There are worse things in life than being lost in Baja, Mexico, but at the time it didn’t feel that way. Yes, the landscape alongside the snaking, two-lane Sierra de la Laguna mountain road had a certain rugged, stark beauty. Also beautiful: the thousands of tiny white butterflies flitting through the sky — so many that it was like driving through a blizzard.
What there wasn’t much of: road signs, gas stations, towns, other drivers, cell service — in other words, anything remotely useful to someone lost.
By the time I was midway into the 3½-hour drive (it would have been half that on the new Highway 1), it was too late to turn back. I checked my phone yet again (roaming charges be damned) and finally, two bars — enough to access Google Maps.
Turning south onto Highway 19, I caught a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean beyond the dusty hills — and soon after (huge sigh of relief) saw signs for my destination, the tiny coastal town of Todos Santos.
Lately, this one-time sugarcane capital turned artist haven turned ex-pat hangout and surfing mecca has been attracting new wave of tourists. They come to shop (dozens of galleries sell locally made art, jewelry and handicrafts), to eat (some of the best fish tacos and blood orange margaritas can be found at the funky Fonda el Zaquán) and to wander Todos Santos’ many unpaved streets lined with well-preserved colonial buildings.
Some visitors come for the town’s Latin American film festival, which just wrapped up its 10th year, and the growing, January-long music festival founded by part-time resident Peter Buck of REM (his is the purple house, just off the main drag of Calle Juarez).
But the biggest draw is no doubt the annual whale migration (November to April), when whales of all species (and their calves) get so close to the shoreline that you can practically reach out and touch them as they playfully leap, spout water and slap their tails.
Still, there’s never a bad time to visit Todos Santos, designated a “Pueblo Magico” (magical town) by the government for its authentic history, culture and architecture. I’d arrived in mid-October, considered the low season, when things should have been quiet in this one-stoplight town. Instead, I found the streets abuzz with the Fiesta de Nuestra Señora del Pilara, which celebrates Todos Santos’ patron saint and its founding in 1723.
Along with cacophonous carnival rides and games, the zócalo (town square) — flanked by the white-stucco Teatro/Cine and the towering 18th-century Jesuit mission — was filling with dancers as a band played Mexican folk songs. The scent of sizzling tacos permeated everything.
Normally, Todos Santos isn’t really a party kind of place — that’s all in Cabo San Lucas, an hour to the south. And I was in the mood to just chill out and listen to nothing but the ocean. So I headed to my hotel, Villa Santa Cruz, on the outskirts of town. But with no street signs and directions that read: “Follow the asphalt road out of town, it curves past Baja Tiles, go a half-mile uphill, past the El Sol II market, after the detour sign go 4 miles, drive over the cattle guard,” I was lost — again. Meanwhile, the dirt road was a mess of potholes and rocks thanks to recent rains; I winced with every jolt, imagining the battered underside of my pint-sized rental car.
A phone call to the villa’s co-owner, Jessica Canepa, offered an immediate solution: “See the elementary school? Go to that corner, turn into the parking lot opposite, and get yourself a margarita at La Esquina. I will be there in five.”
I lounged on the cafe’s patio, sipping an original margarita (with salt) and reveling in the free Wi-Fi. Maybe it was the being lost part, or the being in Mexico part, but I’d never tasted a drink quite that good — ever.
Canepa, a young, bubbly San Diego native, had moved to Todos Santos with her husband, Matt, after he’d developed the four-suite boutique hotel.
Set on 20 acres abutting the ocean, Villa Santa Cruz had been built from scratch just six years before, yet it looked like an authentic, century-old hacienda (albeit with modern touches like a heated pool and solar power). In the front yard, two nomadic goats and their burro friend munched on grass under palm trees; several dogs of various breeds trotted over from all directions to welcome us. (“I hope you like dogs; there are six of them,” said Canepa, “but only one is allowed inside.”)
The open, airy two-level villa is outfitted in mosaic tiles (even the stairway is made of glass tiles); the decor and furnishings were gathered from the couple’s shopping trips to Guadalajara and San Miguel de Allende. A roof terrace offers panoramic views of the Pacific and the mountains — along with a fire pit for cozy nighttime star-gazing.
But I preferred the beach palapa, where you can climb up to the romantic little crow’s nest or lounge in the hammock below, lulled into utter serenity by the crashing waves and cool ocean breeze. Now this was how to get lost.
(Villa Santa Cruz suites start at $195, Nov. 1 to July 15; and $165, July 16 to Oct. 31; villasantacruzbaja.com)