Or at least I did before our encounter with her.

It was on a peaceful mid-morning stroll down a quiet beach trail that we first met Maria. We didn’t call her that then – for now she was just stray dog number #127 in this sleepy little beach town.

But it wasn’t long before we realized she wasn’t like the other neighborhood canines.

We didn’t know exactly how to reach our destination that morning but the owner of the cabin we stayed at had told us there was only one road down to the beach, so we couldn’t get lost. Things weren’t quite as straight forward as he seemed to think, with pathways spraying off – one looking equally as much a “main track” as the next – frequently veering around hidden corners left and right, leading into little shaded courtyards, quiet family shops, or down to the shore where fisher-children in their little boats hang out. It turned out we needed some help with directions. And fortunately on this day, Maria decided to oblige.

It was about 15 minutes down the path that we realized Maria (we decided she needed to have a Spanish lady’s name) knew well the way to the beach and was indeed leading us there – experience telling her of course, that that’s where tourists are normally headed. At this stage I figured from a stray dog’s mind it was a pretty easy gig. Pick up a tourist walking along the path, walk with them down to the beach and maybe they give you some of their food.

But Maria’s level of commitment seemed to betray that she was in it for more than just a meal.

We were advised by a local man that the normal path down to the beach (where Maria was leading us) had been flooded and that we needed to go an alternate route. As soon as Maria saw us change plans she was back out in front, leading us down the alternate route, obviously knowing the way just as well as the man who advised us.

Then came a challenge. A river crossing.

This alternate route involved making our way across a flowing body of water of about 50 meters width that was along side the beach, rushing into the ocean. Of course, Maria was the first in.

We could stand up in the waist high water but for Maria, with only an average dogs swimming skills, paddling against a current is tough. “It’s a pretty hard way to earn a feed Maria”, I thought.

Nonetheless, we crossed the river and carried on the path. After one more disagreement where we inevitably deferred to Maria’s navigational judgment, we were at our destination. We’d also officially declared Maria our friend for the weekend.
We brought Maria some tacos from the local restaurant on the beachfront but not once did it seem like that’s what she was there for. She didn’t sit by us looking up with those doggy eyes. She didn’t beg, she hardly stirred. Maria was too wise for that. She had too much dignity.

She sat by us for the afternoon, relaxing, popping into the waves for a swim when we did, and retiring to her spot in the shade when we did. About this point we realized Maria didn’t really want food. She wanted a friend.

So it came time to leave the beach and jump in a little boat to take the short trip across the bay back to our cabin. By this time it was decided that Maria was coming with us. We were preparing to lift her on to the boat and everything. What we didn’t realize was that Maria had already made the decision for us. No lifting was required.

Maria, with all the strength in her old bones, leaped from the shoreline, got her front paws over the edge of the boat, and wriggled her way in. By now the idea that this was a scam she pulled to pick up free food was long gone. For at this stage even I, dog hater extraordinaire was convinced that Maria “liked” us, and wanted to be in our company. But the spectacle that was Maria continued to grow.

We arrived back at our beach, from where we had to walk about 100m to our cabin. Maria hadn’t seen us at this place earlier in the day as we had only met her much farther down the path. She didn’t know where we lived, so we figured this time we would be leading her.

Wrong.

As soon as we started walking Maria took off up ahead. We thought maybe that was it, and she was returning to her home somewhere around here too. But strangely, somehow, she was walking in the direction of our house.

By this time we believed Maria capable of anything but none of us really thought there was some way she could know which house we’d lived in.

We continued up the path, around the corner, up the steps, and sure enough, there was Maria, sitting patiently at our front door.

The four of us stood speechless, our jaws hanging open.

How many tourists must have stayed in this house? How many times can this dog have done this? Maybe she picked up our smell but how many tourists smells must she have smelled that day? How many similar smelling tourists must have lived in the same area? How had she done it? And WHY?

In that moment, Maria became the most extraordinary dog that had ever lived.

She spent the night, we cooked her dinner, she stood guard over our house and barked when people came to the door, and politely walked to the exit to notify us when she needed to go potty.

We hung out for the rest of the weekend and when we left, sadly, we parted.

Still one week later I can’t come to terms with the fact that a stray dog, obviously kicked around in its life, underfed, malnourished and disadvantaged, could have developed such a kind and gentle nature.

I didn’t think stray dogs would develop connections with people – they don’t have owners! I didn’t think stray dogs would know that they shouldn’t do their business in the house! I didn’t think stray dogs would have the tendency to be protective over a given area – they don’t have homes!

I’m not the kind of person who says things like this, or even believes the following statement to be possible, but I can’t help but think that somehow, Maria “cared” about us. We hadn’t raised her, and we’d only known her for half a day, but she wanted to be around us. She wanted to make sure we were alright.

And you know what? If there’d been doggy t-shirts for sale in Yelapa – I might just have bought her one.

A few weeks ago some of the boys in our street painted what is basically a full size volleyball court, (complete with boxes for the servers) on the cobblestones of our street. They tied up a proper net between a drain pipe on one side and a neighbors fence on the other and presto: our quiet little calle got completely consumed by a noisy afternoon sports arena.

But you find kids playing in the streets everywhere right? Sure.

Only in Mexico something is different.

The volleyball games that now go on every afternoon outside our building aren’t just enjoyed by the players, the boys who painstakingly concocted this spontaneous stadium.

Every member of each family involved (as far as I can tell) is in attendance. The mothers are watching from the sidelines. The younger daughter is minding the little baby as he wanders the perimeter, seemingly meters from impending danger. The middle brother who doesn’t feel like playing is cheering his siblings on from the galleys. A friend from the neighborhood is monitoring the net to make sure any given play doesn’t dislodge it from it’s ad hoc binding.

Everyone’s involved somehow. And the longer you watch it, the more beautiful it seems.

It’s the consummate example of a yet nameless characteristic I’ve continually observed ever since arriving here.

I was fascinated right from the get go that whenever we’d call a service person to our house, whether for a problem with plumbing, to connect up our phone line, or to fix a leak on the roof, we’d never get a single technician.

The “plumber” that arrived at our house was 1 guy, his two cousins and one of their sons. All doing their little bit to get our drains unclogged and our taps properly sealed.

The guy who connected our phone line brought along his 11 year old son who he was training into the business. The little guy was drilling holes in our wall, connecting wires, and shouting instructions back and forth through his two-way.

Even when our land lord came to fix something on our roof it was him and his 2 buddies. The job took all day between breaks, good chats, and shared beers.

It’s just how it is. Even the simplest of tasks are better performed by a group, not because Mexican’s are lazy or less competent than anyone else. They don’t work in groups because they MUST, but because then CAN.

The other factor we couldn’t help but notice was a stark lack of homeless people around the place. You know that alot of people are poor, and it seems like consequently you should see a lot more beggars, bums sleeping on sidewalks, and all that.

Not in our town.

We posed the question to an American who has lived in the area for 20 years and he promptly replied “It’s because family bonds are so strong here. If you end up on the street, whether it’s a grandparent, a second cousin, or even an in law, SOMEONE will take you in.”

Family comes first. You look after them and you are confident that in the same situation, someone would look after you.

It applies equally to one’s treasures and one’s burdens.

If a taxi driver finds a fun little game to play, flicking a coin on to a rock to help kill time in between taxi shifts, he lets the other drivers know about it too, and they all play together. If you have to waste your one day off work fixing a roof, there’s a buddy who knows that pain and is happy to help shoulder that burden with you.

It’s the unending desire to be connected in this country, whether to family, community, or friends. It’s clear that for the majority, the desire (perhaps the need) to be a part of something greater supersedes the western allure of individualism, the “going it alone”, “don’t need no one/nobody” mindset.

It makes for a delightful culture; particularly if you’ve come from one of the developed nations to which it poses such a contrast. It’s one of the many unique things you come to love about being here; something I know I’ll never forget.

As yet we’re only half way but it’s certainly lead us to some special spots and allowed us many a lasting memory. Here’s a short list of brief mentions from the adventures – a more full list to come!

The highest up the list we’ve hit is number 3 – called El Bacalao. This was a place we walked past almost every day for months and almost never gave a second glance. A completely unassuming place, which from the outside seems only to serve seafood. (large pictures of fish adorn the walls, it’s decoration is mostly blue, and the signs are all for Ceviche, Camaron, Pescado and all the other Spanish words I’ve come to know mean seafood)

Fortunately we got the tip from a nearby barman and were enlightened as to the insanity of the Arrachera steak strips that come with a cheese, herb and pineapple gravy, all served in a lava rock dish, to be had with the ubiquitous tortilla. Suffice it to say that after consuming this meal – it took but 3 days before I was overcome by it’s taste haunting my memory and we were back for more.

Next honorable mention is number 8 on the list, Joe Jack’s Fish Shack. Actually just a few doors down from the aforementioned, this was another place that after our first meal, could not resist returning to within 3 days (No, actually… this one it was 2 days). What haunted memories this time (Elysia’s) was the succulence of a Mexican BBQ Chicken dish, grilled and marinated to moist and flavorful perfection.

I also had the signature Red Snapper cooked in garlic and herbs which did in no way disappoint. Oh AND… it has a gorgeous rooftop terrace to boot.

Next up, at number 9 on the list, Barcelona Tapas. I didn’t intend this post to have such a theme but in fact, this is another of the restaurants we’ve been forced to return to for a second helping after a top notch first experience. Barcelona Tapas just impresses right from the complimentary entre – a warm garlic potato salad that while completely simple, is a taste sensation.

Whether you want to try the Spanish delicacy Paella, or some killer tender beef skewers, BT will fulfill your desires. And talk about a setting. Sitting back up the hill about 5 blocks from the beach, this restaurant has hands down (that we’ve seen so far) – the best view of any in the bay.

If you’ve got a rad Vallarta restaurant you think should be on the list, let us know!

Plenty more to come…

Fajita Republic was a restaurant just off Olas Altas at the very beginning of Basilio Badillo that while always looking popular and interesting on the inside, we’d so far passed up for the aforementioned reason. Fortunately last night we decided to change our minds.

This place impressed us in almost every way that a restaurant can impress.

We loved the atmosphere: open air, the cool bamboo lamp type things creating a perfectly dim light, and the music was (for us RnB lovers) killer! (easy going RnB tunes from 2000-2009).

The food turned out to be Mexican but with enough combinations and variations to make it very interesting, among them our entre, Mayan Cheese Sticks – a cheese stick served in a delicious herb + soup/gravy type broth that you eat with sour cream and salsa, rolled in a tortilla! Yes, a calorie feast to be sure, but worth every extra wasteline millimeter!

For mains, we sampled the “falling off the bone” BBQ ribs, buffalo wings, and a mixed Mexican plate that had quesadilla’s, chicken enchilada’s, Carne Asada, guacamole, and more.

My ribs were (as I described at the time) meat flavor and tenderness: 8/10 – BBQ sauce: 6/10 – could have a little extra flavor. Elysia found the buffalo wings to be a little light on meat although they were voluminous enough to compensate (big enough serving) and our friend’s Mexican plate was delicious from taco to tortilla.

After dinner we took the waiter’s recommendation of a shot called “German Chocolate Cake” which, containing, Vodka and Frangelico plus a sugared lime to suck afterward, was surprisingly creamy and awesome.

Finally, maybe even the BEST part about Fajita Republic is the price! For the kind of place and the area it is, we were ready to pay a LOT more, some notable samples being: $114 pesos (now only 10 USD) for my plate of ribs (even at Chilli’s you pay $180 and these ribs were MUCH better), FREE White Russian after dinner drinks, and free special nacho plate with our entre. All up for 3 of us, an entre, 2 drinks each and 3 mains we paid about $70 USD before tip… just ridiculous!

If you’re considering Fajita Republic, we say DEFINITELY go for it.

So first comment: Don’t look this place up on Google Maps. It seems to tell you that there are 2 locations, or better yet, 1 location that’s not actually where the place is. Gmaps says it’s right up near the airport but actually it’s just south of Walmart.

It’s quite a new mall, and is located on Francisco Medina, the main road through that part of town, in the North hotel zone, right next to Hotel Krystal. (if you tell a cab driver Hotel Krystal, you’ll get to it). If all else fails, you could walk to it (south) from Walmart depending on the time of year and your tolerance to sweatyness.

The mall is pretty decent. It’s a very American mall complete with Starbucks and Chilli’s, a good place to go to quell your home sickness while on vacation. There’s Theirry’s Steakhouse also, which we’re yet to visit but seems to be popular, and a handful of banks and boutique clothing shops for all the ladies.

Don’t be afraid of the soldiers guarding the toilets with AK-47′s either, they won’t bother you unless you forget to wash your hands…

Anyway, just wanted to put this out there quickly because I didn’t see anything about this in Google when I searched either. Hopefully now I can fix that!