state of Jalisco, about three hours by plane from Northern California. It’s definitely a beach resort sort of place where the main economic life force is the tourism, though there is still local flavor and life present, particularly if one stays in the “old town” neighborhood. Here you will find an abundance of cafes and restaurants, food stands, trinket and souvenir merchants and of course, the beautiful beach Playa Los Muertos (Beach of the Dead). A walk along the beach eventually brings you to the malecon, the “boardwalk” of the town, along which you’ll find even more restaurants and shops, bars, clubs and street performers. At about 9pm every night along the malecon there’s a short fireworks display shot from a pirate ship drifting in the bay as part of an onboard dinner and a show spectacle.

The first few nights we stayed in a small but very charming bed and breakfast in the “old town”, about two blocks away from the beach. I loved the vibrancy and whimsy of the decor, and the intimacy of the place made it a breath of fresh air from your standard multi-story, impersonal hotel affairs.

We did a couple of very cool expeditions of sorts — one was a journey up into the dense rainforests of the mountains lining the town. We went up by a large and rugged truck that looked like it came straight out of some war reenactment film. In fact, the site we went up to was apparently the set of scenes from the Predator film with Arnold Schwarzenegger, complete with a fake downed helicopter and a life-sized predator statue. Strange world, eh? But the surrounding environment was utterly beautiful in all of its vastness and fecundity — the trees and greenery stretch endlessly and profusely up into the highest reaches of the mountains, all the while humming with life. And high up at these heights flow cool springs and rivers, which make for a welcome dip because there’s invariably trickles of sweat running down your legs, temples and back from the unrelenting humidity.

Perhaps a more sobering part of this particular expedition was passing through a small community, pretty remotely located, en route to the Predator set. Here we were, on a giant tourist truck along with a dozen other tourists, passing right in the middle of a very humble community, gawking at everything, as tourists do. The houses came up right to the edge of the road we were passing through, so as we passed we were able to see right into homes, we could observe families in their modest livings going about their daily lives — a mother cooking at a stove, children resting on a mattress, men sitting on their porches. Something seemed somewhat amiss as we, this group of curious tourists drove down the middle of this community — it felt, to me at least, a bit invasive, and the situation a bit odd as we cut a path through such a modest community en route to a tourist attraction. My mother suggested that tourist tours such as ours brought revenue to an otherwise very remote, underserved location. While that may certainly be true, I’m not sure exactly how much tours such as ours do for these communities. On the way back from the Predator set we did in fact make one stop in this community, to a small tequila distillery. However, we were given a tour of the distillery only, encouraged to buy some tequila, but then subsequently shuffled back on to the truck and driven back down the mountain. It’s certainly a help to the local economy of the area, but how much I’m not sure. On the drive down we all got a good view of the hill just above, yet somewhat removed from the community, on which were perched newly developed vacation homes, advertising in giant banners “Now for sale!”

On the last day we signed up for a dinner and a show affair that’s quite popular in Puerto Vallarta called Ritmo de La Noche (Rhythm of the Night). It entails taking a half hour boat trip across the bay to an area called Las Caletas, after which you watch a musical/theatrical performance a la Cirque du Soleil (who coincidentally choreographed the spectacle). Afterwards there’s a buffet dinner, which was enough to convince me. Anyway, about an hour before we’re supposed to get on the boat the sky opens up and releases a torrent of rain the likes of which I’ve never seen. If that sounds familiar it should, because I said the same thing about a downpour in Paris, but this was much more heavy and long lasting. It looked like it would never stop, and pretty soon everyone in attendance had bought umbrellas and rain ponchos from the store located conveniently in the waiting area for the boats. But alas, the good thing about tropical rain is that usually, it does subside. The boat ride had some light rain, but by the time we made it to the performance it had all but stopped entirely. Who knew, but apparently it’s rainy season in the area of Puerto Vallarta, which lasts for only 3 months out of the entire year. The rain didn’t dampen the evening though, as the boat ride was a blast thanks to a very lively, entertaining crew and the theatrical performance was utterly phenomenal. The singing, the dancing, the fire dancing, the acrobatics — it was amazing, and if you’re ever in town I highly recommend it.

Okay so on to the story of how I nearly died right? Well, it all involves my crazy idea to go parasailing, which in actuality is a pretty low-risk, fun little activity to do. Everything seemed pretty normal upon take off from the beach, but shortly after it seemed like I was using way too much ab work while up there — this is supposed to be easy and me just sitting in a chair admiring the views, why am I exercising my core here?? Pretty soon I realized I wasn’t sitting in the chair at all, but was pretty much hanging, my legs being held up by my own sheer will in a mock sitting position. How this happened, who knows. After awhile it became impossible to hold up my legs and I had to let go. I considered briefly that if I were to let go, I could go plummeting into the ocean from a height of 50 feet, and at minimum would break a couple of bones, worst case scenario being death, of course. I’m strapped in right? Turns out I was strapped in, so when I let go I was basically a flying sausage up there kind of just dangling strangely and being pulled around by the boat. Phew. The only trouble then was landing. As you’re coming in to the shore you’re supposed to pull the cords of the parachute so that you’re propelled over the sand rather than the water. The only trouble was I had fallen out of my seat, or rather was never in the seat, so I was too low to be able to reach the cords. I could just touch them with the tip of my fingers, but there was simply to be no pulling of cords in my cards. The boat driver had to make another lap to give me another chance, but really, it was all very hopeless at that point. So, they were forced to have me make an emergency landing in the ocean — which was as exciting as it sounds. It was probably the best part of the whole ordeal. I descended very gradually and gently, like an angelic hotdog on a cloud, and made a very light, splashing entrance into the warm, calm sea. Then the parasailing workers dramatically swam out to get me and drag me back on to shore. I was wearing a life vest and was hoping I could simply swim back myself, but alas, you can’t have it all.

Alright, so I was probably nowhere near death, but it’s what I’m going to keep telling people. Overall the trip was wonderful and bizarre, and I can’t wait to come back to Mexico someday. The people were friendly, the food was good and the beaches to die for.