Rancho La Puerta Spa, Tecate

I was afraid. Not of being beheaded by drug lords like the media warned me nor of being kidnapped as soon as I crossed the Mexican border. Instead, I was afraid my mother and I weren’t headed for a spa but a cult compound. On the chartered motor coach of some 20 people pulling out of the airport in sunny San Diego, my mom and I were the only ones who had never been to Rancho La Puerta.

“You’ve never been there? Really? I can’t believe it. Really, you’ve never been there? You’re going to love it,” the 20 something sisters in the seat in front of us insisted. “You’re never going to want to leave.” The 74 year old woman across the aisle added, “This is my 23rd time to the Ranch. Or maybe my 24^th. I wish I could live there.”

With a calendar of classes on my lap, like yoga, fitness, sound therapy, art, and cooking, that were available in the coming week and the dried fruit and granola handed to me upon boarding, I asked the 50 something woman sitting behind us, “What is it like?” “The Ranch is like, well, I can’t describe it. It’s my spiritual home. It’s something different for everyone. You’ll just have to see what it is for your,” she answered.

Kidnapping suddenly seemed a less dangerous alternative. What was in the water at this Rancho La Puerto? That bus ride was the first week of April. Seven days later I was on the same bus heading in the opposite direction, returning to San Diego. Two months later I was back on the bus again heading south. If Rancho La Puerta in Tecate, Mexico is the headquarters of a cult, I’m now fully a member.

The first week I spent there – the normal stay is Saturday through Saturday, although a three or four day stay is sometimes available last minute – I hiked between six and 12 miles every morning before breakfast, which allowed my mind to wander. I did a progressive beginner’s Pilates class, which I had never done before. I took spin classes every other day, circuit trained and jogged the Ranch’s outdoor parcour course. I meditated, in a guided “class” and walked the outdoor labyrinth. I took a cooking class and played tennis with my mom. We sat with a different group of people almost every night at dinner and made friends. I got massages and facials and had a Cranialsacral therapy session. I tortured myself on a foam roller. The sound therapy session was so soothing that I fell asleep during it.

I was in bed in my TV and internet-free casita at 8:30 every night (it did have a fireplace, though). I listened to the Ranch’s now 88 year old founder, Deborah Szekely, speak passionately about loving life with bright eyes, a steady voice, and more enthusiasm than many 20 year olds have. I weaned myself off coffee, didn’t miss sugar, and loved that every single ingredient in every meal was easily pronounceable. I lost 6 pounds and my skin started glowing. I, who had never been to a destination spa before, was in heaven. I regretted not having enough time to take an afternoon nap in one of the hammocks stretched between two Afghan pine trees or sit on the wooden bench under the wisteria dripping trellis and read a book.
In June, when sharing a less posh room – called a ranchera — with a girlfriend instead of my mom, I again hiked six to 12 miles every morning before breakfast, solving problems that had been plaguing me back home and ruminating on future plans. I did a progressive intermediate Pilates class, which I had been practicing twice a week at home since my first visit. I again took spin classes and circuit trained but stayed away from the foam roller. I did get to that hammock and spent at least an hour a day there or napped next to one of the Ranch’s four pools. I went on a guided tour of the Ranch’s gardens. I took writing workshops and made more friends. I left regretting nothing but the fact that it wasn’t likely I’d have the chance to return to the Ranch for some time.
The woman on that first bus trip to the Ranch was right. It’s not really a place you can describe. Although I’ve just described some of its attributes (no words can do justice to its garden) I can’t articulate the reasons I’m wishing I was headed back there next week. You just have to try it for yourself. And don’t be afraid. Unless you take the foam roller class.