Viva Mexico

I used to have a tenuous claim to travel snobbery. While I've never spent years travelling the world on $5 a day, or devoted months to rebuilding war-torn villages, I felt like I had amassed a small amount of credibility. Backpacked Europe alone, ridden rickety buses around Central America, hitchhiked through the Gulf Islands. Enough that I could claim a modicum of knowledge and respectability. Well that's gone now.

And even if I had done all that trekking-solo-through-the-Himalayas stuff, I'm pretty sure that it would still be cancelled out. Posing for a photo in Puerto Vallarta whilst holding a donkey and wearing a Viva Mexico sombrero can do that. And that's not even mentioning the blanket draped over my shoulder, nor the fact that the donkey was wearing some sort of denim overall.

Really, we only wanted to take a photo of the donkey. Shawn saw him running around the port area, handler in pursuit, and had to take a picture. But, no sooner had we walked up than I had a sombrero slapped on my head and the donkey dropped in my arms. Shawn was fiddling with the focus and by the time he looked up, there I was - ready for my authentic Mexican photo opportunity.

I have to say, that was one damn cute donkey. I pet his head and he was as soft as a cat.

The tourist photo people have got a great set-up. I watched them hanging out around the port. Real live Indians in flamboyant costumes, chatting and smoking as they waited for the cruise ships to disgorge. Cute girls with handfuls of flyers for local bars, ready to pose in their bikinis with an endless stream of men. Some guy with an iguana. They positioned themselves at the end of the gangways so the tourists walk straight into the trap. As we left the ship, we bobbed and weaved our way around at least three separate photo ops before falling victim to the awwww factor of the donkey.

For the rest of the day in Puerto Vallarto, we kept thinking about the photo op donkey. Shawn thought that this donkey probably only had another month to go before being replaced by a new baby donkey. What becomes of a tourist donkey when it's no longer small and cute and malleable enough to serve as prop? It can't be good. I decided that we would save this donkey from his fate and bring him back to Canada with us. He would stay in our cabin for the rest of the cruise, and on the flight home I would stow him safely under the seat in front of me. Neither of us speak Spanish, so we struggled to string together an offer to purchase the animal. Had babelfish been available, I might have tried Hola, quisiera comprar su burro. But the best we could come up with was "Hey man, cuánto donkey?"

Unfortunately the little donkey, along with all the entire photo op brigade, was gone by the time we got back to the ship. So here's an insider tip for any hardcore travel snobs going to Puerto Vallarta: grab the donkey when you have the chance. She who hesitates will be left with nothing but a silly picture.