In my senior year of college, my friends suggested a weeklong voyage to Mexico. With student debt at the forefront of my mind, I agreed to join them on the condition that the trip was affordable. For $600, we sailed on what felt like a geriatric cruise to Mazatlán, Puerto Vallarta, and Cabo. Days were spent playing shuffleboard, ballroom dancing and perfecting napkin folding. That was my first (and last) cruise, but my love affair with Mexico was just getting started.
To date, I’ve probably crossed the border more than 50 times, dipping into new destinations with each trip. Now, two decades after that initial Mexican Riviera jaunt, I was on a quest for a getaway overshadowed by the cool kid.
I wanted to shake hands with the underdog, one with great potential to become the next Tulum or San Miguel de Allende. And so my five-day journey took me back to Puerto Vallarta from where I would web out to three destinations in the coastal state of Jalisco: San Sebastian del Oeste, Punta Pérula and Tamarindo. It would provide a sampling of town, coast and preserve with a smack of Mexican culture to boot.
A direct flight from San Diego had me landing in Puerto Vallarta at 2 p.m., and I was at my hotel by 4.
On previous visits, I had explored the crowned parish of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, Vallarta Botanical Gardens, the mosaics of Lázaro Cárdenas Park and Casa Kimberly — the home that Richard Burton bought for Elizabeth Taylor following their Vallarta love affair.
No matter how many times I’ve visited “PV”, it’s always the Braille-like streets of Zona Romántica that remind me I’m far from home. Draping across cobblestone alleys are floating umbrellas and banner flags backdropped by mindful graffiti telling stories of Mexico’s past.
In all directions, traffic halted for processions honoring the Virgin of Guadalupe when thousands of pilgrims take to the streets to demonstrate their faith. Their commitment to religious tradition dramatically contrasted with the atmosphere of the Hilton Vallarta Riviera where a lively DJ transformed the pool deck into a dance club.
Albeit far from tranquilo, this getaway between Bahia Banderas and downtown Puerto Vallarta lured me by its central location and sparkling pools. Washing off the day’s flight, I swam laps between gyrating bodies, oblivious to the girl in goggles who craved a swim and siesta.
This all-inclusive hotel heard my cry, giving me a top-floor room with Club-Lounge access for post-flight peace and Pacific Ocean views. Early to bed, early to rise, the next morning I was off to the historic mining town of San Sebastian del Oeste.
With hues of blue in the rearview mirror, the two-hour route climbed the Sierra Madre Occidental Mountains. I stopped roadside to swap flipflops for shoes and shorts for pants. In the cool pine air, the smell of grilled meat and fresh tortillas had me pushing pause at Hacienda Don Lalin.
When in Mexico, its justifiable to start the day with lamb tacos and a shot of raicilla (she tells herself). The owner, Lali, gave me a micro-education on the distilled spirit produced from agave plants, similar to tequila or mezcal. There are 169 varieties of agave, five of which are designated for raicilla. Lali should know. In 2021, his small-batch beverage won national awards despite the primitive process in a small clay oven.
Nearby this smoky haven — at the mouth of El Progreso Bridge — is Panaderia Bakery (aka Carmen’s) where carb-ivors can find warm empanadas, sweet cakes, flaky pastries and what some call “the best bread in Mexico.” Just beyond this farming community of La Estancia was my destination, San Sebastian del Oeste.
Founded in 1605, the town was officially recognized as one of Mexico’s Magical Towns some 400 years later. From the moment I crossed the narrow bridge, there was no doubt San Sebastian was mágico. Teetering at 4,800 feet, the former mining center still winks at its prosperous past with stately haciendas framed by barrel-tiled roofs and French balconies.
In its silver-and-gold heyday, the town was a commercial center busting at the seams with more than 20,000 residents. Today, it’s made up of just 700 locals who cling to its historical, cultural and architectural value, ignoring the fact the mines ran dry in 1921.
I too saw its richness — in the zocalo where a farmer tossed corn to pigeons beside a French-inspired gazebo; in the adobe houses where roosters crowed, gardens flourished and dogs basked in the sun; and in the porticoes where coffee, dominoes, beer and tacos were topics of the day.
Veining out from this plaza are narrow, winding alleyways where stone walls shelter small orchards of avocado, coffee, guava, peaches, walnuts, oranges and more. The weight of their branches bowed in bountiful defeat, which is why the town is void of grocery stores. There’s certainly plenty of produce to go around, from one neighbor to another, trading goods for services to keep the corporate boys at bay.
Destinated a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the town seems locked in time with its local jail, City Hall, old haciendas and Templo de San Sebastián boasting ceiling frescoes and Spanish Baroque architecture. Weaving between church pews was a white cat with blue eyes, and for some reason his presence seemed appropriate. I thought of my own four dogs, and for a split second wondered what it might take to move my pack to San Sebastian.
My reverie broke with the roar of a wide-open throttle. This dusty motorbike was one of many that zipped through town toward La Bufa, the highest point in San Sebastian. Accessible only by 4-wheel drive, those without off-roading access can lean on Malibrí Turismo, a local agency that drove me 45-minutes to the peak. Mid-climb was Real Alto, a small town with just 20 residents and a noteworthy church, Iglesia Nuestra Senora del Rosario.
Of course, the star of the show was the view from La Bufa, teasing clear-day panoramas spanning all the way to the Pacific. From 8,530 feet, I wound back toward town where I overnighted at Hacienda Caudillos. This boutique hotel pays tribute to Mexico’s past with antique decor and memorabilia from the revolution. Historic yet cozy, there are in-room fireplaces, a courtyard Jacuzzi, and a lovely dining room serving steak, seafood and pasta.
For dinner, I reserved space for two local restaurants: Villa del Nogal, a French restaurant with valley views, and Jardin Nebuloso, the benchmark for gourmet Mexican cuisine. The latter delivered a work of art with each course, with seasonal ingredients sourced from their biodynamic farm and ecological reserve.
Two days in San Sebastian allowed plenty of time to dabble in handcrafted cigars, mining tours, distillery crawls, waterfall hikes and chocolate tasting. The richest of the five was sinking my teeth into authentic Mexican chocolate at Villa Cocoa. Dark bars, creamy truffles, jams and spreads tempt from their first aroma.
Next stop, Punta Pérula. It was worth the painful wake-up call to tackle the four-hour drive to Costalegre’s capes, beaches and bays. Midway, I grabbed breakfast in Puerto Vallarta and continued south to the secluded town of Pérula. On the northwest end of Bahía de Chamela, it's relatively void of tourists who opt for upscale communities like Playa Rosa. My hub (and pillow) of choice was at Casa Timacalli, a modern hotel within walking distance to the town, pier and beach. Third-floor rooms overlook a pool and restaurant serving Hawaiian-Mexican fusion and impressive breakfasts (the French toast is next level).
Offshore are 11 small islands including Isla Cocina, the diamond of the destination roughly 20 minutes from shore. A $60 boat trip took me there and back to an undeveloped, tranquil island that has likely appeared in a former dream or two. Sands are powder white, the water is 50 shades of blue, and the cove itself is sheltered from wind and waves. Good thing I had my goggles ... and water, and beer and an umbrella. There is nothing out there, literally, as it should be.
Other than that idyllic island afternoon, time was spent napping and sampling tacos from every cart, stand and truck in town. Tacos Carmelona, Tacos Minni and Taqueria Cecy flipped tortillas like a card trick, pinching piles of carne asada, chorizo, chicken, pork, fish and shrimp onto tacos that could be devoured in two bites. Agua fresca came in massive Styrofoam cups, and food was served on plates wrapped in plastic bags. Color went global with salsas, cilantro, beans, pickled carrots and grilled onions the size of eggs.
From Pérula, I headed two hours south to Tamarindo. Not to be confused with the Costa Rican surf town by that same name, this natural sanctuary is on the verge of major discovery now that the Four Seasons Resort set up shop in November 2022. Set within a 3,000-acre private reserve, the luxury hotel is built into cliffs overlooking a secluded peninsula book-ended by jungle.
The entrance alone is worth noting since it’s a 20-minute drive from the gate to the lobby. Along the way is Rancho Ortega, a 35-acre working ranch with zero-mile sourcing for root-to-dish cuisine. With over 17 varieties of fruit, the farm is reaping the benefits of its harvest with pomegranates, figs, cocoa, guava and even agave that distills its way into private label tequila.
Lamb, chicken and goat are in the works, and while the farm is still in its infancy, the goal is to support roughly 30% of the hotel’s ingredients.
I for one could certainly taste the difference at Nacho Taqueria, yet another excuse to eat tacos.
Seasonal mushrooms came straight from the farm, as did the cilantro, onions, lemon, chilis and corn for the handmade tortillas.
Unlike other Four Seasons properties, this new resort offers reasonably priced food and services.
A taco was $7, a beer $8, and a round of golf on the oceanfront course was $250. Cheap? No, but by Four Seasons standards, it was worth a doubletake. The financial shock of course, comes in the price of the room, with standards starting at $1,300 a night, and suites — with private pools — at a ghastly $2,300.
Many would say it’s worth every peso. Fourteen years in the making, the Four Seasons Tamarindo is the brainchild of Owner Roberto Hernández Ramírez, the former CEO of Banco Nacional de México. He stacked hands with the architectural firm LegoRocha, who leaned heavily on pre-Hispanic culture, colonial heritage and contemporary Mexican design to shape the 157-room resort. Concrete, wood, marble and rock are the materials of choice, virtually camouflaging the property into the landscape.
Handcrafted fabrics and local art round out the style, right down to the staff uniforms in cool earth tones by famed designer Kris Goyri. Reminiscent of ancient pyramids, several tiers lead to staggered infinity pools and pockets of coastline where guests can kayak, snorkel, and try their luck at traditional fishing with local villagers. Cooking classes, hiking, golfing, birding and nature tours are all on the agenda.
With only 2% of the reserve developed, this natural sanctuary is best explored with resident biologists who guide guests through hills and winding paths in search of flora and fauna. As one of Mexico’s largest private reserves, the jungle is also home to 195 species of animals including whitetail deer, puma and ocelots.
In true Four Seasons fashion, there’s a 5-star spa, four restaurants, and a ratio of three staff to every guest. Perhaps the real treasure lies in the five secluded beaches or the nearby towns like La Manzanilla — a small fishing village offering a taste of tradition. Here, on the Bay of Tenacatita, you’ll find plenty of creature comforts like hotels, markets and restaurants under leaky palapas.
By dinner time, I was back in Pérula, and by the next day, I was checking emails at Puerto Vallarta’s international airport. During those brief five days, I had escaped my fast-paced lifestyle, to embrace a new one rich with Mexican culture, protected wildlife, and authentic connections. I had walked the cobblestone streets of once-wealthy pueblos, time warped by their commitment to the past; I had buried my toes in the sand of desolate coves where only sailors, birds and fish knew I was there; I had hiked with the guardians of natural sanctuaries where more animals had roamed than humans.
I had become friends with the unsung pueblos of Jalisco, one life-giving moment at a time. Now, I wondered, what would become of these three new amigos of mine, and would they change into the next Tulum, Cancun or San Miguel? For now, I would put my faith and hope in their ability to stay true to the past, stand firm in the present, awaken the future and never compromise the mágico.
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