Lauren: We arrived in Puerto Vallarta well rested from our 16-hour bus ride, thanks to Dramamine. In the bus station we noticed that there was a bus that went directly to Tijuana. We had planned on taking a ferry from Mazatlan, a port city 10-hours north, to La Paz in Baja and working our way north from there. We learned from the ticket guy that it was “only” a 26 hour busride from Mazatlan to Tijuana, and decided that we’d go for it. It meant less hassle, less money, and more time in Puerto Vallarta. We bought our ticket to Mazatlan, extending our stay in Puerto Vallarta.

The taxis were a whopping $9 to get into town, so we opted for the bus. For just 50 cents each, we rolled our way into town at a snail’s pace, and got dropped off in front of a travel agency. I chomped on a granola bar while Beth chatted up the guy hassling her to buy a package tour. She learned that he had been to the US, spent 5 years there actually, between his trysts at a NY and a Texas Prison. I took off to find a hotel.

After seeing a fairly seedy place and a 4-star fancy hotel with a pool, I found a cute mom and pop owned hotel called “Hotel Hortencia.” I spent some time talking to mom and pop, and mom showed me a great room they had just added on. It was third floor, with a great view, a TV, and a fridge. It was normally $50, but she’d give us a break at $45. Still a splurge for us, but with the fridge, we could still manage our $30 a day budget.

I went back and grabbed Beth away from her new jail-bird friend and we headed back to Hotel Hortencia’s with our bags. When we got there, mom said, “Congratulations!” to Beth. We looked at each other a bit confused, and then she continued, “You have been traveling a long time, and now you are almost finished!”

After dropping our stuff, we went to the beach for some food. We found a cute place, right on the sand and had some nachos and a bucket of beer (which was oddly just 3 beers). The water looked a bit seaweed packed, and clouds started to roll in. It was time for the afternoon downpour that we’d soon learn to expect, so we shot back toward our hotel.

Before the rain started, we managed to go shopping for groceries. We bought stuff for sandwiches and chips and salsa and made it back just in time. A light rain soon turned into a torrential downpour, and we watched the streets flood from our safe distance on the 3rd story. We made sandwiches and watched TV.

Around 10pm, we headed out to a pool hall we had seen down the way. We chose a table close to the street, thinking that we’d get a nice breeze. Unfortunately, an annoying Canadian blew in instead.

We never learned his name, but he rattled on and on about correct pool techniques, insisting that Beth had good form and a lot of potential. As we were racking up for a second game, he enthusiastically insisted that he could teach anyone how to break really well, even us women, who, “no offense,” tended to have really pathetic breaks.

He said he could explain it in less than 3 minutes. Beth took the bait and handed him the pool stick. On and on he went, to the point that I became convinced we were on candid camera, or that show where someone tries to annoy you and if you keep your calm for 10 minutes you get a prize.

“I thought you said this would only take 3 minutes,” I interrupted.

That got him moving, and he set up, showing us nothing we didn’t already know, and shot the cue ball. Right across the room. He had shot it so hard, all the balls went flying over the table, and the cue ball went flying onto the floor. I had to go chasing after it, and a Mexican guy handed it over to me with a grin.

He wanted to try again, but I refused. We finished our game and left.

The next day, we decided to check out the town. We walked along the beach to the Malacon, the long concrete walkway along the beach filled with shops and restaurants. There were tons of sculptures all along the boardwalk, and Beth and I had fun posing next to them.

We looked up at one point and saw a sign that read, “$1 Margaritas.” We could hardly believe our eyes. Strangely, tequila thus far in Mexico had been extremely expensive - quite a let down considering it was one of the reasons we were excited to visit. Beth was well-known at her NY firm for being a big tequila fan. But we had yet to have even a taste of it.

We went upstairs and asked if the sign said true. “Of course,” the man said with a strong American accent.

We sat down and had our first Margaritas of the trip, and decided they were pretty good. We chatted while we took in the great view of the Malacon and the beach, and ordered a second round.

When the American brought them over, we began to chat. He had done quite a lot of traveling as well, and we compared our impressions of the places we had been. He outed himself to us pretty quickly, and told us all about the gay scene in Puerto Vallarta. Apparently, there weren’t any good girl bars, but plenty of gay clubs for men.

He offered us another drink, but Beth and I were feeling surprisingly tipsy and decided to take off. He handed us a Gay Guide to Puerto Vallarta and two key chains.

When we reached the street, we realized that we were in fact intoxicated. We had no idea that 2 margaritas would have such a strong effect, but they surely did. We were giggling our way down the street as a man in a tequila store offered us free samples. We quickly composed ourselves and walked in.

We were greeted by a large array of flavored tequilas - coffee, vanilla, pomegranate, lime… Neither of us had tried flavored tequila before, and we immediately took a liking to it. We bought a bottle for a friend’s birthday, and continued on our way.

Next, we hit up a jewelry store and wandered over to look at the diamond rings. A woman jeweler came over to help us, and showed us a few different styles. Before long, we were engaged in a pretty long conversation about the types of folks who come into the store, who buys the most expensive jewelry, and what men are like in the United States. (Beth: As if we are experts…)

“When the Asian womens come in with the American mens,” she explained, “I always think, OK, this is my SALE! I don’t know what the Asian womens do for them, but they get whatever they want! I want a man like that.”

She said she was saving up money to go to Buenos Aires. She hoped she would find a good guy there. The men in Mexico, she said, didn’t help with chores or with money, and she wanted someone who would pull their own weight. We gave her our card and told her that if she ever came to NYC, we’d try to help her out.

From there, we were lured into yet another tequila store. This one had cheaper bottles, and we were really taken by the flavors. We told the guy we’d think about it and maybe come back when he said, ” You guys could have three bottles for free if you went to see a time share.”

“Oh, really…” we said. We had been to a timeshare presentation in Hawaii (see Mele Kalikimaka), so we were old hands at this scam.

“Ya,” he said. “And you get $200, too.”

We were sold. We didn’t think we’d actually get 200 bucks, that was just too good to be true, but getting 3 bottles of tequila for seeing a really nice hotel sounded good to us. We picked out our flavors, signed up, and set a time. A taxi would be waiting for us at our hotel the next morning at 10am for our showing.

After that, we decided to head back to our place. It was a long walk, and when we got back we were a bit pooped. We downed some water and Squirt and watched TV. About an hour later I asked Beth, “Do you have a headache?”

“Ya,” she said. “A really bad one, actually.”

“Me too!” I said.

By 9pm, we were nursing some pretty serious “hang-overs.” We made sandwiches, drank water, and watched movies for the rest of the night.

“How did we get drunk and hung-over in the same day?” Beth asked.

I had no idea. This was definitely a first for me.

Beth: The next morning we were still struggling from the “hang-overs.” Lauren had the additional pleasure of waking up with Mexican stomach, and was still in the bathroom at 5 minutes to 10. I told her to pull it together; it was for $200 after all. She downed an Imodium and got dressed.

On the way out the door, we remembered all the things we needed — ID’s, credit cards, the receipt for the tequilas — but we locked our keys in the room. The front desk guy downstairs rolled his eyes at us and said we could deal with it when we got back.

The guy from the tequila store and another man he introduced as his boss met us downstairs. Our guy left saying he wasn’t feeling to well (too much tequila also?) but his “boss” escorted us to a taxi that dropped us off at a hotel a few miles south of the city.

We went in and registered, passing the requirements, and we were briefly introduced to a cute gay guy who was going to be our sales rep before a older woman with highlighted blond hair came barging over. She was the woman in charge, and since our guy had an appointment with another couple, she was going to handle us.

Her name was Candy. She was dressed head-to-toe in linen, and she must not have had any pockets because a wad of cash was poking out of her bra right between her low-buttoned shirt. Later I saw her smoking a cigarette and wondered where she had managed to hide the pack.

I figured she had picked us out immediately as a no-sale-just-here-for-the-cash, since she sent our guy away on an “appointment” he didn’t know he had. Instead of writing us off, though I think she took us on as a special challenge.

We all bonded over being New Yorkers, as she mocked another client of hers for saying he had been to New York when he was in fact talking about Albany. Lauren and I ragged on Westchester for claiming for being from the city. Turns out Candy was from Long Island (oops).

She sent us off to do breakfast on our own since we were “New Yorkers and didn’t need hand holding like some of the others.” So we went off to breakfast. Unfortunately, I was still a little green around the gills and couldn’t eat more than a few pancakes, but despite her illness earlier, Lauren managed to do the buffet right, loading her plate us so large that even the waiter commented on its size.

After eating we went to the conference room to meet Candy. She was quickly knee-deep in the sale. She was going to do us right, she promised, since we were New Yorkers. She was going to give us her special managers discount, a price no one else was going to get today, and see if she could throw in some “friends and family” benefits too. At one point she promised to try to find us something in foreclosure, which I knew was B.S., but she did a good job of making us feel special.

We saw the room (it wasn’t the Marriot but we really couldn’t complain); she showed us photos of the sister resorts we could also us our timeshare with. She started trying to map out an entire 6-month trip across Europe for us with the extra “friends and family” 50-free-weeks she was throwing in. And to top it all off, she promised us that she could get a broker friend of hers to sell a couple of our weeks for us and within 6 months we would have made our $12,000 back.

In the middle of this, a Mexican guy named Israel came up. Candy introduced him as her favorite something-or-other and said he’d go over the details with us. After she left, he apologized for being late, saying that he was hungover from one too many beers the night before. Lauren and I weren’t impressed.

He started going over all the ins-and-outs of fees, selling weeks, and the like. To my horror, Lauren started taking notes. I could see she was taking the bait. Worse, I think Candy and Israel could too. When we had run out of questions, I asked for some time for Lauren and I to talk about it on our own.

“You’re not serious about this, are you?” I asked.

“Well…” Lauren started, “I mean, we could make our money back so quickly. We could even make money on it.”

“Lauren!” I whispered, “We can’t do this!”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Well, for starters, don’t you think it’s weird that you have to sign on the dotted line today at this exact moment? That you don’t get time to do your own research?,” I said. And second, I thought, your mother will absolutely kill me if we call her and tell her you actually bought a timeshare.

When Candy came back, I started throwing out every possible issue. She knocked them all down. We don’t have the money for this, I said. You’ll make it all back in six months, she countered, and I can get you a 0% credit card so you don’t even have to front the money. We should be saving for an apartment, I said. You can do both, she insisted.

Finally, I had no choice but to pull the one thing I knew she couldn’t counter.

“I just have a gut feeling. Just in the pit of my stomach, I just think this is a bad idea,” I said.

Candy glowered at me. Lauren was being absolutely no help, playing the good guy, well-I-don’t-want-to-if-you-don’t-feel-comfortable part, which left me as the one for Candy to convince. Candy told us to go walking around, have a drink and relax before we made a decision. I quickly stood up, eager for some air from all of this pressure. Before I could get out the door, Candy walked up to me, completely violating my body bubble, and started in on how she was really pulling out all the stops for us.

“It sounds too good to be true,” I said.

“See?” She countered. “I tried to do you a favor and get you a good rate and now you think its too good to be true. My boss would kill me right now. This is why we’re not supposed to give out this price.”

We finally got away and I tried to regain my composure. This was intense! I really needed to take some lessons for my next contract negotiation. Lauren and I agreed that my gut reaction story was the way to get out of it, so we went back in. Candy wasn’t in sight.

“Look, we can’t do this right now,” I told Israel.

“Okay, okay, I’m not going to pressure you anymore,” Israel said. “But here’s our final offer” he continued, dropping the price to under $10K. So much for the special manager’s discount.

“It’s not the money,” I said. “We just don’t want to do it.”

He added a few jibes in about how we wouldn’t get the golf package and this and that if we didn’t sign today, but he could tell I’d had it. So he let us go.

We went to a room next door, thinking we were home free. But the sales pitches weren’t over. A woman named Paula explained that she could only offer us this deal if we didn’t take the timeshare. For just $2K, she said, we could get the 50 weeks that we could use or sell. She asked if we were interested. I told her I was just too exhausted and that I couldn’t really think about anything else all day. I think she could tell we were too far gone and gave us some information and told us where to go to get our gifts.

We quickly walked out the door, eager to get away, when we heard a woman yelling, “Lauren! Lauren!”

We both picked up our pace, trying to ignore it, horrified that it might be Candy after us again. When we realized the woman was chasing us, I knew there was no option but to turn around. Luckily, it was Paula. We had left the form we needed to get our gifts.

We took the form and got to the elevator to the lobby, successfully avoiding Candy. When we got upstairs, we tried to play it calm as we found the office we needed to go to. We both struggled to play it cool as a woman behind the desk started counting out two thousand pesos (about $200) without further questions. She gave us another 50 peso for a cab back to the city and we grabbed out bottles of tequila and calmly walked out the door.

We managed to get into the cab before we started cracking up laughing. We actually got the money! And, thank god, we did not get a timeshare.

To celebrate our winnings, we did absolutely nothing. We were emotionally exhausted and napped the afternoon away.

That night we decided to walk down the beach to a gay bar called Blue Chairs. I was just about the give up finding it when Lauren said, “I hear gay music.”

Sure enough, it was gay music — that 70’s disco song Celebrate. And we quickly saw the neon disco lights beaming off of the top of the hotel. “Blue Chairs” it read. Silly me, I had actually been looking for blue chairs on the beach.

The hotel was covered in rainbow flags, so we knew we were in the right place. We took the elevator to the roof, and the scene could have been out of any NYC bar. Everyone checking out everyone who walked out of the elevator. Men positioned to watch each other, not the sun that was just setting. I felt like I was back in Chelsea when a gay man moved his chair out of the way for another man walking by and then immediately set it back in my way, forcing me to figure out how to crawl around him. Lovely.

Lauren and I were still hurting a little from the day before and didn’t want to drink, so we got a couple of 7-ups, looking like models for Gay AA.

There was a drag show that night, and it quickly got started. The first performer was really pretty, and I was impressed at how well she could pass as a woman. The second woman was introduced as having “million dollar legs” and when she walked out, Lauren and I were both blown away. Her legs could compete with Tina Turner’s. I started wondering if other men shaved their legs if they would have as nice of legs.

It started raining, so the show got moved inside. We watched a few more acts before we finished our drinks. I didn’t want to have to buy another round (despite our winnings), so we decided to call it a night and go home and pack. We would treat ourselves another night — maybe in Tijuana.

The next morning we were leaving for Mazatlan, our next-to-last stop.