After two buses and a walk we found ourselves in Old Town. Puerto Vallarta’s Old Town is a lovely section bordering “The Beverly Hills of Puerto Vallarta,” filled with steep cobblestone streets, several steep stairways that stretch a city block, beautiful beaches, tasty street food, and a gay district that is more vibrant than the Castro in San Francisco.
We find a gym where (as with any gym in Mexico) people flock to Conor and ask him about his workout routine. “I may not be fluent in Spanish yet, but I am definitely fluent in Gym,” Conor says.
Walking back to the bus we find a flier that advertises a live boxing match at a restaurant. How could we miss this event?! What day is the boxing match? Wait, what day is it today? We realize that as cruisers we don’t always keep track of the calendar. After flagging a nice local down we are assured that the fight indeed is TONIGHT. Four bus rides later, entry money in hand, and clean clothes, we march over to the entrance to claim our seats.
The shark at Senor Frogs hangs above the ring.
There were both girl and boy fights. Lots of exciting moves, and a shark hanging from the ceiling to supervise the whole event. We ended the night in Old Town eating dinner in a little shop across from the first church plaza in town we had delicious Mexican pizzas and grabbed a late night taxi.
In the back of the taxi we were quite content with our adventures of the day. Beautiful views, amazing food, and a live boxing event just 20 feet away from us! Our taxi driver decided to make our day a little more exciting. He saw a buddy in another taxi. To catch up to his buddy Mr. Taxi Driver started to speed in the slow lane and accidentally cut off a cop. This is not something you want to do in Mexico. I thought taxis were exempt from driving rules. Apparently not when you make a cop mad.
The blue and red lights go on, Mr. Taxi Driver grumbles, pulls over, and walks back to the cop with paperwork and DL. Mr. Taxi Driver is very animated. I peek through the back window. Conor cautions me not to look. I can’t help it. I hear a loud thumping noise on the trunk of the car. Oh my gosh, I think, Mr. Taxi Driver has really done it now. The cop is pushing him against the trunk and arresting him. What do we do now? How do we get another cab? Will the cop help us? Will we have to pay him to help us? Is this a safe part of town? Against my better judgment I steal another look through the back window. No. Mr. Taxi Driver is NOT getting arrested. He is pounding his fists on the trunk out of frustration. He stomps back to the car and pulls several bills out of his wallet. I know that I DEFINITELY should not look out of the back window now from now on. Mr. Taxi Driver marches back to the police man, returns, starts the car and drives us to the Marina, grumbling under his breath the whole time. We give him a big tip.