By Trisha Walrath Cole
From the first time I heard that three friends had taken on the Herculean task of renovating the 1950s roadside Jacumba Hot Springs Hotel, an hour east of San Diego, I’d been trying to find a reason to go. So when a road-tripping pal moved close to me, I immediately knew where our first Thelma-and-Louise-esque adventure would take us.
Jacumba today feels like what Marfa, Texas must have been like before Donald Judd arrived: a quiet, slightly rough-edged desert outpost on the brink of something special. The 20-room hotel and mineral-spring pools lie hidden behind sand-colored walls. You check in at a retro trailer out front, then enter through a massive 500-year-old Moroccan wooden door that is your portal to a bohemian desert version of Wonderland.
Alice could easily whisper “Drink Me” if you go left into the bar with its snake-shaped doorknob, or “Eat Me” if you go right into the sunlit restaurant, Long Shadow. Both are open to the public daily. We chose the latter, settling beneath a wall lined with oil paintings of desert scenes in muted, serene tones.
As we ventured deeper into the hotel, the calming effect of the monochromatic color palette set in.
“I’m obsessed with environmental psychology and how people move through a space,” founding partner Melissa Sturkel told me. “We made an intentional decision to stay in this lane,” said her partner and chief of design, Corbin Winters, about their commitment to the use of desert beiges and soft earth tones found in every room, wall, textile, and vantage point.
A walk to the end of the first long block of ranch-style rooms surrounding the pools brought us to our room. Stone flooring flows from the walkway into each space, enhancing the sense of continuity. The Siren Suite featured a deep, cushy couch, a cloudlike bed, stuccoed nooks in the open closet, and curated touches like Moroccan pendant lighting and oversized Mongolian sheepskin ottomans.
Sliding into either of the outdoor mineral pools, you can almost feel the energy of the vortex beneath the hotel, working its steady, ancient magic. Guests also have access to the Echo Room, a 24-hour enclosed circular soaking tub. If I lived closer, I’d invest in one of the hotel’s flexible pool passes. A massage in one of the secluded Sahara tents near the Afghan Pines was tempting, but surrendering to the ethereal mineral water felt like more than enough.
“Everyone loves the water — the way it makes them feel, how well they sleep after they’ve soaked, how their skin feels. Just overall … more relaxed,” Winters said.
I couldn’t have agreed more.
As I sank into bed, the spell of the magnesium-rich water took hold. I slept deeply, waking at sunrise for a final soak. Coffee in hand, as heat rose off the water, a new word drifted into my mind: returnasy. The feeling of being in a place while already dreaming of coming back.