I’m uncertain why Playa Grande carries the name. Consider. Puerto Vallarta sits at the Pacific coast of Mexico. All the beaches accordingly spread along the west part of town. So do the tourists.
Along the opposite, eastern region, begin the mountains and the jungle. Where I’ve settled, a few kilometers away from the coast (and accordingly, from the tourists), is actually not that long of a walk from that jungle.
A fair way down the natural habitat is situated an attraction known as Playa Grande. The river flowing through there, and all throughout town, is fairly narrow, too unsightly and soiled to justify the idea of Playa Grande. If anything, I’m led to believe in the presence of a mountain peak thereabouts. Hence why the name?
Naturally, I could procure an answer via some search or personal inquiry. But you know that’s not how we prefer to conduct business. I’d rather remain in oblivion and unravel the surprise if, and when I manage to culminate the journey.
With that in mind I made my second attempt. It would entail about an hour-long walk one way to reach the junction, an hour walk back, and however long I happen to circumnavigate this mysterious beach/mountain/jungle hotspot.
My previous attempt didn’t stretch far. Twenty minutes down the main road I’d stumbled upon what appeared a dead end - that is, where the half urban, half farmland transforms entirely into farmland. Having contemplated existence over several minutes, I’d thus turned back.
Bear in mind, this garden was enchanted. Pardon, inappropriate quotation. What I meant: bear in mind, I don’t use computerized navigational aids while out on an adventure (or virtually anywhere). I merely commit to memory the general bearings prior to departure, and hope for the best, expecting the average.
As I would later discover, I would have to either cross the pasture head-on, or take a slight detour. I make this sound perplexing and all, but any of these approaches constitute a matter of minutes.
Having overcome the obstacle and reached phase two, the intent was to proceed however far, upwards of an hour, Playa Grande bound, scouting the trail and the difficulty therein involved.
Incidentally, it’s still the hot (≤40C) and rainy season this time of year. The morning time-frame addresses the former, but the latter complicates matters.
As I would quickly assert, much of the rock-and-gravel path soaks in lake-size puddles of mud, often encompassing nearly the entire roadway breadth. Not only that, but vehicles frequently drove through the swamp, splashing the mud all over.
Forty five minutes in I reached a point of too much contention for my nonchalance. The muddy puddles were manifold, the splashing tires raged and roared, while the cattle, no longer constrained by any physical boundary, began to share the roadway with the pedestrians and the vehicles.
I contemplated the farce over the course of about fifteen minutes, and ultimately deemed myself inadequately dressed for the occasion. I’m with such a scarce wardrobe that my hiking garments could easily serve for dinner (or better yet, the other way around) … until sufficiently abused.
I could very inexpensively resolve the issue, but when it comes to shopping - you know, I really have to find myself desperate to rationalize a trip to the racks. But I’ll probably bite the dust in the days forthcoming and reattempt.
Meanwhile, the benefit of strolling around solo is the freedom to simply abandon hikes. It’s not a failure if no one is around to witness.
Questions, comments? Connect.