Greatest Kiss In Mexico - Part 2 of 3

The trip home was long and hot. We couldn't get a cab to take us back to the hotel, so we got a ride to a truck stop tourista stand and then we took the bus to the hotel. From the “Walk of Shame” to the “Ride of the Peon”, we had killed an entire Wednesday in beautiful Puerto Vallarta just to be attacked by Richard and Enzo and the rest of the wool gabardine swarm. We felt dirty and clammy, and that’s just because of the bus ride. We went to a small restaurant just outside of the city with Che’ Alepou’ and Doc and called it a night.

The next morning promised to be better. It was scuba diving time and we were excited. Jim and Lex had boarded the Foca on their last visit. The Foca is an eight meter blue and white bass boat that is really wide with a blue and white striped canopy above. It’s perfect for divers and all their gear. On the last trip, Alexis got sick because the other woman, who did not dive, was smoking Guadalajaran Thai stick in a boat being tossed about the waves. Poor Lex. Seeing how green she looked made our fellow passenger offer her some of her drug, but Lex needed Dramamine.

The Foca sans Javier

The dive was led by the proprietor, Javier. About 1.8 meters tall; curly, deep black hair that was combed only by dips in the sea and a shake of the head; big, round brooding eyes; and a deep brown coloring that was both Latin and a tan presented to him by the Sun God, Ra. Unlike Enzo, Javier got laid. When we met him, he was married to an expatriate Canadian who was perky, blonde and fun. Somehow, you knew it wouldn’t last. Javier is Javier. He is the diver, lover, proprietor; and hearing the faint gasp of Alexis as he emerged from the water told all. Jim might actually get some if only by default. Unfortunately, we arrived at the wrong time and Foca had left without us.

Morning had just broken and the rest of the day was still available, so Jim and Lex headed back to the hotel. At this point many travelers would have been ready to give up. Not Jim and Lex. It was an opportunity to explore and then meet Che’, who was still running down beach-combers and organizing the great timeshare rebellion of ’99; and Doc, who just loved his family no matter how weird. The Marina was the destination, and the whole gaggle made it there without incident. The Marina is a sort of “V” shaped area with El Farro (the Lighthouse) at the vortex.

As much as our revolutionary cohorts were into being on the beach on the water, they were not into being on the dock. The traveling duo however was into traipsing along a pier to see what’s going on inside of the boats. It was dessert time and Doc & Che’ were ready for bed. So we sent them home and continued to explore. Right after El Farro was a restaurant called Cucurucoocoo. The lovely 20 something blond hostess in the black dress invited us in after promising that they had great desserts. We were in, a little mariachi trio, dressed like the "Three Amigos" with Chevy Chase and Steve Martin, greeted us. It was us and a middle aged African American couple off to our right. Our waiter came and we asked him about dessert. He replied, “We have the greatest dessert in all of Puerto Vallarta!” Okay, we thought, what do you have? He replied “Bananas Foster!” We looked at the menu and we saw flan…they were out, “Bananas Foster?!” The menu had a listing for dessert of the day, so we asked about that or Ice Cream. The waiter replied “Bananas Foster!!” We ordered the Bananas Foster.

About the same time the band was wrapping up their set with a Mariachi version of The Eagles' "Please Come Home for Christmas". Lex, naturally, sings the end in harmony with some guy at the table next to us. Turns out he is a 2 meter, 2 stone, Canadian ex-pat who works as a builder/handyman around town. Blondie, the hostess, was his girlfriend. They sat and talked with us for a while. Jeff, the Canadian was waiting on a friend and asked if he could hang with us for awhile. Sure – we pick up strangers all the time, that’s why our vacations are so colorful. Before he sits down the band started up and our waiter arrives, only he is not the enthusiastic “Bananas Foster!!” guy. Now he looks as nervous as a young guy trying to get through the Guadalajara airport security without anyone noticing the 4 kilos of Jalisco cocaine lodged in his rectum. He puts the pan on the table and heats it. He is sweating bullets and dumps the sugar on the untreated pan. At that precise moment a mushroom headed plume of smoke, reminiscent when Enola Gay visited Hiroshima, erupted in the small restaurant. We immediately start laughing our asses off. The African American couple are doubled over from a lethal mix of asphyxia and laughing hysteria. The band plays on while coughing and laughing. Our waiter, now sweating even worse, dumps the booze and banana into the nuclear pan. By the time the dust settles, we have a black ooze banana thing and the kid is hoping we aren’t pissed. I lend him my napkin to wipe his forehead (it stops being a joke when he sweats into my food). I have no idea what was in this obsidian primordial ooze but is was very tasty. The band concludes their set and Lex and the Canadian Ex-pat are harmonizing away.

Then Jeff’s buddy sits down. He introduces us to him. His buddy’s name is Casey and he works in the area. They’ve built stuff together. We start talking college football and turns out he went to TCU and…Then it hits me like a bowl of Bacardi Coconut Rum Jello…It’s Casey Owens! THAT Casey Owens, who works for Mr. Chavez, the richest man in ALL of Mexico. He barely confirms his identity and I belt out “Enzo is an Asshole” I must have said it twice because Lex said he got the point. Casey was a great guy. He confirmed that everything Richard said was bullshit, except that Mr. Chavez was the richest man in all of Mexico and that he married into the business. (Self-made my ass!) Anyway, Casey bought us drinks & the four of us talked up a storm. The restaurant had filled up and we were having a great time.

Suddenly Jeff and Casey became very quiet. So we thought they had tired of us. We have that effect on people. We noticed a very regal Mexican couple, about 60 years old, sat down next to us. They both had jet black hair, white shirts that accentuated their indigenous Mexican tan, a Stetson cowboy hat and the lady had bright red lips with a diamond boulder for her wedding ring. They smiled, so we smiled back and kept drinking. Casey leaned over and asked if he could excuse himself for a minute. He and Jeff got up and joined the table next to us. Then we figured out who the couple was….

We were sitting next to Mr. & Mrs. Chavez the richest man in all of Mexico!

We had attained Mexican Self Actualization! Casey sat down and before his ass hit the chair I said “That’s Mr. Chavez, the richest man in all of Mexico!” Casey said 'yes' and I asked if he told him that Enzo was an asshole. Lex told me to cool it. The night went on for an hour or so. Casey and Jeff picked up our check and Jeff says “It’s refreshing to hang with people like you.” Then Lex whispers “Yeah, real little people like you.” She saved the best joke for last. Casey and Jeff were fun and nice and capped off a wild evening. The next day was good but it was our Rhythm of the Night cruise and we had to get to go back to the Marina.