Puerto Perfecto!

They don’t call it the Zona Romántica for nothing. Puerto Vallarta reigns as the most gay-friendly and romance-forward destination in Mexico (Wait! Make that in all of the Americas). And the oceanfront Romantic Zone is its sizzling-hot center, where, stats say, one-fifth of all vacationers are of the LGBTQ+ persuasion.

You’ll find most of them sipping a margarita with their feet in the sand of Playa Los Muertos, the bull’s-eye of the scene. Factor in a bone-chilling Minnesota winter and the bonus of daily non-stops via Sun Country Airlines, and start packing your sunscreen.

Old Town stretches just beyond the beach umbrellas lining the alluring Malecón promenade, bursting with bars, cafes and shopping ops plus a non-stop view of the ocean. I confess that I prefer an Airbnb in a close-by residential neighborhood, such as cobblestoned but traffic-free Versalles, for a peek into a typical middle-class Mexican-cum-resident-gringo way of life.

From a top-floor balcony (six thigh-challenging flights of stairs), each morning I sip my coffee while surveying neighbors walking their dogs or washing their cars while cafés fire up their grills for breakfast, and Uber users head out on their way to work or play. Relax at the building’s pool as blackbirds conduct their patrols or head to the ocean. It’s only a 15-minute ramble to the beach or a 20-minute bone-jangling bus jaunt to Old Town. But first, breakfast!

At Aguamiel’s courtyard patio, huevos rancheros hit the spot; it’s Noah’s for egg-topped enfrijoladas and fresh-squeezed OJ; Cayaco, petite and contempo in design, for eggs scrambled with potatoes and a DIY array of salsas; or Fluffy, sporting a line down the block for its so-named pancakes.

Saturday is market day in Central, so we’re off to wander through the crafts offerings at the Three Hens and a Rooster, enclave, then nearby Olas Altas for more of the same. Here, farmers and artisans are backed by live music, which favors an impromptu dance line.

Close by, Tile Park beckons. Its cache of intricately tiled benches offers a chance to rest one’s feet — or scan a volume from the English bookshop just across the street (bathrooms for customers, too!).

Then aim for the nearby Malecón, where beach chairs and swimming-pool-size margaritas encourage a time-out for people-watching. One day, ambling this beguiling promenade, we spotted whales frisking in the distance, while nearby a troupe of Aztec dancers performed, then passed the hat — as did a quartet of top-of-the-flagpole acrobats.

At the north end of the Malecón, anchored by the landmark church of the Virgin of Guadalupe, topped by its iconic crown, it’s Ground Zero for my favorite contact sport: window shopping. Amble along the street a block in from the ocean to discover tiny alcoves of handicrafts surrounding the bigger (and excellent) one-stop-shop called Tlaquepaque. Further along, I make my annual pilgrimage to the store selling antique masks where, to further endanger my bank account, I succumb to yet another wooden face to join its mates on the wall of my condo. At day’s end, we head to Restaurant Adobes, an intimate café whose kitchen knows a thing or two about enchiladas, chiles en nogada and Tex-Mex shrimp.

Sunday morning, temp of 80 degrees (that’s above zero) and not a cloud in sight (as usual, ho hum). We’re loaded up with towels and sunscreen and off for a day at the beach. The water is crisp and clear as gin — ideal for swimming for the brave and sand-strolling for the rest of us.

Which leaves me, as usual, ravenous. Back in the Versalles ’hood, it’s off to Ascensio, a small enclave with a modern flair, where imaginative tacos are the draw (mine featured raw tuna — yum!). Another night, the alley-type patio of Tuna Azul won us with Bunyan-size margaritas, flavorful guac, and my entrée choice of diced raw tuna mingling with mango, avocado and more. My dining partner’s order of shrimp in an airy tempura batter tasted even better.

For lunch that day we craved birria — that beloved pulled beef plus cup of consommé combo — and the best in town, they say, is to be found at ultra-informal Birriería El Tio Toño, where a chicken roamed the cement floor as we inhaled the magic potion.

We then waddled our way to the Old Town’s gallery district (DIY maps available) to peer into the city’s forward contemporary art scene, with prices geared toward Americans with fat checkbooks. Fun to ogle, though. Galería Colectika spotlights “ancestral contemporary” art, as does Galería Indígena, devoted to fancy beadwork.

More art is to be found on the table (eight of them) at La Fina, a sweet destination for a finale dinner. My choices: duck sope flavored with an addictively tart green sauce, followed by fried plantain stuffed with braised pork, more green sauce, white cheese, cream and beans. Or choose octopus chicharrón, lamb quesadilla, and more meaty plates. Reserve a table or weep.

Well, weep anyway, for it’s time to board a flight home tomorrow.           

SIDEBAR:

Over 30 gay bars in Old Town alone, including top picks like Bar Frida, Garbo, Paco’s Place, Antropology, Blue Chairs Resort by the Sea, Ritmus Beach Café (“green chairs”) and the lesbian-centric Apaches.

Gay Guide Vallarta is a free guide-cum-map booklet available at many Old Town watering holes.