Mexico’s Costa Careyes : Destination: Mexico : Wild Style : At a revamped resort surrounded by jungle and bay, people are pamperd and turtles protected.

When someone first mentioned this Shangri-La of a place called Costa Careyes, a resort that is part ritzy hotel, part untouched ecological wonder and renowned for its giant sea turtles, all I could mutter back was, “Where? Careyes? Never heard of it.”

Cabo San Lucas, Mazatlan, Puerto Vallarta, Ixtapa, Cancun, sure. But never a resort called Costa Careyes (Spanish for Turtle Coast).

Like its L.A. namesake, the tony Hotel Bel-Air on the Westside’s Stone Canyon Road (to which it is unrelated), the Hotel Bel-Air Costa Careyes looks somewhat like a large, sprawling Mediterranean villa. But instead of pink, it is painted in the most brilliant crayon colors. I am told you can spot it from the air when flying over it in your own private jet, or when shuttled in from Manzanillo or Puerto Vallarta airports in a helicopter. (Or when driving to it off the Pan American Highway, the approach most guests take.)

Too bad my Gulfstream was in the shop.

Surrounded on all sides by jungle, this 60-room hotel is on its own private bay and just a short distance away from a nature preserve that has crocodiles, cormorants and all kinds of exotic flora and fauna, not to mention two championship polo fields.

Obviously, I think to myself after having been told all this, the place is so exclusive, it’s obscure. But clearly it is very expensive--with those great amenities you crave when daydreaming out a smoggy Downtown L.A. in midsummer.

I was intrigued about eco-traveling in Costa Rica--which also boasts great sea turtle-watching and luxury hotels--but it was too far away for the time I had, essentially a long weekend. Careyes, on the other hand, is relatively close--about the same distance time-wise (five hours total) as driving to Yosemite from Los Angeles. Yet it felt like a true foreign getaway.

The question was how a non-top-of-the-tax-bracket type like me could swing a visit to a place that is frequented by international financiers, Hollywood glitterati and polo-playing royalty.

When I checked up on Careyes’ past, I learned of its jet-set history. It was founded in the late ‘60s by Italian financier Gian Franco Brignone as a winter playground for him and his polo-playing buddies such as British industrialist Sir James Goldsmith, cereal heir Francis Kellogg and Italian automobile tycoon Gianni Angelli.

Brignone sold the hotel and a dozen or so adjacent casitas , or hillside townhomes--a resort formerly known as Hotel Costa Careyes--two years ago to Hoteles Bel-Air Mexico, and it has since undergone a multimillion-dollar face-lift. The pool alone looks like it cost a million.

There are antique Mexican artifacts in the hallway alcoves, a sauna and gym and landscaping to rival the L.A. County Arboretum.

How to pay for this slice of paradise? My friend, Reagan Gray, a Los Angeles advertising executive, came up with the answer: We went off-season, shared a room, and ate breakfast and dinner only. We went last August, leaving on a Thursday flight and returning late Sunday afternoon.

We landed in a rainstorm at Puerto Vallarta (summer is the wet season in the tropics: hot and muggy) and arranged to be picked up by the hotel van, rather than renting a car.

Ten minutes south of P.V., the skies cleared and we headed through lush, steep forests that dramatically nose-dive into the Pacific. Along the coast we passed Gargantuan high-rise hotels popular two decades ago and woefully dated now.

Up over the mountains we went, then headed down into a flat farm region. Cattle grazed fearlessly right alongside the highway. The adobe and thatched homes of the country villages were a strange contrast to the road’s speed bumps, which signal the presence of underground high-tech fiber optic cable lines.

After a long drive--two hours and 15 minutes--we turned off the highway and onto the cobblestone road leading to the hotel. At the end of a long lawn laced with coconut palms, the van emerged to reveal a grand, tri-level, bougainvillea-disguised hotel with a high, wide arched entrance that frames the blue bay beyond. The air was clear, the grounds pristine.

The office manager greeted us with glasses of “Careyes nectar” (blended pineapple, papaya and banana) and said he’d show us around the compound and then escort us to our room.

“Did an artist paint this place?” I asked. The stucco walls are washed in a mesmerizing assortment of colors, executed in glorious juxtaposition under massive wood beams. A yellow archway, long white halls, a magenta walk-through, more white walls, a chartreuse entryway . . . so it goes on in a vibrant pattern.

This is “Careyes style,” our guide told us, and it was inspired by some of Mexico’s best architects who have designed many of the private villas nearby. But it was hard to concentrate on a recitation of the hotel’s amenities when a pinkish-gold sunset was washing out over the horizon.

My instant comparison was to Point Lobos at Big Sur because this sheltered cove offered equal, if not greater, drama with its giant rocky islands jutting out of the water. My instant urge was for margaritas and chips.

Lucky for us, the hotel was at 70% occupancy and we were offered an upgrade to a suite with a balcony from which to watch the sunset.

Whiteness was the overwhelming sensation of this room: white walls, white shutters and white bedspreads, with tons of natural light and touches of color here and there such as the “Bienvenidos” message that was written in red seeds on the coffee table. Nice. My favorite thing, though, was the six tiny Guatemalan worry dolls, packed in an oval wooden box and placed on each pillow. The enclosed description said that the tradition is to wish away one worry per doll, then place them under your head at bedtime and by morning all troubles will be gone.

I ran out of worries on the third night.

I mentioned to the office manager that we wanted to take a turtle excursion, but little did I assume an outing could be pulled together that very first night.

“The moon is full,” he said by way of explanation. And so it was. More chances to see turtles under a full moon. The witching hour was 11 p.m. That gave us just enough time for dinner.

Mexicans dine late, as we quickly found out after sitting down in the virtually empty hotel dining room at 9:30.

As the room filled up, we went through a bottle of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay to accompany my rock lobster Fra Diablo and Reagan’s sierra (a kind of snapper) in black bean tomato salsa, followed by banana crepes smothered in rum raisin and goat’s-milk caramel sauce. The chef came by later to tell us that both our choices were bought from local fishermen that morning. It’s not often you get fish so fresh it melts over your tongue.

We then raced to change for our turtle safari.

Off with the dresses and sandals, on with some bug repellent around the ankles, then long pants. We piled into a Cambio (a Volkswagen bus still made in Mexico) for a 15-minute drive to Teopa, the next beach south, escorted by the resort’s biologist Alejandro Pena, a translator and the office manager.

Teopa Beach is still owned by Brignone, and it is he who allows hotel guests, biologists from the University of Guadalajara, fishermen and others to cross the gates onto his sprawling property. Here, at the site of the Costa Careyes Polo Club, lies the turtle egg preservation program that Brignone initiated in 1977. The cost for the turtle watching tour is $25 per person, and worth every cent; money goes into a preservation trust that is used to help save the carey (as in Careyes; also known as hawksbill), leatherback, black and ridley sea turtles. The moonlit beach is a wonder unto itself. Crashing, glowing waves create a orchestra of sound on this vast, empty beach, which seems to stretch the lengths of several football fields.

We came upon a funky-looking pen built of driftwood and chicken wire, which is where Pena and others bury the turtle eggs they’ve dug up from other parts of the beach. A sign hanging on the pen’s gate proclaims that 62,143 turtle eggs have been brought to this spot--and 35,560 baby turtles returned to the sea.

Pena explained that he, with the help of other locals, come here around midnight every day during egg-laying season--July through November--to quietly watch for the turtles, which emerge from the sea and make their way onto the beach to dig holes, lay eggs and cover them over with sand.

We looked for fresh tracks as he bemoaned the enemy, turtle egg poachers who continue to be these creatures’ nemeses around the globe. As with rhino horns in Africa and tiger penises in China, there is a folk belief that eating turtle eggs will enhance virility.

Down the beach, a local man suddenly yelled that he’d spotted fresh leatherback turtle tracks. We ran to meet up with him, but just missed her, despite the fact that the creatures take 45 minutes to lumber ashore and lay their eggs.

“God! They really are giant,” we agreed as we took turns putting our hands in the tracks. Leatherbacks weigh about 1,200 pounds, and sea turtles generally live 40 to 70 years.

By 1 a.m., with no sign of turtles, we left, vowing to return.

*

The morning revealed the sights of Careyes. The hotel sits on its own beach, Playa Rosa. Across the bay is Club Med Playa Blanca, well out of view and closed in summer. There are no other hotels nearby, but from our beachfront bistro table at breakfast we could see the dozens of thatch-roofed designer palapas that dotted the surrounding steep hills. Painted in bright pink, coral and blue, these open-air villas sell for about $1.5 million a pop at the low end.

I looked on the buffet for Mexican pastries, a favorite indulgence, and was disappointed to find only Danish and croissants--even if they were fresh. I went for the fresh papaya with lime instead, and drank the local brew--coffee with sweetened milk. Reagan took advantage of the spa-cuisine option by having an egg-white-only omelet, but then loaded her plate with a side of chilaquiles (a fabulous dripping concoction of tortilla chips, chilis, cheese and green salsa). So much for calorie counting.

Books and SPF-30 sunscreen in hand, we walked a few feet to the hotel’s giant amoeba-shaped pool that runs nearly the length of the beach. The sun was searing during this time of year, so I went in the water once every 15 minutes or so, taking particular advantage of one side of the pool, which is about three inches deep and several feet in diameter; one can just lie here and vegetate.

Facing skyward, looking through the palms, my brain was happily turning to mush. Our day’s big activity was getting a massage and arranging a late-afternoon visit to the nearby lagoon and nature habitat.

“Crocodiles . . . really?,” I said to Pena, the biologist, when he came by the pool to make sure that we wanted to go. It sounded like an adventure.

The same group that went turtle-watching was on board for this excursion. We piled into a weathered Jeep Cherokee and took off.

It looked like rain forest, and felt like rain forest. Sticky, wet and mysterious--a world away from the hotel, but only 1 1/4 miles south. It was drizzling, and a storm was predicted. The mosquitoes were out in force (mercifully, there didn’t seem to be any at the resort).

Pena , a shy man who seemed to commune with nature better than with people, answered questions about our setting, Reserva de la Biosfera, a habitat for 270 species of birds and an amazing array of wildlife that includes jaguars, tigers and puma and thousands of native plants.

We got into a metal boat and rowed to the middle of the lagoon. As if choreographed, fish would pop out of the water as Pena talked. Plop. Plop. Plop. A cormorant watched us from a respectful distance before fluttering loudly away as we got closer. We were fairly far from shore when Pena got to the crocodile population: 300 at last count.

“How many?” the hotel office manager asked, looking horrified. This was his first excursion too; he was a relatively new employee. Suddenly, he becomes the reporter, all questions.

“How deep is it here? Are they aggressive? Will they jump out of the water? How big do they get? What do they eat?”

We started scouting for them and could see them everywhere. But since they are quite shy we ended up spending two hours looking at hundreds of spooky eyes and spines. Yikes!

Pena broke the tension by informing us there were exactly as many males and females. “Crocodilos contentos, “ he said. Contented crocs. So they won’t be eating us after all, we laughed.

*

Back at the hotel, a lightning storm entertained us at dinner as we ate alfresco in a light breeze, dining on roasted poblano chilis and another wonderful local fish, huachinango (red snapper), served on a bed of leeks with champagne sauce. Dessert was a super-rich, distinctly flavored “three-milk” cake that is a Mexican delicacy. We felt like we earned this treat.

After dinner, on our second turtle hunt, Pena passed out plastic bags in case anyone got lucky finding eggs. Our second-night group grew to 10 as other hotel guests joined the outing. Unfortunately, once again no one saw any turtles, not even tracks.

My third day in Costa Careyes I could have gone kayaking, or sail boarding or snorkeling, or even toured the closest town worth visiting, Barra de Navidad, a 45-minute drive away. But Saturday was cloudy with intermittent rain showers: excellent beach strolling weather. The surf was warm on the toes and the drizzle cool on the skin. When the sun poked through, the atmosphere changed instantly and an ocean dip seemed ideal. I swam with schools of fishes and went bodysurfing. I’ll come back, I thought, with a guy. This place is so romantic.

Later, while I’m changing for dinner--wouldn’t you know?--a giant turtle swam up to the hotel, not 30 feet from our balcony. I learned this later from another guest.

Well, there’s nothing like a daiquiri, a bottle of chilled Mexican Montexanic Cabernet and a Sonoran beef filet with poblano sauce (for me) and New York steak with shiitake mushrooms and potatoes (for Reagan), to dull the disappointment.

“Well, we saw the eyes and spines of ‘ crocodilos contentos ‘,” Reagan joked. Perhaps turtles weren’t in my stars after all.

Maybe I should come back in the winter and take a polo lesson instead.

GUIDEBOOK

Costa Careyes

Packages

Getting there: Delta, Alaska, Mexicana and Aeromexico fly nonstop daily from LAX to Puerto Vallarta, about a 2 1/2-hour drive to Costa Careyes; lowest advance-purchase round-trip fares are $242. Aeromexico, Mexicana and Delta have connecting flights, via Guadalajara or Mexico City, to Manzanillo (a 45-minute drive away); restricted fares begin at $384.

Staying there: Hotel Bel-Air Costa Careyes is a resort destination unto itself; for reservations, call (800) 457-7676, or 011-52-335-1000. There is one restaurant and a gourmet snack shop. Golf, tennis, horseback riding, snorkeling, kayaking, sail boarding and sailing are available. In low season (through Dec. 18) rates range from $120 for a standard room to $205 for a suite. In high season, Dec. 19 through April 24), rates are $160-$270. An American plan is also offered. A four-night package rate--which includes airport transportation but not air fare or meals) goes for $685. There are also one, two and three-bedroom privately owned villas available near the hotel, ranging from $185-$285 in summer to $240-$390 in winter; ask the hotel for information.

There are two other resorts in the area. Club Med Playa Blanca, located on the same bay, is open only during winter; all-inclusive, week-long packages are $1,100, including air fare (call 800-CLUB-MED). The remote luxury, 12-room Las Alamandas, a 25-minute drive from Costa Careyes, is open year-round; rates range from $148 to $355 for a double room (800-223-6510, or 011-52-328-55500).