Full Belly Files | I Left My Corazon in Costa Careyes

Sunset at Careyes

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After two excellent spring breaks spent exploring the American South in New Orleans, Charleston, and Savannah, my 12-year-old daughter, Madeline, proclaimed that she just wanted to soak up the sun on a beach this time around.

It was a fair request, so I started researching possible destinations that would tackle her tanning needs while still offering plenty of eats and experiences to satisfy the rest of us. Confined by the usual parameters of time (only a week) and cost — we don’t have to go cheap, but we’ve yet to reach the price-is-no-object demographic — that led me quickly to Mexico, which is conveniently close and comfortably priced. Plus, my wife and I already love this endlessly fascinating country full of kind people, but our kids had yet to visit, and it was time to change that.

I considered all-inclusives, of which there are two types: the affordable ones, which tend to be cookie-cutter and, well, kinda cheap; and the luxurious ones, which look fabulous but are, at least for us, not affordable. No matter the price, all-inclusives by design take away most of a trip’s DIY adventure vibe, and that spirit of on-the-fly decision-making, discovery, and, yes, sometimes danger, which is what draws me to travel in the first place.

Instead, I started googling phrases like “unspoiled Mexican coast” and “under-the-radar Mexican resorts” while scouring digital maps of the country’s lesser known regions. I was searching for places with some basic hospitality infrastructure that were close enough to international airports and not considered cartel hotspots. Although, determining that latter factor is mostly impossible from afar, and probably irrelevant anyway, as those crimes mostly involve those criminals.

I eventually stumbled upon the Costalegre, which is the name of the mostly under-the-radar, mostly unspoiled stretch of coastline between Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo. Within that stretch I found Costa Careyes, a colorful cluster of villas, casitas, and condos developed in 1968 by Italian artist Gianfranco Brignone.

There wasn’t much written about the region in recent years, though what I did find described what felt like the ideal situation: relatively upscale beachside living, with a range of restaurants nearby, places to snorkel and swim, nature preserves and fishing villages to explore. I found a two-story casita steps from the sand, with a private pool on the upstairs balcony, five more pools next door, and six restaurant-bars just minutes away, both by foot and car.

At $750 a night, it was similar — in many cases even cheaper — than staying in a suite (or two rooms) in a nice-enough, medium-priced American hotel. But this was our own casita, with two large bedrooms, a big kitchen and sitting areas, and our own tiny plunge pool, right on the beach. It felt too good to be true.

The flights down were easy: Santa Barbara to Phoenix, Phoenix to Manzanillo. The busy port is a cartel hotspot, at least according to the U.S. State Department, but the airport is north of town so we never even glimpsed the city. We rented a nearly brand new, golden Mitsubishi Crossover, and drove north about 90 minutes to Careyes, stopping to buy supplies at Abbarrotes 4 Hermanos in a town called Emiliano Zapata. (I’d eventually shop there three more times, becoming quite fond of the crispy beef jerky.)

As groceries piled up in front of the register, I suddenly realized that the store didn’t take credit cards. Thankfully, our 15-year-old son, Mason, had brought some pesos from home, left over presumably from my Mexico City visit last May. With the proprietor typing away on her calculator, we strategically subtracted from our pile, shedding some chips, juices, and candy. But we emerged with the requisite water, snacks, eggs, and beer, which I promptly dropped outside of the store in front of everyone, exploding one entirely and forcing me to slam another.

Twenty minutes later, we’d passed through two gates and pulled up to El Careyes Club & Residences, where we were casually welcomed by a couple members of the staff. Upon reaching our casita — which was indeed right on the beach, a short, sandy stroll from the main resort area — the kids hopped in the balcony pool and we took in the view, a soft ocean breeze cutting right through the warm afternoon sun. All was apparently as advertised, yet even better, as the online photos didn’t reveal how much space we really had.

“Dad,” said Madeline, “this is good.” I couldn’t help but agree.

Nigiri at Shio Sushi
Tuna chicharrones and scallop aguachile at Playa Rosa
The “tuna toast” at Playa Rosa

That night, we burned through nearly a dozen omakase courses at Shio Sushi, the first of consistently fantastic meals to come. A very scaled down list of highlights from the immediate El Careyes Club — meaning inside the main gate off of the highway — would include chilaquiles, egg white omelets, and the paisan breakfast at La Duna, the place right next to our casita. Then there was scallop aguachile, ceviche tostadas, shrimp quesadillas, and tuna chicharrones at Playa Rosa, located on its own beach the next cove over, about a seven-minute walk away through the pastel-colored palate of private villas that cling to the cliffs.

Just a two-minute drive from the front gate is the very tiny village of Pueblo Careyes, where I sipped on a passionfruit mezcalita one afternoon as my wife picked out a yellow dress in the shop next door. We took pizza to-go from Punto Como, and vowed to return for a proper steak dinner, but didn’t make it back. There were so many more restaurants to try just minutes away.

About a mile from the pueblo was the turn-off to Lilo Beach Club, a stylish shoreline eatery where we enjoyed lamb kebabs, stunningly fresh Caesar and arugula salads, and the best pizza we had on the trip — wood-fired, crunchy, and complex in flavors of fig, spinach, almond, and guanciale. Another mile down from that was the turn-off to Casa de Nada, a vividly colorful bungalow with end-of-the-world vibes tucked into the dunes behind a wild beach. As the sun dripped into the waves, we tucked into tomato tartare and crab balls in sweet & sour chile sauce, leading into a ricotta-stuffed ravioli and spinach-lentil gnocchi, all slathered in a housemade pomodoro.

Aside from the sunbathing — which really was world-class, thanks to mildly humid, 80-ish degree days cooled by the constant breeze and, when needed, a dip in the ocean or pools — Careyes and the greater Costalegre was full of things to do. There were the typical free resort things (tennis, yoga, paddleboarding/kayaking in the ocean); the add-ons like horseback riding or boating (some of best snorkeling ever, my brief vomiting episode aside); and then the off-site options, like splurging to golf nine holes (and then some) with Mason at the Four Seasons Tamarindo.

Thanks to the Italian founder’s artsy roots, there are numerous permanent and whimsical monuments along the Costa Careyes, most notably the Copa del Sol, a massive half-globe that sits on a prominent cliff. For $20 a person, you can drive out past a tall lighthouse to the structure, climb three stories up a somewhat rickety ladder to walk its rim, and then go below to enter the concrete bowl. Inside, sound acts strangely, and so does the light if you go at sunset — though that costs $10 more, and there’s usually other people with you.

Pushing another Santa Barbara family out of the sand

On that utterly remote stretch of the southwestern Jalisco coast, we ran into a family who’d gotten their car stuck in the sand between a turtle nursery beach and a cliff carved with caves that aim at the Copa. When we jumped out to push their car back onto harder ground, we found out that they, too, were from Santa Barbara — her parents have actually owned one of the El Careyes villas for a couple decades. As small world sentiments flowed, I managed to sprain my heel while doing this good deed, a slow-onset injury that I didn’t know was possible and made the following day’s airport shuffling from Manzanillo to Mexico City to Salt Lake to Santa Barbara a bit uncomfortable. It’s still not quite right a week later.

Twice we ventured about 45 minutes south to La Manzanilla, a small town full of seafood restaurants, inflatable gear shops, and Euro-tourist vibes. We ate both times at Bahia Azul, where mango, coconut, and tamarind shrimp dishes were washed down with blended maracuya margaritas, while an order of diabla-style langostinos required thorough washing of my red sauce-stained hands.

At the swamp end of town, we paid a small fee to walk atop wooden planks over sedan-sized crocodiles, which leisured in the stinky shade. They were the biggest animals to be happily haunting our trip, which was mostly within the Chamela-Cuixmala Biosphere Reserve that covers more than 50 square miles of dry tropical forest.

We’d already spotted some large coatis on the road, a few gecko-like lizards, and a number of bird species, from vultures and frigate birds to nest-hanging oropendolas and neon-colored orange breasted bunting flickering around the Copa. Underwater was an aquarium of electrically painted blue, yellow, orange, and green fish, plus an eel angling toward the surface in a way that made me worry it was electric too.

Most ominous — in that fun, campfire-ghost-story kind of way — were the steady murmurs of the region’s many jaguar, puma, and mysterious onza; though smaller than its feline counterparts, and most likely a jaguarundi, the darkly hued onza is considered the most aggressive species. We never spotted any big cats, but given that there are enough to require multiple highway warning signs, I’m pretty sure they saw us.

I’m reluctant to tell you all of this, because the most appealing part of our trip was that there was hardly anyone else there. El Careyes was less than one-third full, meaning we never waited for anything, though advanced reservations do help with getting through the many gates. When Mason and I golfed, there were only three other people on the entire course. But the El Careyes manager explicitly asked for more publicity when she heard I was a journalist and they did give us a free lunch at Playa Rosa, so I’m a bit on their hook.

On our last night in Careyes, after grilled artichokes, huitlacoche-laced bread, spaghetti alla vongole, and scorpion-infused mezcal at Playa Rosa, Joanna and I stopped by the bar at La Duna to say goodbye to Justin, the friendliest favorite bartender of our trip. Raised mostly in Washington state, he spoke perfect English, a welcome break from my bumbly but passable Spanish, and he even went out of his way to buy me some of his favorite agave-based juice called lechugilla.

As we sipped on our last margaritas, it felt like we’d come to appreciate the quirky “ ? ! ” characters that precede “Careyes” on every sign, even adorning tote bags, towels, and coasters. We’d been told that the question mark represented one’s initial wonder, as in “What is Careyes?” The exclamation point, then, is what happens when you get it, as in “Ah, Careyes!”

Consider us converted.

Come to Our Backyard Brunch!

Warm bagels and pastries, egg sandos and spicy tacos, freshly roasted coffee and zesty wines — what better way to enjoy a Saturday afternoon on the grounds of the Goleta’s Rancho La Patera & Stow House, all while supporting the Santa Barbara Independent’s environmental and social justice journalism?

That’s what is on the menu for this year’s Backyard Brunch, our annual midday soirée to enjoy eats, drinks, and live music from the Brasscals!, with proceeds going to the Mickey Flacks Journalism Fund. Under the umbrella of SBCAN and in honor of the renowned Santa Barbara activist, the Mickey Flacks Fund has supported the work of numerous young journalists on our staff as well as specific editorial projects related to progressive issues. Check out those articles here.

The lineup includes 16 food & drink purveyors, from bagel makers and French bakers to Mexican, Greek, and American cuisine, with ample wine, beer, and coffee to keep everyone properly hydrated. For the full details and to buy tickets, click here.

From Our Table

Here are some stories you may have missed:

After years of waiting, I finally got to write about The Ellwood, and have been pretty happy with my meals there so far.

The Santa Barbara Culinary Experience is going big this year with more than 70 events from May 12-18. Here’s the lineup.

I had the pleasure of hanging out with Ramon Guerrero at his new tasting room in Los Alamos to write this story about Amada Cellars. Their grand opening bash is on April 19.