PV is in the middle of the bay of Banderas which means that a lot of the activities you can do start on a boat. Trevor was particularly keen on the Pirate ship, an old-fashioned looking boat that sails around the bay and has real-looking pirates in character for the duration. I didn't think my weak stomach could handle a whole day on the ocean and so we compromised and booked a trip to the southern part of the bay to spend time in a town that is only accessible by boat or donkeyback.
Yelapa is quaint and pretty much what you'd expect for a Mexican town on the coast with limited tourism. The houses are simple and in various states of construction.
"Construction eez one of de most jobs in Yelapa" the tour guide said in a the lilting tones of a Spanish speaker. "De sehcond most job eez tourism." And true to form, with friends honoring friends, our tour guide conveniently stopped at select booths and shops for us tourists with our "beautiful monee" to spend.
"Rosewood eez one of de most woods use here in Yelapa." the guide announced as we stopped at a shop devoted to making any and everything out of the hardwood. As we continued up the steep path with overweight American cruisers wheezing on either side of us I noticed a series of rag-tag hoses running alongside the path. At each shoddy connection water sprayed with a hiss into the greenery.
"Electricity only come to Yelapa ten yeers ago." the guide continued as we marveled at a nearly completed house precariously built on what seemed the steepest part of our climb thus far. "And peepol use to walk all the way to de waterfall for de water. Now gravity breengs de water to the town in hoses." Aha, so the squealing tubes were actually the public works system for potable water.
At the peak of our climb we arrived at the waterfall. About 50 feet high, the water spewed over the precipice and cascaded into a small lagoon before running, casually out into a gravity-fed stream. It's interesting to note that in certain situations the difference between American and Canadian tourists is glaringly obvious. The Canadians, for the most part, rambled about the rocks surrounding the waterfall taking pictures and relaxing in the beauty of the place. The Americans, at least the ones who weren't so winded from the climb that all they could do was sit red-faced and wheezing, immediately jumped into the lagoon. I couldn't help thinking, while boy-o in the water yelled wide-armed at his friend to take his picture, whether the good people of Yelapa liked drinking water that was polluted by copious amounts of sunscreen and sweating American.
Our decent took us through the town proper and more than once we had to shuffle to the side of the narrow cobble-stone path to allow a caravan of horses or donkeys through.
We arrived on the yellow sandy beach just after lunch and, as the system in Mexico goes, our tour group had a deal with a beach-side restaurant called Domingos. All the tourists were allowed to use Domingo's chairs and their questionable bathrooms out back. The deal of course being that us tourists would buy food and drinks exclusively at Domingos.
It seemed as though we'd only just sat down to enjoy the beautiful sand and surf when the tour guide announced, "Eetz time to go back to de boat." And herded us all to the water taxis waiting to bring us back to the big boat. Once everyone was safely aboard, the music was cranked and it was time for open bar. There are fewer sights funnier than a bunch of sunburnt, drunk people trying to do a congo line on a boat. No one could stand up straight. I sipped my "veergin pina colada" and mused about how much less sea sick I felt on the way home...but it must have been a virgin right? All in all, it was an amusing day and we met some really great people on the way.
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