The bar was half-full with the comforting ramble of English, Spanish and attempts to speak either in a broken clamor. To this LA native, it was already feeling like home. I took a seat at the bar beside a dude drinking from a calavera and pondered my first libation.  As the sun was still working on beachfront melanomas, I decided to start my jitter juice journey on the lighter side. A Sapphire Sprite would do the trick and ease me into bliss. My cocktail arrived and I drank. Let’s just say, they don’t make their drinks “easy” at all. That drink was made to hurtle you unfettered into an exploration of your deepest desires. The bartender noticed my reaction and gave that same knowing grin, which said “Welcome to Devil’s.”

As I let the Bombay do its work, I glanced at the signage with its smiling Satan and then it hit me, “I know this guy!” (outside of the adventures with which you are all well acquainted.) My time in Phoenix paid off, it was a cousin of Arizona State’s Sparky the Sun Devil. Well shit, now I was home. Talking to the staff, I found out that the owners Alan and his wife are both ASU grads, and brought their love for their alma mater to their love for Mexico. As locals overheard the conversation, they all agreed that Alan was the man to come to for anything you wanted, or wanted to know about in PV (that’s what the locals call Puerto Vallarta. It took me a tipsy second to figure that one out.) Alan was living my dream. He had created a place that attracts expats, savvy travelers, tourists and locals alike.