When Corey Andrus stepped out of his Puerto Vallarta vacation home Sunday morning, his vacation mode quickly faded.
His return flight to Minneapolis was scheduled for 3 p.m., and his luggage was packed. The airport car was also a few minutes away. Instead, he saw black smoke billowing across the skyline.
“There was smoke everywhere,” he recalled. “That’s when we realized something was wrong.”
Within minutes, I received a message from the property manager saying, “Please don’t come outside.” The highway was closed. Ride sharing has been suspended. Shortly thereafter, his flight was cancelled.
Violence has erupted across Mexico following the killing of cartel leader Nemesio Rubén Oseguera Cervantes, known as El Mencho, in Jalisco state. In Puerto Vallarta, traffic corridors were disrupted by road closures and vehicle fires, prompting shelter-in-place orders and widespread flight cancellations.
For Andras and his partners, change came quickly.
From brunch plans to barricaded doors
The couple was staying in a villa near Zona Romantica, a popular LGBTQ neighborhood in Puerto Vallarta. After going outside for a while, a nearby staff member told me to go back inside because it was a “code red.”
“We locked all the doors, closed the blinds and turned off the lights,” Andras said. “Then we started Googling.”
Information was lacking. Official updates reiterate the simple instructions to evacuate to a designated location. But social media filled the void.
Rumors spread online that armed groups would begin targeting people in the streets at 1pm, with some postings warning that hotels would be attacked at 5pm. None have been verified. In that moment, it felt real.
“Without clear information, the mind thinks of worst-case scenarios,” he says.
The silence increased my anxiety. He had never heard sirens. There is no visible emergency response. As night fell, the streets that had started the day with bikes and smoke grew quiet.
“We just waited,” he said. “The phone is charged. The lights are off.”
exploration of water
Soon, more realistic concerns surfaced. It’s supplies.
They were scheduled to leave that day, so there was no food or bottled water left in the villa. The nearby OXXO convenience store was closed. A gas station at a major intersection was engulfed in flames.
I was lucky enough to manage to catch one of the last departing flights thanks to a friend from Washington DC. Before leaving, they sent the door code and told Andras to bring everything he needed.
Inside was a bottle of water and a protein shake.
“It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get me through,” he said.
The next day, the helicopter received another blow.
Mexican marines swept low over the roofs, rattling the windows. At one point, Andrus stepped onto the balcony and made eye contact with armed military personnel in a helicopter hovering nearby.
“That was scary,” he said. “But it was also reassuring. We were finally making our presence felt.”
chaotic community
By Monday evening, residents had begun to cautiously reopen.
Corporate convenience stores remained closed and many were damaged. Small shops in the neighborhood opened their gates, letting in a few customers at a time. There was no price gouging. No panic buying. Local residents restricted water purchases to ensure others had access.
“I felt organized,” Andrus said. “People looked out for each other.”
The restaurant, which was preparing for its grand opening, was transformed overnight into a temporary kitchen for those in need of meals. The menu didn’t matter.
“They said, ‘We have rice, we have noodles, let’s make something,'” he says. “That was a turning point for us. We were like, OK, we’re going to be OK.”
By Tuesday morning, the garbage truck was back. Restaurants have also reopened. The streets looked familiar again. It has become almost familiar.
“It was surreal,” he said. “You can go to brunch within 48 hours of smoke and helicopters.”
Misinformation and the fight to get home
If the violence had been disgusting, the digital chaos might have been even worse.
Flights were repeatedly canceled on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday. Andrus said he called Delta more than 20 times to secure a seat. At one point, it was heard that the plane was being shot down, but that claim was never substantiated.
“It was a layer of misinformation on top of uncertainty,” he said.
In the end, two seats became available on the larger aircraft.
“They were by the bathroom,” he said. “We didn’t care.”
The experience highlighted broader concerns. In emergencies, social media can amplify fear faster than facts can spread.
“The lack of information was the most difficult part,” Andrus said. “You don’t know what’s true.”
anchor in the storm
Throughout this journey, he continued to rely on his partner, who, in an even more perverse twist, had broken his elbow at the beginning of the journey and had gotten through the ordeal with a sling.
“We couldn’t have done it alone,” Andrus said. “We were able to ground things with each other.”
Returning to Minneapolis, he noticed parallels between Puerto Vallarta and the nation’s uneasy moment. In both cases, he said, neighbors took action before the facility did.
“The common denominator is that people help people,” he said. “That’s what sticks with me.”
Despite the confusion, Andrus says he never felt targeted as a gay tourist. Looking back, he believes tourists were not at the center of the violence.
His point is less about fear and more about clarity.
“We are safe,” he said. “Puerto Vallarta is safe. But accurate information is important.”
Eventually, the smoke cleared. Flights have resumed. And this story of vacation turned survival became a reminder of something quieter. In other words, when there is no certainty, the community fills in the gaps.
Source: Gayety – gayety.com
