Misión Nuestra Señora de Loreto dates back to 1697. (Alamy)
Imagine scooping out a big ol’ chunk of Arizona — with all of its rocky, cactified, lonely desert wiles — then plunking it down on a sapphire seashore. Now imagine its inhabitants freely speaking Spanish without being asked for their immigration papers.
No, really — the Spanishier, the better!
Turns out, this funky fusion actually exists — in the form of Loreto, Mexico, set on the small, southeastern ankle of the donkey leg that is the Baja California peninsula, 330 miles north of Cabo, on the Sea of Cortez.
Don’t feel estupido if you’ve never heard of Loreto. Plenty of Mexicans haven’t even heard of it. Some of its claims to fame: It’s the oldest Euro settlement in all of Baja; it was the capital of the Californias until Hurricane Somebody or Other smacked it down in 1829 (they didn’t name those back then); some of its ancient inhabitants are believed (at least by locals) to have been 9-foot-tall, cave-graffitiing giants. Also, the seventh-season finale of “The Bachelor” was filmed here, so it’s got street cred for days.
On its surface — literally — Loreto is not exactly user-friendly. Its roads, even when paved, are rough and tumble. It’s way hot (summer temps have bucked as high as 112, but the average floats around the low 90s), and way arid (6 inches of rain a year, tops) and, maybe as a result, it’s way underpopulated (14,000 in its proper town). But all that’s forgotten once you see just how blessed Loreto is with its five whale-drive-by’d islands poking out of Loreto Bay (that’d be Coronado, Del Carmen, Danzante, Montserrate and Santa Catalina) and with its 181-room bay-side luxury resort, Villa del Palmar, overlooking that insular quintet.
If the “M” word makes you nervous, just keep telling yourself: This is not narco-nutty, head-lopping Mexico, or “Wooooo, spring break!” Mexico. It’s simply secluded, placid, cloudless, eco-eyed Mexico. So SPF the heck up and enjoy.
ON A MISSION
Catechizing Jesuits weren’t the best of guests when they came a-knocking at Loreto’s door back in the mid-last-millennium — bringing with them all those diseases and violence and such — but they did have a knack for architecture. Case in point: Misión San Javier, sitting high up the Sierra de la Giganta mountains, just west of Loreto. Inside, you’ll find rickety wooden pews and on the walls, beautiful oil paintings of Catholic superstars who’ve lent their names to many a California city (San Joaquin, San Jose, San Francisco) — a few paintings were so lovely they were stolen. Outside, you’ll find the oldest olive tree in the Americas. And yes, those bells atop the mission are indeed operational. The mission’s ding-dongers — some male, some female — go hard on them every hour. Meanwhile, snack-seeking stray puppies who call the mission home go hard on the heart strings — do the Christian thing and split a sandwich with them at the open-air cafe right next door. The public bathrooms there annoyingly cost a few pesos to use — and you may even find a pervy scorpion hanging out in the toilet bowls — but it all goes to a good cause. (Van tours from $59/pp, wildloreto.com)
Or, if you prefer your missions with a more urban flavor, back in Loreto there’s Misión Nuestra Señora de Loreto, on Ave. Savatierra. An OG, it was the first-ever mission built in the Californias back in 1697. Its bell tower was totaled by an earthquake in the late 19th century, but it’s since been rebuilt (differently colored stones give it away). There are tons of day-drinking ops around it in this part of town to keep things interesting — the better ones offer karaoke — and you’ll no doubt be greeted by eager beaver souvenir peddlers. A few blocks west, the waterfront promenade is a perfect place to take in a breeze’s welcome slap to the face.
WELL, ISLE BE
It’s funny that everything we dislike in our fellow man is exactly what makes animals cute. Sea lions are fat, lazy, smelly, loud, obnoxious and horribly scarred from fighting one another — yet, they’re so dang cuddly. Say hello on a day trip to their little fat farm colony of Coronado Island (board a guide boat at Loreto’s forementioned promenade). Don’t take their barking (and barking, and barking) personally. It’s just their way of saying, “Stay the hell off my rocks, away from my baby, and we’ll be cool.” The more adventurous of them will dive off into the water and sniff around the boat. Blue-footed boobies patrol the airspace above — their unique brand of “cave painting” defecation skills all over the Coronado’s rocky topography should deter you from goofing on their names. Picnic on the beach and try not to step on any stingrays or swim into any jellyfish! (From $65/pp, wildloreto.com)
BACK AT HQ
Villa del Palmar, a short, albeit turbulent shuttle from town and the airport, is 4,447 acres of burnt-sienna’d serenity — all-inclusive if you want, pay-as-you-play if you don’t. The rooms? Monstrous, from studios up to three-person suites (also, a presidential suite that can clown-car in 12). Most include washing machines and a kitchen (the on-site mini-mart can supply detergent and food). The maids’ turndown towel origami skills are much appreciated. Around the grounds, quality and quantity come to play — 800 species of snorkeler-friendly fish in the adjacent blue sea; dozens of massage/waxing treatments at the Sabila Spa. In between there are turtle-shell-shaped pools to lounge and imbibe around. Food-wise, there’s a handful of on-site ops ranging from the Market’s buffets to Mex-styled surf and turf at Casa Mia, but DIY types can hunt their own chocolate clams on the beach (warning: their name is derived from appearance, not taste); Palmar’s chefs will cook ’em up for you. The resort’s also golf-course expectant — the Rees Jones-designed holes will surround the resort like a grassy moat with the first batch of nine coming next year. (Four-night air-inclusive packages from $799/pp, villadelpalmarloreto.com)
LOWDOWN
Sample summer fare from NYC to Loreto, via LAX, is $1,045/RT (americanairlines.com, alaskaairlines.com)