Puerto Vallarta without the Cheese

ust mention Puerto Vallarta to me and my mind swerves to dodge the disco chorus of the Love Boat theme song. But it’s too late. I can already see Captain Stubing’s varnished forehead glistening from the deck as he waves to the ship’s favorite port of call.

If you’ve been there, you know what to expect. Syrupy-sweet drinks with paper umbrellas in them, mauve hotel rooms with particleboard furniture, urine-filled kiddy pools--they all await your presumed lapse of taste. Courtesy of your hotel, you’ll be wearing a neon wristband, marking you as fodder for drooling street vendors on the boardwalk, should you foolishly venture outside the resort.

And you might want to. Because that is where you’ll find the cheese-free Puerto Vallarta, where yeoman Gopher roams not. You probably scored a cheap deal on the Internet for the room rate, so if you don’t care for the concierge’s creepy smiles as he pimps McTimeshares, then don’t be afraid to treat the hotel as little more than a bed. (When you leave the hermedically sealed hotel, don't forget to turn your wristband inside out. It confuses the street hustlers.)

Turtle Camp

While seeking a more authentic Puerto Vallarta might involve hanging out with the locals of the area, there’s no doubt that the olive ridley sea turtles have them beat by millennia. The beach that has been pricked by countless metal umbrellas and subdivided by dozens of absentee resort owners is the same beach on which the turtles still attempt to lay their eggs. From August until November, female sea turtles crawl ashore to dig holes in the sand, each mother depositing about a hundred slimy eggs before returning to the anonymity of the Pacific Ocean.

For $45 per person, Eduardo Lugo of Wildlife Connection will bring you to the government-sponsored sea turtle egg hatchery and will explain the difficulties facing turtles in this era of human dominance. For starters, the hatchery itself is crammed onto a thin strip of sand in front of--yes, you guessed it--a condo high-rise, which is where the hatchery will stay until turtles start outbidding real estate moguls.

Even worse, bright lights disorient turtles during their nocturnal egg-laying mission, and since the hotels burn careless megawatts lighting up their concrete façades, it’s a miracle any turtles turn up at all.

In a typical evening in the middle of the nesting season, you may see scores of freshly hatched baby turtles--about the size of trench coat buttons--which the project volunteers let out of the hatchery so the babies can instinctively scamper their way to the ocean.

You’ll probably also find a few mothers crawling up the beach and dropping their eggs into the sand, which the volunteers promptly dig up and bury into their fenced-in hatchery to keep the poachers out. Some desperate men who have trouble meeting women believe turtle eggs are aphrodisiacs, when really the problem is that those men are just boring.

Follow that Charcoal

When I said cheese, I’m not talking about queso blanco. That kind of cheese, freshly fried, belongs in your soft-shell taco from the street carts. Worried about cleanliness? Don’t. At a food cart, at least you can see how the food is being prepared, as opposed to the dumbed-down gringo chow at the hotel. Aim for the cart with the longest line.

Taco carts are great places to find cactus (nopales) tacos. Nopales tacos won’t jab you in the gums, and instead offer a citrus-y, roasted pepper-like flavor, enhanced by the street taco’s main condiment: the juice of freshly squeezed lime wedges.

While Puerto Vallarta’s outpost of Señor Frog’s Bar hemorrhages air conditioning, the beachfront grill pits along Playa de los Muertos don’t need any A/C, since the breezes blowing in from the Bay of Banderas and under their tents do it for free. The cooks here won’t give you that treacly chat-up or that bootlicking smile. You would be lucky if any of them speak English. While you bite into the crispy skin of a whole fish on a stick, you’ll be treated to music of roving beach bands, some of which sporting dancers to assist in swirling the hand-drum rhythms around so all can share. The octopus and spiny lobster dishes always seem to come with a side order of surfers wiping out in the waves in front of you.

A Lingerer's Dream

It’s remarkable that just fifteen minutes from the hotel zone, the cobblestone streets of Pitillal remain free of street hustlers who stereotype you based on your wristband. But that is not to say that the narrow streets are free of bustle. On the contrary, amidst leather vendors and shrimp taco restaurants, piles of the fruit nance--a somewhat pungent fruit that makes an even more pungent juice--block foot traffic on tiny sidewalks. Raspado (snow cone) carts hawk ice flavored with jamaica, a tasty flower, for a few pesos. Don’t expect landmarks: expect a thriving Mexican community studded with colorful, hand-painted store signs and a talent for navigating sidewalks while carrying comically large bags of tortillas. For those who love cultural immersion, Pitillal is a lingerer’s dream. Go ahead, bring your Spanish skills and browse. Buses run back to Puerto Vallarta all day.

Public Transportation: Adventure on the Cheap

Speaking of buses, the bus to Pitillal from the hotel zone runs 4½ pesos (about 45 cents). Not only is the bus about 50 pesos (five dollars) cheaper than a cab, but also in the short bus ride, you’ll take part in a miniature version of Mexican commerce. You’ll serve as an audience to a crooning preacher and have the chance to purchase whatever is on the market that day, from bags of oranges to a book of Spanish baby names from hop-on, hop-off vendors. Not thinking about raising a family? Then you might prefer when the vendor breaks out her stash of books interpreting dreams--in Spanish. They’ll come in handy after siestas.

Is That Your Tripod Salivating?

OK, catching the sunset is something you can do right from the hotel’s beach. But unlike the 3 pm "volleyball for undisciplined children" class, you don’t need a signup sheet or a voucher card to participate. Admittedly, watching the sun melt into the waves might lead to sweet whisperings more cheesy than a heart-shaped bed in a honeymoon suite. But that’s all right, because the turtles crawling up next to you can’t understand what you’re saying.