I told Sarah, and I was serious, that that one meal was worth our entire trip. I don't really mean the cost of the trip, though the other fun and experiences were worth that, but the ordeal -- the airport lines, the removing of our shoes, belts, and basic dignity (sidenote: though Sarah apparently looks like a tweeker, I'm happy to report she was found to be drug-free and not a flight risk). All of that was worth it just for the new experience of those tacos. I'm hoping to find a way to recreate them here this summer.
We'd expected Puerto Vallarta to be less touristy than other relatively popular Mexican vacation spots. That's what we'd heard, at least. And it's weird how it was. There was a polar divide between the very-touristy spots/shops (the Malecon, the beach front resorts, etc) and the decidedly non-touristy rest of downtown. One side of a block would have Senior Frogs (actually one side of every block seemed to have a Senior Frogs), but then just across the street would be a second-hand shop, a farmacia, an animal farmacia, and three empty storefronts. Then some graffiti and a stray dog. Then a trinket shop, a beautiful gallery full of skull art, another farmacia, and a nice set of row houses with literal shacks alongside.
The patience for English varied widely, which I actually appreciated. The hotel and nicer restaurants were fine with it, but a few blocks back from the ocean or at any of the taco stands it was a different story. I felt like an asshole a lot of the time with my very limited Spanish, but I also felt good about not being accommodated for. I didn't want to be the Ugly American (insomuch as I could avoid it) expecting to be met on my own terms. So there was a lot of gesturing and polite nodding, on both sides, often.
