Told by Ghost Alvarez

The second worst decision of my life came from betting on myself in an underground Texas motorcycle race.

The first worst decision?

I let Roxy talk us into crossing the border to Mexico after that race.

Don’t get me wrong. Mexico is home. I spent my childhood between Baja along with Arizona as well as learned Spanish before I could buy alcohol. That explains my excess of confidence when I deal with risky situations in this country.

But Mexico wasn’t the issue. We were the problem.

To be exact: four beaten-up gringos next to me crossed into a place where people knew us for poor choices or our complete lack of survival instinct. The situation was about to turn worse.

Crossing the Border (And Almost Getting Detained)

We hit the border at Laredo, battered, hungover, and trying to look less like fugitives than we actually were.

Mack, still pissed about the Texas race, was brooding in silence. JD, forever dramatic, had been reciting his “final words” in case we got detained. Theo, being a psychopath, was writing detailed notes on our reckless behavior like we were some kind of twisted case study.

And Roxy?

She was grinning. Because of course she was.

The customs officer, a man who had definitely seen some shit, eyed us from his booth. His gaze lingered on my bruised face, then on JD’s shredded jacket, and then on Roxy’s infuriating smirk.

“Where are you headed?” he asked, unamused.

“Puerto Vallarta,” Roxy answered way too quickly.

He squinted. “For what?”

“Vacation.”

At that exact moment, JD coughed up half a lung, Mack cracked his knuckles like he was ready to throw hands, and Theo’s stupid notebook fell open to a page titled “The Psychology of Bad Decisions.”

I could physically hear the man lose faith in humanity.

“Pull over,” he said.

How to charm your way out of border trouble

Long story short: We got pulled aside.

Longer story short: Roxy flirted our way out of it.

Roxy cast some spell on those officers. Twenty minutes passed before they waved us through with a warning along with a half-laughing “Good luck” from one guard.

JD became furious. “If I tried that I’d be in federal prison.”

“That’s because you’re annoying,” Roxy said as she patted his cheek.

Then we sped south.

Puerto Vallarta: Heat beer or questionable plans

We landed in Puerto Vallarta three days later after a detour through Monterrey (don’t ask) along with a mishap in Guadalajara (again, don’t ask). We almost missed our flight because JD decided to “negotiate” tequila prices at duty-free.

The moment we landed I felt drained next to my red skin as I doubted my decisions.

Puerto Vallarta felt new.

A mix of salt and fresh tortillas filled the air. The sun pressed down with mercy as well as the sea spread before us like time stood still.

We left the airport and saw our lack of direction.

“Which place did we book?” Mack asked with anger.

Roxy moved her hand. “Take it easy. A solution exists.”

Mack stared. “Roxy we stand in a foreign country.”

“Yes.”

“No place waits for us.”

“Yes.”

“We lack Spanish skills ‒ “

I lifted my hand. “A correction: You lack Spanish skills.” JD let out air. “We need a place to sleep.”

Beer first planning later

In normal American style we skipped the problem or went to Monzón Brewing Co. a quality craft brewery in town.

The taproom offered relief ‒ cold AC next to wooden decor as well as a bar with excellent beer in Jalisco.

We chose Puerto Vallarta Pale Ale which tasted crisp had citrus notes along with clarity that introduced Vallarta’s craft scene.

Then we tried Maracuyá Gose a passionfruit sour that hit every nerve in my body.

Theo froze in place.

“This” he whispered at his glass. “This is art.”

JD took a sip or let out a sound. “Holy shit.”

Even Mack stopped his anger for five seconds.

Meanwhile Roxy talked to the bartender. “So, any secret breweries around here?” A moment that sparked our problems.

Finding a place to stay (aka realizing we are idiots)

After too many beers we remembered we lacked a home. JD – the only responsible fool left – pulled out his phone to search for a Puerto Vallarta real estate agency estate agency for rentals.

“Okay” he muttered. “I found a place for vacation rentals-“

“Just pick something” I said.

JD scrolled. “A house faces the ocean.”

“Perfect.”

“A penthouse with a jacuzzi.”

“Better.”

“A small bungalow next to a taco stand.”

Roxy slapped the table. “BOOK IT.”

Mack groaned. “This explains why we die.”

What happens next?

After we secured a rental we had a base of operations.

Our mission? To find Puerto Vallarta’s most remote breweries.

The reality?

The trouble ahead exceeded our expectations.

Because a bartender at Monzón shared a tip.

A secret brewery lay hidden in the jungle. A man known as El Alquimista ran it.

I should have stopped right there.

But I drank the last of my beer next to my wild friends and said what made sense.

“Let’s go.”

Final beer notes: Monzon Brewing Co.

•            Puerto Vallarta Pale Ale: A smooth pour with notes of citrus and tropical fruit stands as a perfect welcome to local craft beer.

•            Maracuya Gose: A bright taste with fresh passionfruit leads to an uplifting experience.

•            Overall: The beers score perfect marks but leave no room for wise decisions.