All-Inclusive Hell

Want to lose weight? Stay here.

Staying at the Krystal Grand in San Jose del Cabo was the first and last time I will ever pay for an all-inclusive unless I want to lose weight. The food was inedible, but the price is right considering the exorbitant cost of weight loss resorts. Sure, I‘ve stayed at numerous “full-board resorts” in the past, but in my role as travel writer I have never paid. Yes, travel writers are spoiled rotten. For instance, my travel pal Marianne and I drove past Grand Velas, a resort where I stayed five years ago and near the godawful Krystal Grand. I suggested we get a day pass— the spa is fabulous—but my jaw dropped at the price.

We searched on Airbnb first, but decided on an all-inclusive option, mainly because it’s easy. Most importantly – besides food—was ocean swimming from its private beach. Check. And a few acquaintances recommended the Krystal Grand, which boasted seven restaurants. Notice I didn’t say friends; these acquaintances had lower standards. I admit to being a wee bit critical regarding food, but I tried to keep an open mind.

We went to the Mexican restaurant the first night, figuring that was a safe bet. The tortillas were like cardboard (not that I’ve eaten cardboard), and the mystery fillings were tasteless. The guacamole was a jaundiced colour, with the consistency of curdled cream and no hint of avocado. Although there were seven restaurants, our discounted rate included Italian, Asian and the cafeteria-style buffet. Needless to say, we tried each restaurant only once. By day three, and for the duration of our stay, we stuck to the buffet. Give credit where credit is due: breakfast was perfect papaya, unlimited limes (in Canada, limes are a buck each) and yogurt, and we hit the salad bar for lunch.

On the second night, we joined the masses at the Mexican BBQ. No sooner had we sat at the only table without fidgety bratty kids when a family of four asked to join us. The dad described in great detail their trip to a decrepit mall where they swam with dolphins in a tiny indoor pool and he had to pay $200 just for photos because you weren’t allowed to take your own pics. They didn’t know why (duh), so when I suggested that the place might attract tourists who would protest and shut it down if PETA or anyone with a conscience saw photos of dolphins living in an indoor bathtub, the kids were embarrassed. We soon had the table to ourselves.

To prevent me from having a meltdown, we took an Uber into town the third night for dinner. Of course, I had to be a princess and choose the most expensive restaurant, meaning over $100 US each. Yeah, Mexico has first-world prices. The food and Mexican wine at Don Sanchez were exceptional.

As a travel writer, I’ve stayed at 7-star resorts, so staying at the Krystal Grand was more than a step down – it was like getting bumped from a seat in business class to economy.

For instance, I stayed at the Brando, on a private island bought by Marlon Brando. When it opened as a public resort, a handful of travel writers worldwide (I was the token Canadian) were invited to spread the word. Talk about lolling in luxury! Stepping off the private flight from Papeete in Tahiti, we were whisked by golf cart to our private villas, and Leonardo DiCaprio had just vacated mine. Oprah was staying next door. It was like a slice of heaven with its own plunge pool and private white-sand beach. Talk about attention to detail! When I got up in the morning, the sandy path outside my front door was freshly raked to eradicate unsightly footprints, and the bike that I’d left in the rack was turned around so it would be easier for me to get out. At dinner, our server already knew I preferred sparkling water because I had asked for it at lunch — from another server at a different restaurant. The sticker price for this luxury and service was $4,500 US per person, per day. No wonder I complain about Krystal at a measly $300 per day. Yeah, I know, you get what you pay for.

We discovered the ‘adults only’ pool on our second day – nobody gave us a tour of the grounds. We suffered through screaming kidlets and a preening water aerobics employee yelling instructions through a bullhorn until dusk when the cacophony of noise was replaced with excruciating disco by two wannabe DJs. At the adults-only, the highlight for most guests was the freaking bubble machine that seemed to be pumping fire retardant into the pool. Who thinks of toxic chemicals after chugging several margaritas? Some guests at Krystal were plastered by 10am, getting their money’s worth. I couldn’t even get tipsy because the beer was flat and the wine was cardboard-eaux. OK, I did have a few Caesar’s before noon. How could they screw up Clamato juice and vodka?

Here's another complaint: we only saw grey whales in the ocean – no humans. The black flag was flying every day, indicating that there was no swimming.

Whale-almost on the beach

By the third day, we had it all worked out. We took turns getting up before 6am to secure with pool towels the only two chaise lounges on the beach – far enough away from the madding crowd but close enough for bar service. Working up a sweat after an hour’s competitive yoga in the gym, we pretty much had the pool to ourselves. But by 9am a few hooligan guests would be showing off -- performing cannonballs and conversing in outdoor voices, already hammered. We walked to the end of the bay, past wall-to-wall hotels, and at low tide, found an opening in the cliffs that led to another bay with no crashing waves. Perfect for swimming.

Happy swimmers

I don’t recall complaining so vehemently about accommodations before I was a travel writer. That’s the problem with staying somewhere beyond your means. Nothing is good enough. And since I’m no longer a travel writer, nobody knows who I think I am.