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Stretching along Mexico's Pacific coast, Puerto Vallarta welcomes visitors with golden beaches and a vibrant night life.
Los Arcos offers the most diverse marine display in the region. Photo courtesy of Andrew Reiner.
Puerto Vallarta is a place of charming contrasts. It’s a city of almost 400,000 people, but it’s bordered on one side by a dense jungle with wild jaguars and on the other by remote beaches that are unreachable by land. It’s a region with centuries-old indigenous and colonial traditions, but it’s also a cutting-edge culinary destination and a global center of LGBTQ culture. Vallarta sits right in the middle of Mexico’s Bahía de Banderas (Banderas Bay), 60 miles of horseshoe-shaped shoreline running from Punta Mita in the north to Yelapa in the south. But it remained unknown until the 1964 film The Night of the Iguana. As Tennessee Williams wrote in the play that inspired the film: “Let’s go down and swim in the liquid moonlight.” Which is why today, I’m going to share the best things to do and places to eat and stay in Puerto Vallarta.
I find out the hard way that it’s not a good idea to laugh while snorkeling. But it’s difficult not to when you’re at Los Arcos National Marine Park. Here tropical fish, eels, rays and the occasional octopus, sea turtle or seahorse perform among the coral reefs, all competing for attention. A school of king angelfish enters my sight line like a liquid light show, with deep blue bodies and neon-yellow tails. As they surround a slower fish, it suddenly puffs up like a balloon covered in spikes—a defense mechanism of the porcupine pufferfish. I laugh into my mask and get a mouthful of saltwater.
Los Arcos comprises three small granite islands off Playa Mismaloya that jut out of the sea in arch formations. Despite its popularity as a scuba spot, and its location 200 feet from shore, it offers the most colorful marine display in the region, thanks to its protected marine reserve status since 1984. There may be constant development in Puerto Vallarta, but these kinds of unspoiled paradises seem to be everywhere.
My guide is Texas-born, Mexico-raised Jet de la Isla, who’s been in Vallarta since 2016. “I made a quick stop here to check out the snorkeling and decided to stay for a month,” he says. “It wasn’t long before I fell in love with the friendly people, beautiful beaches and marine life, lively streets and nightlife that never stops. I took a side job as a tour guide and used any excuse to extend my stay. Finally, I decided I needed to keep doing what I loved.” “I came to visit and ended up staying” is a common story among the people I meet in Vallarta, Mexicans and expats alike. His company, Jet’s Private Boat Tours, now has an eight-guide team specializing in customized excursions. They use boats that range from small pangas for couples to luxury yachts for groups, and even offer the area’s only nude outings. De la Isla also runs a gay youth hostel in the heart of town.
After our excursion, I ask him to drop me off on the north side of town, which gives me a beautiful survey of the beaches that sit within the city itself. By law, all beaches are public, even those that are part of large resorts. The 20-minute boat ride passes by playas La Garza Blanca, Palmares, Punta Negra, Las Estacas, Conchas Chinas, Los Muertos, Olas Altas, Rosita, Camarones and finally Playa Tranquila. Seeing all those fish made me hungry, so I walk to Lamara which was recommended by friends from Guadalajara. The restaurant’s menu consists mostly of aguachile (spicy shellfish ceviche) and ceviches of local whitefish or tuna. The chic decor and stylish servers remind me of my part-time home of Mexico City, apart from the fact that the fish was caught a few blocks away. I order tostadas of aguachile Amora (shrimp, cucumber, jicama, peanuts and hibiscus salsa), and ceviche Flat (sliced tuna with ginger, red onion and serrano chile on a bed of avocado). I wash them down with a Xakúa lager from the neighboring state of Michoacán.
It’s a quick Uber ride to the Plaza de Armas, the oceanfront central square of Old Town Vallarta. This neighborhood is a maze of cobblestone streets, vistas and staircases lined with citrus trees, pomegranate bushes and passion fruit vines. On the square stands the Parroquía de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, an impressive structure that looks at first glance like many of Mexico’s colonial churches. But looking closely at the building, which broke ground in 1903, I find a mix of Renaissance, Baroque and Neoclassical styles. Its huge, ornate crown was reconstructed in 2009 by sculptor Carlos Terrés.
Unlike many Mexican beach towns, such as Ixtapa and Cancún, Puerto Vallarta wasn’t developed as a tourist hub. Nor was it the “sleepy little fishing village” that’s become part of its mythology. In the 1800s, it was an important port and administrative center for nearby silver mining towns. Starting in the 1920s it moved toward agriculture and commercial fisheries, with a bit of tourism. It only emerged as an international destination after The Night of the Iguana and the breathless tabloid coverage of the affair between its star, Richard Burton, and Elizabeth Taylor, who flew down to join him during production in 1962, even though they were both married. Burton put Taylor up at Casa Kimberly, a beautiful colonial villa across the street from his house in Old Town. He even built a bridge, the Puente del Amor (Bridge of Love), connecting the two homes so they could maintain a glimmer of discretion (he gifted her the home in 1964). Now, the two homes make up a single hotel, and I’m lucky enough to be staying in Taylor’s original master suite—over 2,500 square feet of opulence overlooking the bay.
I head to the hotel’s open-air rooftop restaurant, Iguana, to get my first glance of Vallarta’s famous sunsets. Iguana is a popular spot for Taylor-Burton fans, with views of the Sierra Madre foothills and the bay. There’s a long magic hour until the sun dips below the horizon and the sky takes on surprising shades of orange, pink, violet and lavender, with a halo of lime green to match my margarita.
Once night has fallen, I take a taxi north to the Zona Hotelera, or Hotel Zone. This area is populated with faceless resorts, but it’s also where one of the city’s most exciting restaurants is located. La Leche's monochromatic interior is a fitting backdrop for what Chef Alfonso “Poncho” Cadena calls cocina irreverente. Cadena is part of a youthful, creative culinary clique whose restaurants stand in contrast to the Señor Frog’s–type party palaces near the beaches. I start with parrotfish paired with an avocado vinaigrette and little pearls of lime tapioca. My second course, the “sopa de nada” (nothing soup), is actually a delicate cauliflower cream. I finish with the locally famed roast duck, one of the few dishes that rarely leaves the menu.
Back at Casa Kimberly, in a bathroom that’s twice as big as my apartment, I take a long bath in Taylor’s original, custom-made, heart-shaped pink-marble tub. Due supposedly to a translation mishap, the tub is shaped like an anatomical heart rather than a valentine, and it is all the more elegant for it.
The appeal of waking up in Elizabeth Taylor’s bed can’t be overstated. But I have a long day ahead, so I force myself up and over to the private pool for a morning dip. Still, it’s tempting to linger over the view of Old Town, with its roofs of terra-cotta barrel tiles reaching down to the sea.
It’s a short walk past the Plaza de Armas to the waterfront Puerto Café, which a friend told me has the best coffee in Vallarta. I’m not disappointed with my dripped-to-order cup and fresh-baked banana bread. Even better, they’re blasting Queen’s Flash Gordon soundtrack on an old turntable. The audiophile barista explains how the placement of the giant vintage speakers interacts with the acoustics of the century-old space. I get a bottle of coldbrew concentrate to go. It will fuel me for the day.
The 30-minute drive to the Vallarta Botanical Gardens follows the coastline south before cutting inland, into dense jungle. Established in 2004, it’s already one of the largest and most diverse gardens in Mexico, with extensive collections of orchids, bromeliads, agaves and cacti among thousands of native plant species. My favorite part is the vanilla plantation trail. Here hundreds of vanilla vines spiral up posts and trees, interspersed with cacao trees (both chocolate and vanilla are native to Mexico). I learn that vanilla is the world’s second-most expensive spice, after saffron, because each vanilla bean ripens at a different rate and must be hand-harvested one by one.
I love seeing the plants but am seduced by the many birds that seem unfazed by humans. “I can name at least 50 birds that hang out here,” a worker tells me as I shoo away a few butterflies and a hummingbird. I spy parrots and woodpeckers and what I think are vultures and hawks. I consider it a good luck sign to spot a citreoline trogon, a bright-eyed, yellow-bellied stunner related to the rare quetzal, a sacred bird in pre-Hispanic culture.
From the botanical garden, it’s only a few minutes by taxi to Boca de Tomatlán, the hub for the South Shore beaches, most of which are reachable only by water taxis (they pick up on Los Muertos Pier, too). Instead, I opt for a hike to tiny Playa Colomitos. The walk is only about 35 minutes, alternating between a well-marked trail and concrete steps, with views of the water almost the entire way. At one point I hear a jarring sound, which I trace to a flock of turkey-like birds munching on fallen guavas. It turns out the sound is the quick-stuttering “song” of the West Mexican chachalaca.
Colomitos is the smallest beach in the area, a sliver of sand surrounded by massive rock formations. The water is clear, warm and shallow, and my swim feels like a spa bath. With no vendors or partiers in sight, it’s a postcard of the sort of Mexican beach that everyone looks for but has been covered with hotels and condos almost everywhere. There are only four other beachgoers. Two of them invited me to nearby Playa Quimixto for a 30-minute hike (or horseback ride) to waterfalls. But I’m getting hungry, so I grab a water taxi to the Los Muertos Pier.
Although Playa Los Muertos isn’t the most lovely of Vallarta’s beaches, it’s great for people-watching, and the pier is an easy meeting place. Walking on the malecón, the waterfront promenade, I spot a white-suited man with a giant clay jug being swarmed by bees. He’s serving tuba, a traditional drink of fermented coconut palm sap. It's a remnant of the 250-year galleon trade between Mexico and the Philippines. I take one along for my 30-minute stroll along the beach to lunch.
Colonia 5 de Diciembre is a neighborhood full of markets, schools and tiny taquerías. It feels a little less touristy than Old Town, especially as you move farther from the sea. Mariscos La Tía is packed, which is a good sign, even though it means a 20-minute wait for a table. I hear no English being spoken. It’s another all-seafood restaurant, and I order a steaming cauldron of marlin, shrimp and octopus in a rich shrimp stock, along with a ceviche tostada topped with cueritos, or pickled pork rinds.
Walking back down the malecón, I see Tierra Huichol, a gallery specializing in the folk art of the Wixárika people, natives of the region who make vivid beaded sculptures and yarn “paintings” that represent shamanistic visions of the universe. I’ve seen these in craft shops elsewhere in Mexico, where there’s no assurance that the artists are being paid fairly or not being pressured to change their practice to fit commercial demand. Tierra Huichol has worked directly with Wixárika artists for years and is committed to compensating them properly and helping sustain the independence of their communities. I buy a beaded eagle, considered the messenger between the gods and man.
Just up the beach from here, I’m meeting Erick Fierro, a friend of a friend, for mojitos at La Bodeguita del Medio, a branch of a Havana restaurant that’s an oasis from the beachfront tourist traps. It’s also where to buy Cuban cigars to bring home. Fierro is a real estate agent who started a face-mask assembly project during the pandemic as a way to support women who had lost their jobs. By September, he had 12 women making masks, and they had sold more than 6,000 (with the money divided equally between the women).
He notes that Vallarta is unique among vacation towns not just for its tight community of full-timers but because expats are both embraced by and eager to support the community. “One day, I needed three sewing machines,” he says, “and an hour later I had five.” As I enjoy my cocktail, I watch Fierro greet countless friends. “Socializing here is old and young and poor and rich and dark and white,” he says. “I’ve lived in many cities and never had this sense of belonging. It’s like a family—you can trash them, but if someone from the outside trashes them, you defend your people.”
I thank Fierro for the drink and head to dinner at Café des Artistes. Over the course of 30 years, this modern French eatery has morphed into one of the best Mexican restaurants in the country. Chef-owner Thierry Blouet was born in Puerto Rico to French parents, came to Mexico in 1978, arrived in Vallarta in 1987 and never left. I order cactus aguachile, a cabeza (beef cheek) taco with dandelion greens, risotto with foie gras and Mexican morels and suckling lamb two ways. The show-stopper is one of the most inspired desserts I’ve had in ages: a whole roast habanero chile draped over passion fruit mousse. Then it’s straight back to Liz’s bed.
After enjoying a room-service breakfast of coffee and tropical fruit on my terrace, I hit the road, headed northwest to The St. Regis Punta Mita Resort. Punta Mita is one of the most breathtaking peninsulas in North America, surrounded almost entirely by the bay and the ocean. Most of the land is taken up by the St. Regis and Four Seasons resorts, plus the two golf courses they share.
It’s early for the welcome drink at Altamira Lobby, but I can’t resist celebrating when I see the panorama of palms and pools cascading down to the ocean. A number of water activities are on offer, but even I, a non-golfer, have heard of the Punta Mita Golf Club, and I want to check out the fairways for myself. The two adjoining courses here (the Pacifico borders the ocean; the more challenging Bahía, the bay) are almost like a private national park, with some of the best views of my whole trip. My golf pro, Luis Ituarte, says that some call it “the Pebble Beach of Mexico.” It’s also entirely sustainable in terms of water use, thanks to treated wastewater and collected rainwater.
The scene-stealer is the hole on the Pacifico course known as the Tail of the Whale. It's a 181-yard par-3 whose water hazard is, well, the ocean. This optional hole sits on a black-rock island, and it is accessible only at low mid-tide. (You can take your tee shot at high tide and return later to steer your cart across the ocean floor to make the putt.) After a few failed drives into the Pacific, I cart over anyway, for a scenic round-trip.
I tell myself that my golf failings are because I’m so distracted by the setting, even if I don’t see any actual whale tails out in the ocean (their migration won’t bring them here until December). I stow the clubs and explore the coastline. The Riviera Nayarit stretches from the northern part of Puerto Vallarta to the port of San Blas, about 90 miles by car. Each coastal town has a distinct personality, and while I won’t get far today, I’m taking notes for my return trip.
First stop: lunch. The long and winding dirt road to Litíbu Grill, located outside the tiny village of Higuera Blanca is more than worth it. This hidden seaside restaurant lets you swim in the ocean or laze in hammocks between courses of giant charcoal-grilled chocolate clams (so named for the color of their shells), fresh caught fish and octopus with spicy potatoes and olive salsa.
Although I’m tempted to spend the whole day on the beach, I manage to get myself up the road to the town of San Francisco, aka San Pancho. Considered the cultural capital of the Riviera Nayarit, it’s a colorful pueblo (town) that offers as much inland as it does on the lively white-sand beach. I pop into Entreamigos, a community center that has a library, gallery, eco-design center and even a children’s circus school. The gallery sells crafts made locally from recycled materials, and I pick up a few wild-eyed stuffed octopuses made from bedsheets.
Fifteen minutes down the road lies the town of Sayulita, where about 2,000 full-timers enjoy the arc-shaped Playa Sayulita and a laid-back vibe that’s both hippie and hipster. It’s a good place for surfers of all skill levels (the waves get bigger as you move north on the beach), with the prime season going from December to April.
Playa Sayulita is one of the beaches where Olive Ridley sea turtles lay their eggs, and that “turtle releases” are a fun sunset activity. I head over to Campamento Tortuguero Sayulita, a volunteer turtle protection and conservation organization, to learn more. It turns out that not all turtle releases are created equal. To suit tourist demand, some places put turtle eggs in sand-filled “hot boxes” that allow for a faster incubation period, rushing turtles that may not be mature enough to move to the sea. The boxes may also create more females than males, since turtle sex is temperature-dependent (warmer sands produce females). This is a problem, as there’s already a shortage of males, in part due to climate change.
The folks at Campamento Tortuguero Sayulita, meanwhile, relocate nests from all over the beach to protect them from poaching, predators and unintentional human damage. They incubate the eggs naturally in beach sand until they hatch and the turtles can return to the sea on their own. It’s estimated that the turtles from only about one out of every 1,000 eggs will reach reproductive maturity, making work like this all the more crucial. I’m thrilled to help usher dozens of these little 3-inch babies to the sea, even knowing the sad fate that awaits most of them.
Walking back to the car, I pick up some souvenir raicilla (a type of mezcal typical of this region) at Sayulita Wine Shop. I drive back to the St. Regis for dinner at Carolina, a fine-dining restaurant that attracts local foodies as much as hotel guests. Chef Miguel Soltero Rincón puts a spin on classic Mexican cuisine, sourcing ingredients as close to home as possible, including an extensive list of Mexican wines. I start with a crab-salad tostada topped with oat-crusted soft-shell crab and served in a bowl of tomato broth. Grilled lobster comes with a “taco” of chorizo-stuffed plantain. For dessert, there’s an ice cream of totomoxtle, or burnt corn husk, which has a not-unpleasant flavor of hot dog.
Geomorphologists believe that Banderas Bay is where the tip of Baja California broke off the North American Plate over 5 million years ago, creating the Baja California Peninsula and the Gulf of California. What that means is that Los Cabos and Puerto Vallarta were once the same place. In today's seismic environmental shifts, it's reassuring how Vallarta has preserved its biodiversity even as it has become the most progressive city in Mexico. On my suite’s terrace, I sip a nightcap of organic Mexican rosé from the Solar Fortún winery while looking at real estate listings online. After all, whale season is soon, and they say the rainy season is beautiful…