A Kansas City couple’s experience in Puerto Vallarta amid ‘El Mencho’ mayhem
AI-generated summary reviewed by our newsroom.
- Couple chose Puerto Vallarta for mild February weather and perceived safety.
- They visited Marina Vallarta, enjoyed local restaurants and Malecon boardwalk.
- Travelers remain aware of risks from prior global trips while exploring neighborhoods.
When my wife, Cindy, and I decided 10 years ago to seek out February weather relief, we sought tropical climates and places that looked peaceful yet energizing without being overrun by spring breakers.
Puerto Vallarta seemed to have exactly what we were looking for. Especially after she researched how safe it is — something that was reinforced through our first five trips here and through ongoing reports: It has long been touted among the five safest places in Mexico. A place we have considered serene and welcoming, befitting what one local website calls “an oasis of peace and tranquility.”
Just the same, we’ve been privileged to travel all over the world and are aware there are always risks involved. As Cindy put it, “It increases your sense of humanity to get outside your safe and sanitized bubble.” And I have long thought the world would be a much better place if more people saw how others lived.
So in South Africa, we took in a lot but heeded warnings to stay in our hotels at night. We’ve been lost in Bangkok but figured it out … after a while. In Beirut, we heard what my dad informed us were “death to America” chants and changed direction. In Barcelona, Cindy was alert enough to ward off a would-be thief tugging on her tote bag.
We’d never felt any of that sort of tension here. And not just because we’ve stayed at resorts: We typically are near Marina Vallarta, which, yes, is touristy but lively with truly kind people and great restaurants — and the Tepoznieves ice cream shop where we cobbled together a nice chat with three wholesome Mexican youngsters eager to learn about us.
We’ve had great walks on and around The Malecon boardwalk in the center of town and roamed less glitzy neighborhoods.
About every year, we’ve had terrific dinners at Barcelona Tapas overlooking the city. It’s one of our favorite places anywhere.
When we ate there Saturday night, we were moved again by the service, which starts with neighborhood children opening the door of your ride and extends to the wonderful staff. The feeling compelled me to text a friend about something we used to talk about: people who honor their craft.
As we ate and watched the sunset, we spoke about how beautiful it all was and how lucky we felt to be there.
When we went to bed that night, we were ready to get home after eight days away but felt a bit wistful about leaving.
Then came the chaos of the last few days in the immediate wake of the killing of Mexican drug lord Nemesio Oseguera Cervantes, better known as “El Mencho.”
That happened nearly 200 miles from here. But the ripples extended rapidly and widely after a pre-dawn raid that ignited retaliatory arson and violence around the country — so elaborately that it had to be a pre-choreographed plan for such an event.
As we went downstairs to get a coffee, we saw some smoke on the skyline and heard some rumblings about what was happening. But the main person speaking about it was a woman Cindy the day before had overheard loudly proclaiming to be on hallucinogenics — while she was swigging margaritas — so we didn’t know what to make of that.
But then a friend mentioned the fires, and we saw some online references to it as we were packing. Hmm. Since our flight wasn’t yet cancelled, we went to the hotel lobby debating whether to try to check back in or take a chance on going to the airport.
Right when we got there, a hotel worker told us there was a van going to the airport immediately if we wanted to get on. It seemed worth taking the chance, we thought (or maybe it was mostly me?), since of course we could just go back to that hotel or another if the flight was a no-go.
Only along the way did we get a better grasp of the situation: The roads were virtually empty. Like a ghost town, Cindy called it.
At the first main intersection, we saw a bus and a car that had been torched. The driver turned left into the wrong lane to get around the police tape. Then we saw a charred motorbike.
Bizarre scenes, for sure, but we still had no real comprehension of the mayhem.
When we arrived at the airport, we were relieved it was open and all too easily went through security. Still, our flight hadn’t been canceled. It was all strange, but for a good hour or so there we thought we’d get out.
After learning of the flight cancellation, we started walking back to the front of the airport since we couldn’t find anyone to help us at the gates. Along the way, I stopped to enter the bathroom.
A second later, I heard Cindy call out to me. Before I could respond, she yelled again with more urgency. So I hurried back out to the scary spectacle of hundreds of people running back into the terminal, some screaming and others crying. Security guards were among them, and Cindy heard popping sounds she thought could have been gunfire.
We didn’t question the sense of threat, so we ran among them a good half mile to be evacuated onto the tarmac.
As Cindy told her hometown paper, the Belleville News-Democrat, “I guess we need to be scared, too.” I’ll never forget the look on her face in that first moment.
Along the way, Cindy stumbled a bit and dropped her luggage in front of me. I kind of foolishly picked it up and ran a bit with it before a sweet young fast-food worker insisted on grabbing it for us despite whatever danger he felt.
When I asked him on the tarmac if he understood what was happening, he said he thought it was “terroristas.”
As we stood outside and looked over the landscape, we saw black smoke billowing all across the sky. It was an out-of-body feeling, really.
And when we went back inside, for the first time in our lives Cindy and I found ourselves trying to figure out places to hide if we needed to.
We still don’t know what incited that at the airport, but soon we were understanding the broader picture as we saw fiery images from the city.
The U.S. Embassy issued a “shelter in place” order for all Americans in Mexico, and a man at the embassy reiterated that over the phone. Canada announced a similar advisory for Canadians — who have been a bonus part of why we love coming here.
Pretty soon, we realized we’d be in the airport at least overnight. All the restaurants were closed, so we loaded up at the convenience store that remained open within: a few bags of chips, lots of candy and a Mexican snack with nuts and jalapenos (I think) noted for its “exceso calorias” — which sounded about right.
It was awesome news later to learn that a Sbarro had reopened in the other terminal. Had to wait a while, but it was worth it. Still grateful for the two cheerful women who said they had been working at the airport since 6 a.m.
For people who had ample reason to be worried or distressed, the spirit of the sleepover was impressive. We found almost everyone friendly and happy to share concerns, power outlets and snacks.
At one point after I went to charge my phone, I came back to Cindy pushing a baby in a stroller for a nice couple from Minnesota traveling with four young children. We count them as friends now.
Their family managed to all fit in a large lactation booth, away from the lights that might as well have been lighting a surgical unit.
So we didn’t really sleep. I basically spent the night pacing and writing back to family and friends sending messages of support by text and social media. (We have been uplifted by that the last few days.)
For a few hours Monday morning, we thought we would still get out that afternoon. But by 9 a.m., we reminded each other of something disconcerting from the night before: There were zero commercial airplanes at the airport, and none were arriving.
When our flight was canceled by late morning, we felt like we had to get to a hotel to reset. We were fortunate to get a nice one lined up. But public transportation still was shut down, Uber was not back up and taxis weren’t really running either.
We considered walking the two miles but figured that was too risky, especially with luggage and as woozy as we were.
Then Cindy — as no one who knows Cindy would be surprised to hear — approached a machine gun-wielding Mexican national guardsman for advice about getting a cab when another man speaking with him said he would arrange it.
Minutes later, presto. The cabbie drove crazy-fast on streets with no cars but, surprisingly, pedestrians.
At the hotel, it somehow seemed to be business as usual. We immediately felt comfortable, relieved and safe — despite no evidence of any security at the hotel.
Our experience, of course, has been pretty insulated overall. We have observed very little firsthand and remained skeptical about alarming social media posts — though less so with videos we’ve seen of the destruction from which the city as of Tuesday seemed to be recovering and resetting.
Other than the still-unexplained panic we became engulfed in at the airport, we’ve been, at worst, inconvenienced.
But we understand this has to have been horrifying for our warm and kind Mexican hosts — including a woman I spoke with today who now is fearful in ways she never was before.
No wonder.
As Mike Ballard, director of intelligence at the security firm Global Guardian told USA Today, organized crime tends to leave Puerto Vallarta alone because it’s so tourist-heavy it doesn’t “want to poke the bear.”
I don’t know if it counts as an all-clear, exactly. But as of mid-afternoon Tuesday, the U.S. Embassy wrote that transportation and businesses continue to return to normal operations, airports are secure and that U.S. citizens no longer are being urged to shelter in place.
We have flights set up for Wednesday and Friday, hopeful that we will get home sooner than later.
As Sunday night melted into Monday morning at the airport, I would have said we don’t expect to return to Puerta Vallarta. I still feel wary of the idea.
But I also don’t want to rule it out. Disillusioning as these last few days have been, we have developed strong feelings for Puerto Vallarta and its people — and all this has actually illuminated that more.
A little travel should help give us a better perspective, as usual — even if that’s the trip home this time.
This story was originally published February 25, 2026 at 6:30 AM with the headline "A Kansas City couple’s experience in Puerto Vallarta amid ‘El Mencho’ mayhem."