I’d been on the verge of saying that, once again I’ve gone off gallivanting and the world has fallen apart in my absence, but that’s not quite right. I mean, yeah, I’m aghast at how precipitously and crudely the civilized parts of the world have…let’s just say “been crotch-grabbed by a lecherous brainstem-functioning wannabe kleptocrat” in the week since I headed south. Not gonna try to put a finer point on that.

But I’ve not actually been “gallivanting” in the traditional sense. When I last wrote, I said was headed south to meet up with Devon and continue south to Baja California. To a place called Rancho La Puerta, about which I really knew nothing, other than it was supposed to be a place where you’d get to try to set up healthy eating, exercise and mindfulness practices. I kind of liked the idea of going in blind and just letting the Rancho flow take me where it would.

Well, I did, and it did, and it was delightful. And exhausting.

First of all, the setting is staggeringly beautiful. High’ish desert setting, just west of Tecate, MX, just two miles south of the border, if you wanted to try your luck with US CBP. Lush, rambling hacienda made up of little clusters of casitas arranged around a few central “functional” areas: a complex of gyms and yoga studios, pools, tennis and pickleball courts. The buildings all feel like they sprang from the Spanish history of the landscape – solid, beautifully-designed mission-style construction with not a trace of artifice in the construction. Nothing Disney-esque here.

And the paths – oh, they speak to me: there’s not a straight line in the rambling, meandering network of footpaths weaving through groves and gardens, connecting everything. But somehow nothing is more than a couple of minutes’ walk.

Still, you can spend a lot of time walking. The first hike every morning leaves the central gazebo at 6:05, with shorter, “less challenging” hikes departing at 6:15 and 6:45. These head up into the arid hills above the Rancho proper, and tend to develop into a long string of guests following the guide in clumps of two or three hikers well…how can I put this gently? In deep and enthusiastic discussion about the day’s schedule, challenges with their husbands who didn’t want to come along, projects they’re involved with back home, etc. Lots of good bonding going on during those hikes, sure. But I found it hard to get far enough from the background chatter to actually get any taste of the quiet beauty of the landscape. Full disclosure: I did indulge in that sort of chatty bonding on one of the mornings, and it was deeply gratifying – the folks I chatted with are probably the ones I have the most interest in continuing to remain in contact with after I get home. But I honestly have no recollection of the hike or trail itself from that day.

Back at the Rancho, there’s a full day of activities to choose among, half of which I’ve never heard of: Gyrokinesis, Bosu, TRX, bungee yoga, and cardio blast. Along with guided meditations, “sound healing” with crystal bowls, chakra focus and breathwork. Lectures on sleep hygiene, bone strength, emotional fluency and finding your purpose in bite-sized, 50-minute chunks.

And to break it up, three meals a day served in the elegant, capacious central dining hall. Pescatarian, and most – we are told – grown at the Rancho’s own organic farm. (One of the hikes each morning is a couple of miles over the arroyos to the farm itself, where you can indulge in an even-closer-to-the-source farm-to-fork breakfast. I went twice.)

The idea of all of this is to help you find and begin to develop habits for healthier living. Developing a taste for healthier food. Getting that daily mindfulness/meditation practice back on track. Discovering a new exercise activity that you love and can work into your life.

For my part, I’d like to think I leaned into that idea. Of course, the food was astounding, and I’d love to be able to eat like that every day. If only I had a kitchen staff putting god knows how many hours a day into preparing it. So wishful thinking aside, I’m afraid that habit won’t make it back in the long run. But perhaps I’ll be able to better – just slightly better – resist those sweets and deep-fried animal bits I so often crave?

For activities, I went all in. Gyrokinesis? Kinda chair yoga-stretching-breathing thing, and I LOVE it. Ended up going almost every day. Pickleball? Surprisingly addictive. Cardio boxing. Salsa. The “sound healing” was lovely, but you put me on the floor under blankets with a towel over my face and there’s no way I’m going to make it more than five minutes before I’m snoozing up a storm. Crystal harmonic singing bowls or not. I mean, it takes me right back to kindergarten – I don’t see how anyone can resist a nap under those circumstances. My floor-neighbors were very gracious about giving me gentle little jabs when I started snoring, but if there were a “Sound Healing Survivor” show, I’d be the first to get voted off the island.

Our fellow guests: mostly our age and older, probably four women for every man. Generally retirees, generally – as one would expect for this level of high-touch care – skewed to the long tail of the financial curve. There was also a long tail of repeat visitors. Probably a half of us were first-timers, but many folks have been coming here once or twice a year for decades.

Will Devon and I end up joining the ranks of those regulars? Well, it was delightful and invigorating (and a lovely excuse to spend time with D’s parents). But probably not.

(Oh gosh, I just realized that I didn’t write at all about the improbable history of the place – going on 85 years now – or getting to spend a week of luxury with my wonderful inlaws. That’s gonna have to go by the wayside. I’ve got to find breakfast, pack and assemble myself for a flight to Kauai this morning. More later…)