Hot! Refugees from Yelapa

Back on the pier waiting for the water taxi, I assessed my odds of getting back to Puerto Vallarta. Some locals were waiting for rides as well and told me the taxi would arrive soon, although I doubted they really knew. One was kind enough to invite me to stay and party with him at Quimixto, confident that I did not need to go back to Puerto Vallarta. I declined.

Eventually, the locals claimed their rides and I waited alone. I was happy when the familiar crew pulled up to the dock and tossed me the rope to pull them in. The sea had turned choppy and they grabbed me quickly to bring me on board and sat me next to two friendly 20-somethings from Boston. They told me I had missed the whale show just off Yelapa, and we became fast friends as we sped over the bumpy waves.

Soon the PV beach was in sight. We approached the pier, but the water was too rough. They couldn’t pull the boat up. Instead, they backed the boat onto the beach, getting as far up on shore as possible, then everyone made their way out the back. As I turned around, I noticed the guy on the bench behind me was in leg braces from hip surgery. My Boston buddies told me it had taken nearly 30 minutes to get him onboard. That’s why the taxi was late!

The man in the braces apparently had had enough of sea life. He jumped over the benches, ignoring the driver’s cry to sit down when waves lurched the boat forward. Soon, he was scrambling out the back. We were just behind him and dragged ourselves through the surf and onto shore. “We’re refugees from Yelapa!” I yelled to the tourists on the beach. No one understood, or seemed to care.

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