Tamarindo & Costa Careyes, Mexico

By Turk Pipkin

In my hippie backpacking days, my idea of a good hotel in Mexico was one that mosquitoes couldn’t invade. I didn’t care if creature comforts had to take a back seat to budget because that was part of the adventure. Then I grew older, wiser, and deeper of pocket – spoiled, some would call it. And while I was learning to be spoiled in paradise, a new class of luxury hotels was emerging on the hidden coasts of Mexico. Far from the madding crowds of Cancun and Acapulco, these smaller and gentler destinations are generally located on secluded beaches, with luxurious rooms and service to match.

Three years ago, while driving down a long stretch of pristine Mexican coastline between Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo, my wife and I spent one unforgettable night at a remote jungle and beach retreat called El Tamarindo. Only fourteen of the hotel’s lavish sea-side casitas were finished at the time, and at night all two hundred hotel employees left the property, leaving only the guards at a gate several miles away, and my wife and I with a deserted beach lit only by stars. The next morning, with the sun just coming up, we discovered baby sea turtles emerging from their nest in the sand and struggling toward the water. So perfect was our brief time at Tamarindo that as we drove away that afternoon, Christy began to cry at having to leave.

Now we had returned, kids in tow, to check out the recently completed Tamarindo and some other chi-chi resorts in the neighborhood. Flying into Puerto Vallarta, we rented a car and headed south out of town, climbing from beach to alpine forests, then down again to dry tropical ranchlands interspersed with mango and papaya orchards. After three hours, we turned onto Tamarindo’s impressive drive, ten miles of jungle-shrouded road ending at one of Mexico’s most picturesque beaches.

Scattered there beneath a dense canopy of towering palm trees are twenty-nine bungalows. Most have their own private plunge pools, and all have thatched-roof outdoor dining and a half-dozen places to relax on thick cushions and watch nature put on her round the clock displays of grace and wonder.

In all my travels I’ve found no more enjoyable place for: making love in the moonlight, mountain biking on miles of perfect, shaded trails, awakening to the songs of tropical birds, watching butterflies of seemingly endless variety from the comfort of a hammock, surf-casting for sea bass, building sand-castles, or falling in love with your family all over again.

One morning, Christy and our eight-year old, Katie, took a long horse-back ride through the jungle, meeting four-year old Lily and myself at deserted Mahajua beach where we took turns galloping up and down the sand with Lily riding double in front. That afternoon, while the girls tried to dig a hole in the sand to China, I checked out Tamarindo's breathtaking golf course which winds like a great green snake through the jungle-shrouded hills, making occasional dramatic plunges to the crashing waves of the Pacific.

You arrive thinking $300 per night is a little expensive for your budget and within hours you’ve decided a second note on your house is all it would take to come back.

One of my fondest Tamarindo memories is of reclining on a beach-side chaise with my eight year old after dinner. Above us was a glittering blanket of stars and the surprise appearance of two comets, while bats, luna moths and the mysterious shadows of giant night birds darted around us. For a few precious hours all was right with the world, and all wisdom was passed from one generation to another, then back again.

This time it was Katie who cried when we left.

Luckily, our vacation was just beginning. Thirty minutes south of El Tamarindo, we drove through mile after mile of coconut plantation fronting our second stop, the aptly named Grand Bay Hotel. A lavish 1,200 ace resort overlooking a tranquil bay and a sleepy Mexican fishing village, this place nearly has it all. Among the amenities are a spectacular 27-hole golf course designed by Texan Robert Von Haage, a large marina dotted with sailboats and yachts from around the world, a multi-level swimming pool, large, luxurious rooms and super friendly service at every turn.

The only thing missing is a great beach. In its place is a water taxi which, for 25 cents a person, carries you across the bay to the beach-front town of Barra de Navidad. There you join a mix of locals and tourists wandering up and down a single main street of small shops and restaurants looking out over the ocean. The beauty of the town is not its funky beach architecture, but in its pace, for everything here moves slowly, a talent which most gringos have completely forgotten.

One of the main reasons I come to Barra is to fish with a local boatman named Ricardo “Colo” Amador. Fishing Pacific waters often requires cruising out twenty or thirty miles from shore to find the clear “blue” water that big gamefish prefer. In Barra, the blue water is often just off the rocky point that shelters the town, and its not uncommon to find fast action five minutes from shore.

This time my intention was to introduce my daughters to the beauties and the wonders of the open sea. This task was made a good deal easier by the fact that Colo, in addition to running his own outboard motor panga, is also the new captain of a 30’ yacht chartered by the American-owned local sportfishing outfit ZPesca. A bigger boat, I figured, might go a little easier on the queasy stomachs of a couple of young rookies (not to mention their mom).

At 8:00 a.m. on a beautiful, clear morning, we climbed on board the Maria Elvira which was docked just beneath our room at teh Grand Bay. After Colo slipped some anti-seasickness bracelets on both girls, we headed through the channel for open water and within an hour both girls had worked hard to reel in all the fish they cared to catch.

“When are we going to see some dolphins?” Katie kept asking. In the meantime, even with the anti-motion sickness bracelet, her little sister was turning green from the pitching of the boat. I was debating whether to turn back when I saw breaking water about a half mile to port.

“There!” I said. “Dolphins!”

Almost immediately we were in the middle of a pod of spotted dolphins. With the seasickness immediately forgotten, both girls dangled their legs off the bow as the beautiful mammals surfed our wake just beneath extended toes. Musical accompaniment was provided by the girl’s wonderful peals of laughter.

One of the finest reasons to travel is to witness the natural wonders of mother earth, something Mexico seems to have in astonishing quantities. Dolphin, sea-turtles, flying fish – you never know what you’ll see in these waters. The day before, Colo and I had been fishing in his panga when we saw one of the world’s rarest natural phenomenon - a water spout. Several miles from shore and just skirting the edge of a small developing thunderstorm, we actually saw the spout in its early formative stages, a slender dark spiral of water stretching from the ocean’s surface perhaps a thousand feet to a cloud above.

As I clicked away with my camera, I was amazed to see the diameter of the spout growing larger and larger until it was a violent black funnel about fifty feet in diameter. The millions of gallons of sea water the spout was sucking up were being propelled high into a rapidly growing cloud. Within minutes the thunderstorm above and downwind of the spout had grown to several miles in diameter with repeated cloud to surface lighting accompanied by deafening claps of thunder.

As we marveled at this display of nature’s power, we also spoke via radio with another boat that was caught beneath the thunderstorm in a heavy rain of saltwater (though no fish came crashing down from the sky, a phenomenon that can also accompany waterspouts). At one point the weight of the water in the vortex of the funnel grew so heavy that the entire spiral collapsed, crashing down into the ocean in a massive splash. Then, within moments, the swirling wind had begun to suck the water up anew.

About the only thing that could possibly distract me from such a sight occurred next as a large Pacific sailfish grabbed one of the baits we had nearly forgotten behind our boat. Despite a long first run, we never actually hooked the big sail which was no real disappointment because I wasn’t sure my heart could stand any more excitement.

As our family’s days at the Grand Bay wound down, we came closer to the original purpose of my trip, which was to investigate the new Four Seasons Resort at Punta Mita. Located just north of Puerto Vallarta, the new hotel boasts a Jack Nicklaus golf course with its own island green (that’s an island in the Pacific Ocean), a lavish spa, and a legendary beach. We were booked for the opening week, but a few weeks before our departure, the hotel called to say that the opening date had been postponed.

Too late to change our frequent flyer tickets, I reminded myself that the secret to happy travels is to remain open to change. Because of the Four Season’s delay, we’d had incomparable times at El Tamarindo and the Grand Bay. Unfortunately, we were now going to conclude our vacation by staying at the Westin Marina Vallarta, a fine family hotel in Puerto Vallarta, but no comparison with either place we’d stayed thus far.

The day before we left the Grand Bay, Christy said, “Let’s see if we can get a room at Careyes.”

Located on a quiet cove between tall rocky cliffs, the Hotel Careyes has 51 rooms and suites, many with views of the ocean from their own private jacuzzis. With a last minute reservation, our room had neither view nor private pool, so we quickly settled in on a large cushioned lounge area ideally situated between the beach and the hotel’s sprawling free-form pool. And there we stayed for nearly two days - reading, playing games and marveling at our good fortune for being there while the friendly wait staff of the outdoor bar and restaurant brought us hot burgers, cold gazpacho, big plates of fresh fruit, and frozen limeades and pina coladas.

A rocky outcropping in the ocean just in front of us which the girls dubbed "Princess Pool" proved to be filled with tropical fish, so snorkeling in the gentle swells was a big bonus. It makes for a proud papa to be snorkeling along side his four year old and pointing out the schools of brightly colored fish, or showing her older sister how to fdive down in ten or twelve feet of water in search of empty shells on the sandy bottom.

We’d already gathered more than our share of shells, putting most of them back that first day at Tamarindo after discovering that the hundreds of seemingly empty shells of every size and shape were all occupied by hermit crabs which scooted away as soon as you set them down. But free-diving just a little deeper than we should have, both Katie and I grabbed something from the bottom and pushed for the surface. Bursting back to the surface and gasping for air, we held out our hands to show the other what we’d found – two perfect matching spiral shells. These two we did not return to the ocean.

The story of Careyes is almost as good as the place itself. In 1968, a young Italian named Gian Franco Brignone saw these small bays and lagoons from a small plane. Though there were few towns, no electricity, paved roads, or even an airport at Manzanillo where most of his visitors and residents now arrive by plane, Brignone says that it was love at first sight.

For forty years he’s devoted his life to developing this area in what he believes is the best manner possible. In addition to the Hotel Careyes, there are a couple of small, exclusive residential areas, a new town with schools and health services for the growing local population and vast areas designated as a protected ecological zone. The hotel’s turtle protection program has resulted in the release of of 200,000 hawksbill and loggerhead turtles, many of which return every winter to lay their eggs on local beaches. And Brignone’s love of horses has resulted in two complete polo fields, a stable of 60 horses and miles of jungle trails and long, beautiful beaches where you can ride for hours with seeing another soul.

For longer rentals a small hillside of multi-colored villas is adjacent to the Hotel Careyes. The views are stunning, and everyone has full use of the hotel's services and amenities.

And finally there are the houses. My god, you’ve never seen such beautiful houses! Unforgettable architecture, brilliant colors, striking views - it almost seems unfair for anyone to be able to live in houses like the ones the Brignone family has built on the cliffs of Careyes. The pop singer Seal is a resident; Paramount Studio head Sherry Lansing and director Francis Ford Coppola are both frequent renters. The permanent residents of the forty-four houses and the casitas represent twenty-seven different nationalities.

The most striking houses are two almost-matching architectural wonders set on opposing clifftops guarding the entrance to beautiful Careyes Bay – “a bay as perfect as an angel’s wing,” says Brignone. One house is called Sol de Occidente, the other Sol de Oriente. Touring Oriente, I found a soaring structure built in the shape of the sun, with each of the seven protruding rays a triangular shaped bedroom opening onto a negative edge pool that nearly surrounds the house.

The materials are a combination of soaring thatched palapa roofs (used to shade massive open air living areas) and traditional Mexican stucco in the updated form of modern concrete polished as smooth as marble and rendered in brilliant whites and bright pastels. At every turn are dramatic framed vistas of ocean and cliffs. There’s even a small tram to take you from the house down to a medieval-style tower which serves as a spectacular guest house and observatory. With a staff of people to feed and pamper you, all this splendor is available for rent at the truly spectacular price of five thousand dollars a night! To a writer who’s been in quite a few five dollar a night Mexican hotel rooms, and to almost anyone else in the world, that figure can only sound absurd. On the other hand, if you have that kind of money, and can actually afford to spend it, my recommendation is to drop everything and go now.

Not having even another night’s reservation at Careyes (where the rooms start at the comparative bargain of $210 a night), we turned wistfully onto the highway and pointed the car for Puerto Vallarta. The following morning I toured the still unopened Four Seasons and played their new Nicklaus golf course. The island green, 186 yards in the Pacific, was as fun a hole as I’ve seen anywhere in the world, and the crystal clear water and lovely reefs looked mighty inviting, but truthfully my mind was still on the Casa Sol de Oriente.

“Five thousand a night,” I pondered. “maybe we could split it with another family.”