Old Acapulco is finding inspiration these days in its glittery past. The latest retro revival is the Hotel Boca Chica, a ’50s era hideaway that gave birth to the margarita and sheltered John Wayne and his Hollywood cronies. Reopened a few weeks ago by Grupo Habita — the ultrahip owners of the Condesa DF in Mexico City, among other culty hotels — the Antonio Peláez-designed property has 36 minimalist rooms tucked away in a quiet cove beneath pink and white modernist bungalows that spill down the seaside cliffs where Rita Hayworth shot scenes for “The Lady From Shanghai” (1947) and Elvis filmed “Fun in Acapulco” (1963).
Every room has a private terrace with a hammock, and in the Sunset suites ($275), folding louvered doors open up the entire room to the gardens and the warm sea breezes of Acapulco Bay. It’s like living in a treehouse. From here you can spy on all the comings and goings of guests sunbathing by the pool or having cervezas under the giant thatched roof of the restaurant. Speedboats and yachts moor in front of the hotel to order sushi rolls and sashimi-to-go from its Japanese restaurant, a reinstated feature from the ’50s.
For the tri-level spa, Tanya Hughes and Jason Harler, the consultants behind the wellness center at the Standard in Miami Beach, looked to traditional folk medicine and treatments for inspiration. They installed chilled and wood-fired Japanese Furo tubs, where aroma-infused ice blocks are periodically melted; an aroma steam room with a giant fishbowl window that faces the sea; and a heated Turkish hamam slab where therapists administer scrubs and massages. Candlelight fills the cavelike rooms, which are open to the elements and create the atmosphere of a mellow bathhouse hangout rather than a posh by-appointment facility.
In the immediate neighborhood are street markets selling straw hats and T-shirts as well as family-style restaurants like La Cabaña on Caleta Beach. Up the hill from Boca Chica are crumbling midcentury houses, and it’s pleasant and poignant to stroll past and observe their romantically melancholic state, consumed as they are by unkempt palms and unruly flowering vines. This side of Acapulco belongs to Mexicans, a satisfying fact if, like me, you’re traveling here during spring break. I feared I might be surrounded by drunk college kids with vomit in their blond highlights. But that group vacations farther up the bay in new Acapulco. This place is has always been — and hopefully will always be — about seclusion.
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