Puerto Vallarta – Nacho Daddy’s

I was going to put this in my other post, but it was getting long. I also like this story enough to want to include it. After the beach, while I was passed out, Zach started talking to one of our hotel neighbors in the lobby. He was in his 50’s and named Bill. Bill was in town for a conference. He was an engineering professor in Florida. We ended up grabbing beers with Bill a couple of times at the Sea Monkey and he told us about this band that was playing just down the street on Thursday. The place was a tex-mex restaurant named Nacho Daddy’s and was owned by this really cool (based on the couple of minutes we chatted when we dropped by to check when the band was going on) ex-pat. We got there about an hour early and got some food and beers ($2 pacifico). True Tex-Mex queso too, yum. Kind of an aside, but I haven’t had queso that good since I was in Oklahoma visiting family. The trick is bacon grease people, it’s not that hard. Anyways, I hadn’t watched a band setup in years and that was kind of fun

.At Nacho Daddy's

People started filtering in, and Zach and I were probably the youngest people in there by twenty years. Not an issue, but it was quite a few old hippies. We started chatting about wanting to come back to Mexico after our Asia trip and learn the language. They gave us some great contacts to talk to, and tips on surrounding towns. The story from each of them was pretty similar.

“I came for a couple of weeks, and just never left,”

or the other

“I own a condo down here and just rent it out when I’m not using it.”

Puerto Vallarta is super expensive, but the towns about 30 mins bus ride out are not. It’s apparently pretty cheap to live there and they don’t have the tourism hustle that Puerto Vallarta does, but it’s close enough to come in if you want to see the city, or kick it with other ex-pats.

Back to the bar, we were chatting with these people and Bill finally showed up, and sat down with us and grabbed a beer. The band started playing. They were a cover band that played everything from Jefferson Airplane to Daft Punk. It was a lot of fun, and they even did a bit of an improv light show with the lights out.

The old hippies were super digging it, and dancing a ton. There was this one older guy. Picture a heavyset man, not necessarily fat but barrelchested, completely bald man with a white handlebar mustache in a completely black suit with black shirt. He looked sharp. He also did interpretive dance to almost every song. I heard from one of the guys there that his brother had passed from heart problems and that his doctor had said that he needed to take it easy or he would go to. He told his doctor that he preferred to live his life as much as he could with the time he had. This guy went out every night drinking, dancing and generally having a grand time. I have a lot of respect for that kind of commitment to life. He also did a pretty impressive pole dance on one of the support pillars for the bar during a song.

I love to dance and was waiting for a song that I could dance to. I think I ended up cutting loose on “Get Lucky” by Daft Punk. I danced with some older lady and ditched my sandals to really get my dance on. There’s a reason my friends call me twinkle toes. My feet hurt like a bitch though. So the set ended up wrapping up, and we tabbed out. It was pouring rain by this point. I mean a true torrential downpour. There was probably 5-6 inches of standing/running water at some points in the street. This is why I love the tropics though, it was warm water. In Oklahoma that water would be cold, not frigid, but unpleasant. This was like wading through warm bathwater, that was probably dirty as hell. We ran/walked back to the hotel. I didn’t care about the water as I was in a swimsuit, a shirt and sandals, but I had our trip notebook with us (for notes). We said good night to Bill and crashed out. Minus an epic fight with a cockroach in the middle of the night (we won, although there was a lot of RAID in the air), we slept well.

I checked my feet the next morning to see why it hurt to dance and I had like 3-4 huge blisters on each foot. Zach had been mocking my strappy sandals (Chaco’s) the entire trip and I had defended them. The issue is that, while I love strappy sandals, in the tropics the constant changing humidity causes them to stretch oddly. Teva’s or something would probably be fine, but Chaco’s are pretty tightly fitted. I chucked my Chaco’s at that point, and just used my flip flops. Zach was using slip on Van’s and they worked great for him. That’s probably what I’m going to use for the main trip. Just remember.

FRIENDS DON’T LET FRIENDS WEAR STRAPPY SANDALS!!!

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