by Michael Harrity
How it all started.
Fifty years ago this past week, my two brothers, myself, and our parents landed in Guadalajara for a twelve-day Mexican adventure.
Our itinerary was six days in Guadalajara and six days in Puerto Vallarta. I had never even heard of either place. I was thirteen at the time, and we had never taken a real family vacation.
Looking back, I’m not really sure how this even happened. My parents were definitely not the daring type, as we were reminded of soon enough.
Our resort in Guadalajara was in the hills overlooking the city with a swim-up bar (rare in 1975) and a shuffleboard court. The city view was amazing. Unfortunately for me, who wanted to explore endlessly, we left the resort all of twice.
The first time we left, my father hired a driver to show us the main sites of Guadalajara. The main square, churches, all the basics, but my parents were visibly nervous the entire time. This was the first time they had also left the US, and the culture shock was too much – it was a short day before it was back to the resort.
After three days of three teenage boys being bored out of our minds and complaining nonstop, another driver was hired, and we drove off to see Lake Chapala. That consisted of a stop at what, at the time, was the only restaurant on the lake in San Juan Cosalá.
(To be honest, my memory of that lunch was solely of the group of teenage boys jumping off the pier into the lake in their white BVD’s that had become totally see-through from the water. I came to a definite conclusion about myself that day.)
After two more days in Guadalajara (not leaving the resort), we were more than ready to hit the beach in sunny Puerto Vallarta.
Besides my first plane ride, I had also never seen the ocean and was stoked. And boy, was I rewarded with the best week of my life.
We arrived mid-afternoon, and our taxi sped off to take us to our beach resort called Garza Blanca.
It seemed forever away, and much of the drive after going through town was nothing but jungle. Upon our arrival, we were checked in by the most welcoming staff and were shown to our beach hut for the week.
Many of you are aware of today’s gigantic Garza Blanca resort with its five-star restaurants, a dozen pools, and insanely high prices. Well, in 1975, it consisted of three beach huts designed for families, ten honeymoon suites with plunge pools on the side of a hill, a palapa-style restaurant, and a par-three golf course set in the jungle.
As it turned out, being June and off-season, which we were never aware of, we had the entire place to ourselves. We never saw another guest.
Besides a day trip into town to parasail (all three boys for $10 US), and a boat trip to Yelapa, where we begged my father for lobsters but were forced to settle for club sandwiches, we never left the resort. And I had not a single problem with that.
I had become very comfortable in the water in our pool in Dallas and must have spent eight to ten hours a day body surfing, snorkeling, and just being amazed at where I was.
A few days after we arrived, my fourteenth birthday happened to fall. It was the only day we were all allowed to order whatever we wanted from the menu. All five of us ordered the mixed seafood platter without any idea what it would consist of.
When the plates were set down all our eyes fell on what appeared to be a large portion of Octopus tentacles.
Even though there was a lobster tail, shrimp, and fish, we were universally shocked, and it was obvious. We had no idea you could even eat octopus, and those suction cups were so far from our comfort zone – it was obvious to the staff.
When they realized what the problem was, they whisked the plates away and returned them ten minutes later sans octopus but with two lobster tails! We were happy campers.
At the end of the meal, the whole staff came out with a birthday cake with a torch shooting out, and the words “Happy Beer Day!” written on the frosting.
They all proceeded to sing, “Happy Beer Day to you!” This caused us all to laugh, and I am sure now, inappropriately. All these years afterward, I remember it very vividly.
Fifty years later, I find myself splitting my time between the two places I went on my only real vacation of my youth.
Funny how life works out.
