Of our three excursion days, it was this day that I found most memorable and exciting, as we signed up to go ziplining in Puerto Vallarta! I had previously ziplined for the first time in Puerto Rico, and absolutely fell in love with the activity. As this excursion was Matt’s first time ziplining, I was so excited for him, and I knew he’d have a really wonderful time!
I seem to recall that this was another somewhat early day for us, but—unlike the previous day’s morning preparing for a lethargic and uninspiring bus trip—I was already feeling the adrenaline of flying through the air kicking in, so waking up and getting started on this day felt quite easy. Since we had quite a strenuous day ahead of us, we quickly fueled up on breakfast sandwiches at the Promenade Cafe followed by coffees from the Princess Live Cafe before disembarking.
As we exited the ship and onto land, there was a festival atmosphere greeting us. There were two long rows of tented canopies under which stood tables stacked with souvenirs, eager vendors enthusiastically trying to make a sale. There was aso a mariachi band, its players dressed in traditional charro suits and wide-brimmed sombreros, excitedly playing “Tequilla” (among other tunes) to get us all energized for the day. The scene felt like something straight out of some movie, and I couldn’t help but find myself enjoying everything. I was also struck by how polished and shining Puerto Vallarta was compared to Cabo and Mazatlán. When we originally signed up for this cruise, I thought all of our ports of call would feel as stereotypically polished as Puerto Vallarta, all preconceptions about what a resort town should look like made manifest in this city.
Soon we were huddled together with our fellow zipliners, and the mood of the whole group was markedly different from the schlubs we traveled with on the bus tour from the previous day. Today’s group was a crowd that was ready for some real adventure, young and old, including a spritely grandmother who looked to be in her 60s. Matt definitely did not feel bad ju-ju today as he did yesterday. All fifteen of us eventually boarded a large van where we got to get to know fellow passenger and zipliner Cindy from California who said she had never gone ziplining before but had been to Puerto Vallarta before.
As with Mazatlán, when we started to make the hour-long trek inland to Extreme Adventures in the heart of the Mexican jungle, en route we got to see some more crazy, crazy traffic patterns the likes I had never seen before: speedy daredevil left turns across multiple lanes of busy traffic; so many tractors with trailers trundling along; countless madmen on motorcycles weaving in and out of traffic with reckless abandon; speedbumps and more speedbumps failing to fulfill their function.
Also en route we got to meet our guide for the day, a handsomely bearded young man and self-admitted adrenaline junkie, Hector, who told us all about our day while pointing out various landmarks on the way, referring to the local jail we passed by as a great hotel if you’re looking for a cheap, extended stay. He also told us that we’d be ziplining deep in the dense Mexican jungle and that there may be poisonous plants and trees, giant spiders, and boas. So basically, “Don’t touch anything,” he warned.
Eventually, the relatively smoothe, paved roads—speedbumps aside—gave way to a single, gravel so-called “road,” washed out from heavy rain: rough, rugged, and rutted, the van thrown about, its passengers flung from side-to-side. When we got out, there was a yellow jeep parked on the road, and I immediately felt like I was on the film set for Jurassic Park: dense and impossibly green foliage, giant leaves and intertwining vines obscuring the horizon, the sunlight lighting the ground in dappled patches.
Nestled within the jungle was a rustic, wooden building that reminded me of a style of construction you might see at a Minnesota state park, where we got to meet the rest of the staff who helped us get into the ziplining gear, complete with a hardhat that we labeled with our names using sturdy tape and a thick marker. Once we were all set, we made our way to some rows of wooden benches amongst the thicket away from the visitor center where we were given a crash course in how to properly zipline. And before we knew it, we were off!
When I ziplined in Puerto Rico, my adventure there felt quite truncated compared to what we got to do in Puerto Vallarta. Instead of the two lengthy routes I reveled in over the Puerto Rican jungle, the adventures outside Puerto Vallarta involved nine separate tracks, each with their own individual eccentricities and personalities. Most of them were relatively short jaunts, but enjoyable and exhilarating nonetheless. However, a particularly memorable track was a longer, roller coaster style zipline where we got to glide through the air, zoom around 90 and 180 degree arcs, dip down and immediately back up along thrilling parabolas built along the track, the drops simulating momentary weightlessness just as we’d plunge downwards.
There were other parts of the adventure that required quite a feat of stamina and willpower, especially for those of us who have a fear of heights. My fear of heights is particularly strange: it becomes activated when I’m in tall buildings like the Empire State, the Eiffel Tower, or the Fire of London monument, a fear that I might lose control of all my senses and throw myself off over the edge. However, when I’m riding the Roosevelt Island Tramway or, well, going ziplining, this fear isn’t activated. (It doesn’t make sense. I know. That’s why they call these fears irrational.) That said, there were two moments during this round of ziplining where my fear of heights were tested like they never were before.
The first such moment came when we had to rappel down a tree, which was especially terrifying because we had to first make our way around the tree along a narrow walkway as if we were Ewoks, all the while gazing in terror upon our fellow zipliners ahead of us who were lowered slowly down to their death, er, doom, er, long, long pleasant life ahead of them. When it was my time, Matt was behind me, and he described and indescribable fear in my eyes as I was securely roped in, asked to slowly sit backwards into nothing but the open air below me, and try my best to put a strong face on for the camera as I dangled from the tree 20 meters high.
But this was only a preview of more terrifying things to come. Later on, we were faced with a decision to climb 22 meters up a tree using a roped climbing net, and the staff were very clear on the consequences of our decision: “Once you decide to climb up, there’s no turning back. You must continue.” I made the decision with a feigned confidence that I would challenge myself to this task before I realized that after we finished climbing up a tree, we had to literally tightrope walk about 25 feet to another tree. I was already halfway up the climbing net when I realized what was going to come next, and I started to severely doubt my abilities to carry on.
Climbing up the net itself was quite scary on its own, and at one point during our climb one of our guides asked us to hang back as far as we could and flex some biceps for the camera. I tried as best I could to do this, but all I could think about was the tightrope walking ahead of me and the fact that I was climbing up this ridiculous net in the first place. Not before long, however, I found myself staring out at the burdensome tightrope assignment: two ropes drawn tightly between two trees, one for my feet and one drawn above the other for my hands to hold onto for dear life.
I honestly couldn’t believe what I was about to do, but I did it regardless. It was the most surreal thing I ever found myself doing; more surreal than swimming with dolphins; more surreal than seeing Ian McKellan on stage in London in a one-man show; more surreal than seeing any famous landmark with my own eyes for the first time rather than in a picture in a book. I made my way slowly yet with some semblance of assurance, staring in disbelief of the sheer drop below me, nothing but two ropes keeping me in the air, a safety rope attached to one of the steadying ropes. But the amazing sense of accomplishment I felt that I conquered this task sent me such a lift of confidence and such a rush of adrenaline that everything that remained on our ziplining adventure seemed easy and effortless. Indeed, following the tightrope walking we immediately had to hop across 15 or so tall logs standing about 3-4 feet apart that brought us back to stable land, the logs deliberately planted into the ground to wobble ever so slightly as we made our way.
There was one final moment that would test anyone with a fear of heights, but by this point there was so much adrenaline rushing through me I felt such confidence that I could do anything: the task involved jumping off another platform affixed to another tall tree in order to swing back and forth a couple times, a giant human pendulum eventually coming to a rest with the aid of our trusty guides on the ground ready to catch us. I felt so proud and so happy that I worked up the courage to complete all these tasks, and I found myself appreciating a renewed meaning of the word bravery: that being brave involves conquering some tantalizing fear, working up the courage to carry on regardless in the face of something that seems inexplicably insurmountable. And the rewards that follows in doses of adrenaline is unlike any feeling of bliss that cannot be replicated in any other way. I found myself understanding Hector even more when he earlier described himself as an adrenaline junkie.
The absolute trophy of all our adventures, though, was the very last activity we got to do, a zipline aptly named the Superman. We got to position ourselves in the Superman pose as if flying through the air, our bodies in the prone position parallel to the Earth, flying along 1200 meters of cable, through open air, through corridors of trees, nothing but the gorgeous Mexican jungle around us. What a joy and a delight it was that we signed up for this excursion. It was probably my favorite thing about all the things we did on our travels, and I would do it all again in a heartbeat, even the tightrope walking.
Following our flights through the trees, we were brought back to the visitors center by way of a large truck, all of us huddled together in the back of the vehicle sitting on long benches, the vehicle tossing us all about as we traveled the wild, unkempt roads in these hinterlands. When we arrived, we were treated to some real Mexican food, not the gringoized slop we had just the previous day: real quesadillas and real nachos with real spicy salsa—zesty and fiery, a tasty reflection of the fierce and intense activities we just completed, all topped off with refreshingly cold beers. We also bonded a little bit with Hector, who we discovered was also queer and who confided to us about the difficulties he sometimes encounters amongst some of his coworkers just because he is who he is.
We eventually made our way back to the ship, and I wanted to bring back a souvenir of a bottle of real, proper, Mexican mezcal. So we made our way down and back up all the canopied tables of wares before setting on a particular vendor who had bottles of mezcal, one potent potable with an entire scorpion resting in the bottom of the bottle. I did ask if there were any bottles of mezcal that didn’t have any critters in them, but he explained with a knowing smile that having critters in a bottle of mezcal is the point. When he told me that one bottle was ten dollars, I couldn’t believe the price. So he wrapped up the bottle, but his phone was having a hard time running the transaction. So, he had to call another friend who took a couple minutes to arrive. I actually very nearly gave up on buying the bottle as we waited, but I felt determined all the same.
When his friend arrived, he said that the bottle cost one hundred dollars, and I was abruptly surprised and said, “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I thought you side it was ten. One hundred is too much.” (Honestly, though, what an honest mistake to make—although perhaps I’m being gullible—as I could tell he was trying his best to speak in English. After all, from my perspective, in Spanish the words for ten and one hundred are diez and cien, respectively, so I very well could’ve made the same mistake if the roles were reversed.) All this said, he remarked, “I really want to make this sale. What if I sell it to you for $80?” While I still thought the price was too high, I grudgingly conceded and purchased the bottle. All things considered, everything really was fine, and I was so happy to bring that bottle back home while giving this vendor a notable sale.
And so, just like that, our third and final excursion day on land came to a close. And while the next time we’d set foot on land would be when our entire cruise would come to a close, ahead of us we still had two more days at sea. And the evening that awaited us would give us a glimpse of the pampering and relaxing and jolly good old time that would fill our remaining two days at sea.
Those jolly good old times continued, naturally enough, with a visit to the LGBT meetup at our favorite bar, the Take Five Lounge. We had a really good time seeing Mike and Sonny again (Mike commented that he had read the first post about our nautical adventures, remarking that it felt like he was traveling along right with us as he read it). We also had a relaxed meal at the Marketplace buffet, which continued to be reliable, but I had to remind myself that the Marketplace was not going to ever be any kind of fine or high dining, only that it served its function to provide somewhat mildly tasty yet handy and accessible sustenance.
After three pretty packed and scheduled days, Matt and I were really looking forward to our final two days spent entirely at sea to lounge about and revitalize ourselves while admiring stunning views of the sea. And our last two days aboard this ship certainly did not disappoint in the least…
Stray tips and observations:
- Something Matt and I didn’t consider when we decided to go on this cruise was how we’d travel through three different time zones while aboard, but it makes sense when you study the map. By the time we got to Puerto Vallerta, for example, we were back on the same time zone as Minnesota. However, sometimes I don’t think the ship time actually matched the actual time zone we were in, as clocks would only shift overnight. This makes sense, as it would be challenging for the cruise director to create the schedule of events if suddenly the clocks shifted forwards and backwards an hour during the day.
- As our ship made its way back north to Los Angeles, we and others noticed how much more rocky the ship was compared to the original trek south. I was so grateful for the dramamine, prescription motion-sickness patches, and the wristbands I wore to combat any woozy feelings. But even with these precautions, I still couldn’t help but feel a little lightheaded, but not so much so that I had to cancel any of our frivolities while aboard.
- There was one moment where we overheard on two separate occasions people complaining really loudly to waiters about the bar hours and the Princess phone app. (Encountering unpleasant people like this was something I feared when I signed up for this cruise.) This kind of behavior just really turns me off, and I would advise other passengers to express those sentiments more quietly amongst fellow passengers and to please leave your loud protestations for the end-of-cruise survey that you’ll receive via email.