Not so rosy at Rosarito
The Baja resort is beautiful but empty as the economy and crime fears keep visitors away.
By MARLA JO FISHER
The Orange County Register
It's a warm Saturday night in January as we head out for a stroll along the main resort drag of Rosarito Beach in Baja California Norte.
Most of the cafes are closed or empty, and nightclubs are shut down. Few stores are open, even though it's a holiday weekend in the United States, 20
miles to the north.
Baja has always been one of my favorite vacation spots, whether for an adventure trip to one of the stunning natural destinations or a quick lobster
dinner near the border.
Great food, beautiful scenery, nice people, excellent beer, cheap shopping: It's a place to have a lot of fun without spending a lot of money.
And it should be cheaper than ever, with the exchange rate at 14 pesos to the dollar.
But now the Americans, who make up these resorts' main source of visitors, have largely vanished, scared away by drug cartel violence and crooked
cops. The U.S. State Department has put a "travel alert" on the area, warning visitors to take extra precautions. The poor state of the economy
doesn't help, either.
When my friend Rose Marie told me on a recent morning that she had to make a quick business trip, I decided to throw some clothes in a bag and come
along. I'm a former cops reporter, and Rose Marie rode around Uganda on the back of a motorbike at age 75. We figured we could handle Rosarito.
We tossed my 10-year-old daughter, Sandy, in the jump seat of Rose Marie's pickup and headed out Saturday morning of Martin Luther King Jr. weekend.
Two hours later, we crossed the border into Mexico easily and headed south. The day was stunningly warm and sunny, and the air was unusually clear.
We took the toll road to Rosarito, transacted my friend's business, and then decided to check out a couple of hotels. I figured that the lodgings
would be hurting financially so they might be offering some "incentive pricing" that would make a spur-of-the-moment overnight worthwhile.
First, we stopped at Los Pelicanos, a modest hotel on the north end of town that I've always liked. Last time it was about $50 a night. They wanted
$68 a night, just for a regular room, with no ocean view. Ouch! No thanks; we passed.
My favorite hotel here has always been the venerable Rosarito Beach Hotel, which was a destination for Hollywood stars back when there was nothing
else around. Even when it later became run-down, before it was restored, we still used to stop there for breakfast and admire the attractive
neo-Colonial architecture.
Later, the entire property was restored with lovely murals, decorative Mexican art, and I've always enjoyed visiting, whether I was staying there or
not.
We inquired at the front desk about a room for the night for two ladies and a little girl, and were offered a price of $99. Not exactly the
rock-bottom deal I was looking for, especially when I'd heard prices had dropped as low as $29 during the week. After several minutes of negotiation,
we managed to persuade them to give us a studio in the new Pacifico Tower wing adjacent to the main building, regular price $159, for $99. I was
curious to see this newly opened, 17-story condo resort, so we agreed, even though the price still seemed a bit high.
Our studios on the fourth floor of this new building had lovely, contemporary Mexican architecture and furnishings. Our room had a comfortable
king-size bed with high-quality bedding; two flat-screen TVs; a kitchenette with sink, microwave and minifridge; a leatherette couch that turned into
a not-very-comfortable futon; and a lovely balcony overlooking a cobalt-blue pool and the ocean.
My daughter's favorite room was the bath, with soaker tub and a rain shower.
The building seemed virtually empty; we saw hardly any lights on and only five or six people down by the pool. The hot tub looked nice but empty of
water.
This area was completely separate from the main resort facilities, which also include a pool and hot tub.
We drove down to Puerto Nuevo for dinner. This famous lobster village was lightly populated. Few people were buying at the trinket stalls around the
restaurants. When I bought some earrings at an outdoor stall, I couldn't even bring myself to bargain. The owner told me he was moving to Canada next
week to take a job there because "there's nothing to do here."
After dinner, we returned to Rosarito and walked the main drag, which would normally be jammed on a holiday weekend. It was virtually empty, save for
local people who had come into town for the evening. The only crowd was at the El Michoacana ice cream stand, and it was all local people treating
their kids. I felt sad for the merchants, and the whole scene felt surreal.
Since there seemed to be nothing much to do for a couple of middle-age ladies with a child, we went back to the hotel and sat out on the balcony,
listening to the surf roar until it was time for bed.
In the morning, we stumbled almost by accident onto the tower's beautiful rooftop pool area, with cobalt-blue lap pool, loungers and a view of the
entire countryside. We were the only people there.
Driving home, I was debating whether to come back down soon and spend an entire day lounging at the deserted rooftop pool deck. I was thinking about
writing a travel story about our crime-free weekend in Rosarito Beach.
As we were about to pull up onto the ramp in Tijuana that leads into the customs area back to the U.S., Rose Marie was pulled over by a motorcycle
cop.
I was expecting him to tell us we were going the wrong way. Instead, he told Rose Marie that she was speeding – not true – and had failed to use her
turn signal – true. He wanted her to pay him $140 in cash for the ticket. In other words, he wanted a bribe.
He also gave us the possibility of "going to the courthouse" instead of paying him in cash, which he made sound quite unappetizing. I was a bit
worried about our Mexican auto insurance expiring before we crossed the border, but after dithering for a bit, we decided that, yes, we would go see
the judge.
Miraculously, once we announced we would prefer to go to the courthouse, the motorcycle cop snapped his ticket book shut and said he was giving us a
warning instead.
"But, next time, you ladies watch out," he told us.
Oh, you betcha. We'll certainly watch out. Thanks for the warning.
(Editors Note: Marla Jo Fisher traveled anonymously and paid her own way to Rosarito Beach.) |
