The One and Only Palmilla Resort

Xtreme Grandparents Go Los Lobos

by Rubin Carson

Cabo San Lucas, on the tip of Baja California, means only one thing to me: tourists from Heartland America haggling over cheap tsoskis; the same tourists asking for directions to the Hard Rock Cafe; their offspring quaffing three-to-one tequila shooters at sleazy bars; and a buttock-to-buttock beach scene resembling a PBS special on fire ants. "But the One & Only Palmila isn't close to Cabo," Marilynn said, as the super-luxury hotel's Hummer whisked us from Los Cabos International Airport through miles of scrubby farmland. "Everybody says it's not even like being in Mexico." "It's not, Senora", Steffan our driver added. "More like Riviera. Or Beverly Hills maybe."

Marilynn, in spite of through-the-roof speedometer readings, began to bond with Steffan. Her opening gambit was to tell him he looked like Tom Cruise (he did). From there we learned that he spoke such good English because he worked in L.A. for three years but returned to his nearby hometown of San Jose to be with his family.

Marilynn groaned. "Too bad. You'd be so perfect for my daughter. You even look like her." "Thanks Senora, but I'm married with a little daughter."

No, she didn't want to see pictures. Silence ensued for the rest of the drive.

Soon after arrival at the elegant colonial reception area of the Palmila, I fell in love with the staff. Maids and bellmen welcome you with a hand gesture to their heart which I would learn later had been used for centuries by the "Otami" Indians who still live in the mountains of Jalisco. It's an ancient tradition of genuine hospitality that had been forgotten and revived by the hotel management. The follow this by plying you with fruit flavored miniature popsicles, which doesn't hurt either. Marilynn disappeared to schedule New Age spa treatments (her version of adventure travel). Time to check out the lay of the land.

First discovered by Hollywood in the post World War II years, Los Cabos, "The Capes," is the name given to the sandy beaches and resorts between San Jose del Cabo and Cabo San Lucas. One & Only Palmilla is strategically located between these two towns and considered the most luxurious hotel in Mexico. Re-opened in January 2004 after a $90 million renovation, the resort is situated in a completely private, 250-acre portion of a 900-acre, master-planned community that includes a 27-hole Jack Nicklaus signature golf course and eight residential communities, set along a spectacular shoreline. Included is one of the region's few swimmable beaches, plus stunning views of the coastline.

All 61 guest rooms, 91 junior suites, and 20 one-bedroom suites are situated along the peninsula's edge directly above the beach. Our junior suite featured a tall, cathederal-style mahogany headboard upholstered in blue and cream Country French toile. A few pre-Columbian artifacts here and there, but everything else was solidly European, from the Napoleanic desk at the foot of the king-size bed, to the Empire mirrors in the bathroom. Maybe the designers were paying homage to the time when the French imperial army ruled the country and disdained anything native.

Stepping out on your private patio, replete with table, chairs and daybed, you see a perfect view of the Sea of Cortez. The pristine, manicured beach is dotted with shaded areas that resemble giant thatched mushrooms out of some children's storybook. Breakfast outdoors every morning was a delight for both of us. The seagulls were the most polite we'd ever encountered. They waited for the muffin basket removal before doing their Hitchcock pounce.

Think "Star Wars" when you dine at the hotel's signature gourmet experience "C" Restaurant by Charlie Trotter. The renowned Chicago food czar's take on Baja is all floating rings of various shapes and sizes, hovering over free form fish tanks that delineate the open kitchen.

We split the Thai Barbequed Short Ribs with Roasted Parsnip Puree and Preserved Beets and finished with Persimmon-White Chocolate Bread Pudding topped with Roasted Banana Ice Cream. Delicious, especially with the pact we made not to look at the bill.

When luxury began to pale, on our second to last day, we were bored. Hence Steffan plus Hummer appeared at our door. Marilynn had arranged for Senor Tom Cruise to show us his hometown of San Jose, only five minutes away.

Marilynn hugged him like a long lost friend and we were off. En route, Steffan explained that although San Jose del Cabo and Cabo San Lucas are on the same tip of Baja California, they might as well be on different planets. "We always tell visitors that Cabo San Lucas is hysterical, while Cabo San Jose is historical."

San Jose is dominated by a main plaza containing a Victorian style ironwork bandstand, a plain pink adobe church, children in frilly dresses trying not to fall off bikes, tiny restaurants and wedding boutiques, and balloon vendors. Hernando Cortes landed there in 1535 when it was a Pericu Indian village. Pirates turned it into a hiding place and found easy pickings on Europe-bound trade routes. There's a bronze marker in front of the church commemorating the time in 1734 when the Indians, not charmed with being converted, killed all the Jesuit missionairies and returned to their way of life. San Jose has everything you want in a colonial town - - few tourists and a bloody past. "Would you like to meet my family?"

Marilynn and I looked at each other. How could we say no? We couldn't. Besides, Steffan was on the cell phone already giving his wife the heads-up in Spanish. I figured the only downside would be having to give Hummer boy an extra twenty peso tip.

The Hummer climbed a steep hill and stopped in front of a neat stucco structure about as big as a two car garage apartment. Greeting us was Steffan's wife, the statuesque Maria. She was holding an infant daughter who was hiding her head against mama's shoulder. The baby's name was Emelita and after showing us around the place, baby was soon being bounced around by Marilynn. As the car pulled away, Emilita held her arms out to us and began sobbing. Then it turned to shrieking. Tears started streaming down Marilynn's cheeks. "She reminds me of our own grandaughter, Tamara", she sobbed. Turning to Steffan, she said: "I need an extra granddaughter. Promise you'll tell her we'll be back soon." "I will, and you can stay with us."

Typical Marilynn. Two minutes of chit-chat and she's already moving in.

On the final day we took a farewell tour of the gift shop, and purchased about a hundred bucks worth of toys for Emilita. Her plan was to give them to Steffan to give to Emilita when he picked us up for the airport run. As she was making out the huge gift card emblazoned with duckies and multi-colored burros, Marilyn asked the clerk what was Spanish for "FROM YOUR NEW GRANDPARENTS."

I'm happy for Marilynn. I've always said that the greatest thing about travel is serendipity. Discovering the unexpected. Now the problem is - what bank has the best deal for darling Emelita's college fund?