So, this is Yelapa. It's a small fishing village which is a very uncomfortable 45-55 minute boat ride from Puerto Vallarta. I wish I could tell you what lay within the jungles, behind the trees. I wish I could tell you about the beautiful waterfall that waits patiently for intrepid travelers to discover her. I even wish I could explain the joy and relaxation that come from sitting on reclined chair, just soaking in the sun and the endless turquoise and sapphire waters of the Pacific ocean as the waves lazily and rhythmically lap the white sand of the beach.
I wish I could. And it's not that words fail, and it's not that the undeniable marvelousness of the village is too wonderful to be described. But instead, I can't tell you about any of these things because I am a complete idiot who doesn't know how to read boat schedules.
Allow me to explain.
My husband and I woke up early one sunny morning in Puerto Vallarta and were asked by some friends to join them on a day trip to Yelapa. We looked over the existing plans for the day, namely, nothing besides a sunset cruise at 5pm, and we happily agreed.
We rushed to the water taxi for the 10am departure. We took our seats and...then I threw my first fit. First of many. The water taxi, you understand, was pitched to me as a 30 minute adventure. But it is most certainly not. It is almost an hour. And as much as I love to explore, I do not, I repeat, I do not, like boats. Well, sailboats. And fishing boats, so long as they are a canoe or a row boat. But small motor boats? No, thank you.
The scenery was beautiful, sure, but for approximately 5 minutes. And then it's simply the same scenery, for basically forever. But then finally, after multiple attempts from other holiday makers to ask the same questions, "Where y'all from? Where y'all staying? How many days you spending here?" (Blah, blah, no one really cares or remembers the answers to these questions), we made it to Yelapa.
And it was gorgeous. I mean, unbelievably lovely. lush green jungle and terraced hills and dark, brooding mountains. Clear blue sky, white sparkling sand and water so blue and green and glittering that it looked like a screensaver on a computer. We were ready for our hike to the waterfall! We were told there was an old woman who made pie! PIE! Someone in a hushed voice said that this pie was the stuff of legends. Reverence immediately fell over the company of Americans assembled on the boat. Legendary pie, mystical jungle water falls AND this fairytale beach? It was almost too much. A holy moment, indeed.
And then the captain, in heavily accented English, announced his customary spiel, recommending the bar over there that is owned by his son, and the parasailing over here that is ran by his nephew, and then...then he informs us that the boats return to Puerto Vallarta at...wait for it...Noon and four.
That's it. Those are the only times.
It was now 11:10am. Our already-paid-for, fancy, sunset cruise was at 5. We hadn't showered. Which meant, with travel time, that our only option was to literally get right back on the boat, and ride back.
No waterfalls. No horseback riding. No soaking up the sun in a tiny fishing village. No PIE.
So, as I said, I would love to sing you the songs of Yelapa. It would give me the greatest pleasure. But, I can't. Because I was only offered the most painful tease of Yelapa before I had to get back on the boat of discomfort and drift back toward Puerto Vallarta.
Did I mention I hate boats?