As typically happens before sh*t hits the fan during travel, everything was going according to plan. My friend Chris and I were set to join an LGBTQ+ travel writer group in Riviera Nayarit and its surrounding pueblos. I thought it’d be a nice change of pace, a chance to experience Mexican culture beyond the eternal gay tourist party that is Puerto Vallarta.
I had an hour layover in Dallas before my flight to Mexico, so I was just as surprised as the other passengers when I found out American Airlines decided I’d be spending the night there. My flight was delayed until the following morning.
While frantically arguing with a customer service agent, trying to explain why my situation was more important than everyone else’s, Chris messaged he couldn’t come anymore. Something came up.
Suddenly, my 24 hours in Dallas felt like a blessing. I had time to cancel. I was set to join a queer travel group of strangers, which might excite some people, but it felt like a chore to me. I’d only agreed to go for a chance to travel with a close friend. As they say on The Real World, I wasn’t there to make friends.
Unfortunately, the group’s organizer was a pro, effortlessly sidestepping all my attempts to cancel with sly guilt. Call it the burden of politeness, but I got roped in.
Here’s how I survived traveling with strangers and dare I say, actually enjoyed it.
Monday: Learning to give people the chance not to be awful
I’ve lived in New York for ten years, so ignoring people is second nature. Still, when I found out we’d be staying at an all-inclusive resort for the first two nights, I knew destiny had my back by shortening what I used to consider travel purgatory to just one.
At Delta Hotels Riviera Nayarit, I was picked up by a golf cart at the entrance and escorted to my room through grounds that emulated a safari, with multiple pools scattered throughout, including a lazy river and an infinity pool. I was digging it. I was also surprised to see Mexican guests from other regions, alongside the stereotypical American crowd you’d expect at an all-inclusive resort—families with kids, all-you-can-eat enthusiasts, and drunks.
Dinner was scheduled in Sayulita, a nearby pueblo known for its surf-friendly beaches. At first glance, the travel group included a publicist, three gay men over 50, and one of their younger Mexican boyfriends. Oh god, this would be a long trip, I thought.
After cocktails at the fabulous Sayulinda Hotel, which offers the best views in town, and a feast at the local gem Don Pedro’s, I found myself engaging with everyone. I forgot I was supposed to have nothing in common with them.
Tuesday: Food and nature are humanity’s greatest unifiers
After a shockingly delicious buffet breakfast in Delta’s Huichol Restaurant (I went against my nature and got seconds), our group was escorted to the next stop: Jala, a town situated at the foot of El Ceboruco, an active volcano and home to the world’s largest corn cob.
Unfortunately, the volcano was closed due to heavy rain the night before, and I didn’t care for corn.
We stayed at the three-star Nukari Quinta Boutique, which has elegant yet authentic vibes. I loved the spa the most, where the masseuse destroyed my back with her hands and elbows in all the best ways. It was one of the best sports massages I’ve ever gotten.
Still, the massage was 90 minutes—what the heck was I supposed to do with a group of strangers until the next day? The answer, it seemed, was eat. Nukari served us basically everything on their menu, and I failed to find a dish I didn’t like. What I expected to be an early bedtime turned into a 1 a.m. goodnight.
The next day, we toured El Salto Waterfall before heading to our final hotel, and I was thrilled to run free along paths surrounded by greenery, soaking in the adrenaline from the water roaring down the rocks.
I realized I wasn’t really learning anything about my fellow travelers, yet we acted like close friends. If I ever signed up for another travel group, I’d make sure the itinerary was packed with food and nature.
Wednesday: It’s OK to do your own thing, even if you’re with a group
The last hotel was the W Punta de Mita, a 1,500-acre private peninsula that’s home to many other luxury hotels, including the Four Seasons and St. Regis.
The hotel organized a ceviche-making class and a mixology class, and by the end of it, I was tired of small talk.
So, I unapologetically explored the beach on my own. As I was walking along the sand, I saw some guys from my group at the Wet Deck lounging in the same area but separately. I found it kind of hilarious.
After dinner, I decided I wanted to go for a night swim. To my surprise, I invited the group to join me. Blame the espresso martinis. Honestly, the grounds were confusing to navigate at night, and I preferred having someone with me.
Paul, a writer from Toronto, offered to pick me up at my door and escort me to the pool. I was grateful, but still refrained from giving him a goodnight kiss when he dropped me off. He joked about it the next day — just because we’re gay didn’t mean we had to hook up.
All in all, being part of an LGBTQ+ travel group pleasantly surprised me. I completely forgot I was queer in the more conservative parts of Mexico than Puerto Vallarta or Guadalajara. While I wouldn’t sign up for one to visit places like Fire Island or Palm Springs, I learned it’s a safe and exciting way to travel to new, worthy destinations while still being surrounded by community.
