Greatest Kiss In Mexico - Part 1 of 3

The Happy Adventuristas

Tourists are targets. Not terror targets but exploitation targets. I would like to say we are wary travelers but sometimes we get sucked into the craziest things. Fortunately, voyagers Jim and Lex have astounding rebounding capabilities, and at the least you will receive a great story. On this Puerto Vallarta trip we got a lot more.

Developers outnumber tourists in Puerto Vallarta and they have employed virtually 87.6% of the Jalisco state in the capacity as “advertinistas”. People who get paid to bug you with brochures ad nauseum. You can barely hike a cobble-stoned block without a native handing you a “gift” that only requires “…a short 90 minute presentation for time share." They all make promises but really it's just annoying.

Doc, Lex & Silver Alepou' @ Chicos Paradise

My In-Laws, Doc & the Silver Alepou' (fox in Greek), wanted to take us to a place called Chico’s Paradise. A mountainside restaurant and walking area where Mexikids would dive off the cliffs into the water for touristas loose change. The fresh fruit was great – his name was Tony…oops, that’s another story. Chico's served this fruit cup in a half watermelon, and it was delicious. Next to what Kim Bassinger did for strawberries in “9 ½ Weeks”, I don’t think a fruit cup exists that was this good. We sat above a pool of water that was fed by a small waterfall. I guess we were 20 meters (notice metric when in Mexico) above the aqua. Tan jagged rocks flanked a small tributary (that’s what they’re called when they aren’t old or long enough to be rivers). These rocks went up about another 40 meters. Touristas could walk the rocks, but not jump into the pool of water below. I don’t think insurance was a concern because you could walk on the rocks but there was no railing to hold onto (otherwise this would have been OSHA’s paradise).

Rather, revenue was the concern. No Mexikid would want to be shown up by an overweight tourista wearing black socks, sandals and outfitted in the latest Tommy Bahama wear that would equal his family’s annual income for two years. As we were watching the diving exhibition, a young man from New York presented himself as the assistant manager.

Clue #1: we missed: everyone has a title. However, he was confident and asked us how we were enjoying our food. He also noticed that your favorite wacky couple was eyeing one of those half size magazines that list all the things to do in Puerto Vallarta (if you were willing to advertise). We were discussing the merits of the “Rhythm of the Night” cruise. We would be ferried off to an island, once rented by Sam Houston that had no electricity, for a wonderful, candlelight dinner that would guarantee awesome island sex because of the great food, ambiance and endless supply of liquor – which would flow like a river, not a tributary. Touristas Jim & Lex have always found talking with the indigenous people of an area has produced great results. So, we asked what he thought. Our assistant manager said it was really nice, and if we were willing to wait through a “90 minute presentation” we could have free tickets. Jaded by another experience, we declined his offer because who wants an obnoxious sales call on vacation? He assured us that it would be no problem; the Mayan Palace did not operate this way. So we said, “Sure”.

On Wednesday, we set out for Nuevo Vallarta to see the Mayan Palace Condos. Doc & the Silver Alepou' were ready to look for some new digs, too. Their timeshare hotel was selling timeshare rooms to Apple Vacations. Che’ Alepou was starting a timeshare insurrection, and was combing the beaches for timeshare owners to join her rebellion. Looking at new property with her kids could provide greater leverage dealing with the hotel Junta.

Our cab brought us to the property. Twin pristine white columns soared 12 meters into the air, a gauzy, yellow fabric that rolled in the wind above us served as the canopy. The terra cotta drive spilled into a terra cotta tile foyer that was larger than the airport. The lobby was a wide open expanse that looked out over the property and the ocean. There were no walls except for the registration desk where we signed in. Only columns and blue water. Doc & Che’ Alepou' signed in also. We sat down with Richard. An expatriate from San Francisco, Richard was about two meters tall, 85 Kilos, black hair, brown eyes and wore designer black wool gabardine pants, a gray silk shirt and black Italian leather sandals with a tight weave. He started by telling us to keep an open mind and not rush to judgment. This was NOT going to be like those other timeshare presentations or properties. As we started the get-to-know you phase, his boss, Enzo, called him over. We couldn’t see Enzo very well, but he was with Doc & Che’ (their hair being the only thing whiter than the columns made them easy to spot). Richard came back and asked us if we could combine the sales call.

Warning Flag #1: Doc & Che’ were sized up to be an easier and more lucrative hit based on demographics than the wacky couple. Statistics were more plentiful than on ESPN’s web site. Richard had already started giving us the statistics about the great investment of timeshare before Enzo pulled him over. They also knew that statistics preyed on the elderly, so the get-it-now-give-it-to-your-kids pitch was loaded and ready to fire. We emphatically said no, we were looking for ourselves. Enzo insisted a second time, but we started to head back to revolutionary headquarters, and so they backed down. Plus, I didn’t know who this Enzo character was, but he didn’t make a good impression.

Because it was surrounded by water, we had to take the property’s special ferry along a series of manmade inlets to get to the hotel. The water was a deep blue and fountains from the middle of the inlets interrupted our mini canal ride. Richard explained to us that Mr. Chavez was the richest man in Mexico, and he decided this would be his ultimate resort. (That’s equivalent to saying Mr. Smith is the richest person in America). He had other businesses but Mr. Chavez took particular pride in this property. The Chavez story punctuated our ride until we got off the golf cart ferry.

We walked the grounds. Richard pointed out that our timeshare allowed us to golf on the in-construction golf course. It did not include greens fees, cart fees, or caddy fees, but it was just like belonging to a country club for the length of our stay, except for greens fees, cart fees, and caddy fees. The property was grandiose. A tall, yellow turret separated two long sets of hotel rooms that were about 5 stories high. In front was a pool that had the shape of an amoeba. Fountains sprung from the pools, too. Lex envisioned lying by the pool reading the newest slut fantasy from Danielle Steele or Jackie Collins while Jim toiled at the golf course for half the day. Jim envisioned paying for greens fees, or cart fees on top of the exorbitant fee that it cost to get this place, while Lex read the prose of the Queens of American Literature, Danielle and Jackie. Richard didn't have to talk; we were already getting to like the place. Then we got the tour of the actual rooms.

They seemed spacious, but were decorated in a Catskills New England motif: all browns and plaid. The views were great and expansive, but imagine giving Doug on “Trading Spaces” instructions to make a Mexican hideaway, but then he did his Catskill Contempo. The rooms were dungeon dark. After all the pristine white stucco, we were in America again. Alexis never got past this, and the dreaming that we did prior had evaporated into the morning sky. Still, we were intrigued.

Richard escorted us to the sales cabana and offered us a cold nonalcoholic beverage. We hadn’t talked price yet; we were at the guarantee and amenity stage. Richard whipped out a white three ring binder filled with plastic covered sheets that showed internal correspondence. Mr. Chavez had hired Casey Owens, a young American right out of Texas Christian University (TCU) ten years ago. Casey had worked himself up the ranks from sales guy to the right hand man of the richest man in all of Mexico, Mr. Chavez. Richard pointed out, “He was one of us”. Casey had signed several documents that assured the quality of the Mayan Palace. Warning Flag #2: True official correspondence is NOT done in Microsoft PowerPoint on colored paper. That is usually done by an employee’s son or daughter who is “good with computers”. Casey had signed a lot of PowerPoint slides.

Now for the wind-up. Richard fires the curveball. He gives us the price, and, out of nowhere, appears Enzo, his boss, to get a status. We couldn’t even swing the bat.

Warning Sign #3: Enzo. Ethnic Mediterranean people rarely speak about a certain part of their heritage. In Greek, it’s Manga Man. I’m sure Italians, Spaniards, and the Portuguese have a different name, but all loathe seeing the Manga Man. Enzo, like Richard, was about two meters high, 85 Kilos, and had a deep brown, George Hamilton tan. His hair was jet black, combed straight back, and held in place by a Valvoline 5W 40 oil treatment. Beady, brown eyes were a distraction to the bright white teeth he flashed. His black silk shirt opened to a field of black hair punctuated by two gold medallions hanging off two gold chains. He had on black wool gabardine slacks with at least seven pleats per side. His black alligator belt with the shiny silver buckle rested just above where his navel (probably filled with lint dating back to 1968) rested. His Italian accent would have seemed cosmopolitan had it not been for his slick and distrustful look.

We Mediterraneans’ know “Enzos”. They’re the ones on the make, who give normal Mediterranean men a bad name. They talk but don’t listen, and speak a foreign language when around others who are not of their ethnicity. Enzo had already lost the Mitchell’s; now we were the next victims. Fortunately, Enzo’s stay was short. But the next fastball came, and we were given no privacy to discuss each pitch as it came. Finally, Richard realized he couldn't outlast us. He said to write a number down that we thought would work. We talked and put down $12,000 for a one bedroom timeshare. Richard said he would have to talk to Enzo.

We knew the number was low, but we figured that they would counter with something close and we could go from there. Richard’s blathering about “once in a lifetime”, “legally we can’t offer this again”, and “call your accountant and he’ll show you that the numbers make sense” were all calculated into forcing us into a decision. We knew this, but the property was nice and if we got it for that cheap, then it was worth it. As we mulled over what we had just done we realized that our 90 minute presentation was at 2 ½ hours and counting. Richard still hadn’t come back with Enzo, and nobody came to refill our drinks.

Enzo & Richard had tired us out, and we were willing to wait, but not wait, and wait, and wait, and wait. After 20 minutes, we got up to leave. Enzo was behind the cabana just sitting there trying to make us sweat. We were little people in his universe of hot chicks, cold drinks, and gold chains. I believe if he had gotten laid as much as he thought he did, he probably would have been more relaxed. Seeing Enzo just pissed us off and we started to head back. Of course, we had no idea how to get back, but Richard intercepted us and asked us if we had made a decision. We said, “yes”, and the answer was “no”, and Jim gave vivid instructions to Richard on what acts Enzo would have to perform on various body parts in order to even get us to think about going back to the table. Richard said he would take us back and get our Rhythm of the Night Tickets.

Apparently, when potential targets say “no” it means that they must take the “Walk of Shame”. No more golf cart ferry on the beautiful water. Instead, we had to walk about 2 kilometers back to where we started, along a path lined by dead grass, with the property to our backs. Richard didn’t even talk to us. He joined a petite, pasty-white salesgirl who wore a gabardine pinstripe skirt cut just below the knees and a peach sleeveless, collared shirt. She had honey blonde hair. We can’t tell you much more because they walked about 4 meters in front of us. They both had tight butts, though.

We filled out an exit survey, vented on that a bit and collected our tickets. Richard wished us well, and I asked for business cards because Jan from work was coming next week and I said that she might like to look. Richard said that statistics show that no one gives referrals to timeshare sales people. Basically it was, “Good-bye little people from Indiana, you unsophisticated little urchins”. At this point we suggest that you go to the Mayan Palace and ask for Richard. We left tired and pissed that we got sucked into a 4-hour waste of time. The Rhythm of the Night would simply be our Webelos badge of Attrition & Stamina….However that was just the beginning.