No Hablo Espanol

I’ve become what I hate most in this world.

You know those tourists that hold up the line on public buses? They stand in the doorway for way too long, trying to wrap their thick heads around the seemingly simple concept of exact change.

Now I am one of those tourists. Just take me out and shoot me. To be fair, it was pouring rain and I was a little confused. My Spanish interpreter (who also happens to be my sister, as well traveling companion and wedding date) is ill, so I went off to explore Puerto Vallarta on my own.

I boarded a bus in a flurry of rainwater and chaotically handed the driver the first bill I could find: 500 pesos (worth about 50 bucks). After returning a blank stare to his barrage of Spanish, I gratefully accepted the change. Thank god Mexican buses give change.

It was a long and painful journey to the center of town that later involved me getting off at the wrong stop, walking along side a highway for what seemed like hours, getting splashed by passing semis driving through puddles, etc etc, you fill in the pathetically cliché details of an adventure gone wrong.

But eventually, I found what I was looking for: a spectacular Mexican sunset.





And after the sunset I found what I was REALLY looking for: a spectacular Mexican taco. Yum.