TRAVELING IN STYLE : MEXICO, EURO-STYLE : Located on an isolated bay between Manzanillo and Puerto Vallarta is a little-known resort that’s a blend of Europe and Mexico. Its pleasures are simple, the relaxation complete

It was while visiting some friends in Mexico four years ago that I first heard of Careyes. Knowing Marta and Alejandro Gomez’ penchant for understatement, I should have guessed that when they invited me to spend Christmas at their vacation place, “the farm,” I wouldn’t find pigs and ducks. Still, I was a bit open-mouthed when the farm turned out to be a splendid five-bedroom house perched on a hill above its own slice of sandy beach on the coast north of Puerto Vallarta.

The layout was perfect--whitewashed sleeping quarters in two rustic-looking buildings surrounded a pool and a central, open-air living room set under a vaulting palapa roof of dried palm fronds. After I’d admired its architecture for the umpteenth time, they said, “Oh, this is nothing. If you really want to see fine Mexican architecture you must visit Careyes,” and lent me their Ford Bronco to make the 2 1/2-hour trip down the Pacific coast.

Nothing in their description could prepare me for Careyes. Located on an isolated bay between Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo, it is a little-known resort that’s less a tourist destination than a jungle camp for world-weary souls. Although such powerful and glamorous figures as Italian industrialist Gianni Agnelli, Lee Radziwill Ross, British financier Sir James Goldsmith and Francis Kellogg have stayed in its hotel, casitas (little apartments) and villas, Careyes is not luxurious in a “Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous” sense. The hotel lacks gold faucets, haute cuisine and room service.

The pleasures of Careyes are simpler. On that first visit, I almost missed the small sign that signals the resort’s entrance off the main highway. Turning in, I found myself snaking along a grass-and-cobblestone track that led over a hill and down to a gate manned by a sentry in a white straw cowboy hat. He waved me through to the Hotel Costa Careyes, a lovely, curved, terra-cotta building hidden among coconut palms and brilliant pink bougainvillea. Although it was the height of the season, the courtyard was quiet. In front of the hotel, dozens of palm trees swayed over a sandy beach set on a small, dazzling bay sheltered by two rocky peninsulas.

I noticed a waiter with a tray walking across the sand after serving drinks to a pair of sunbathers, and followed him to an open-air restaurant overlooking a large swimming pool. After a lunch of grilled dorado so fresh that it melted in my mouth, I climbed a cobalt-blue staircase--right behind a group of chic women chattering away in French--to what appeared to be a festive village that spilled down a hill on one side of the hotel. The women disappeared amid a maze of yellow and pink passageways that led to separate little casitas , which I later learned were part of the hotel and could be rented.

Catching my breath where the stairway stopped--at El Mirador, a restaurant and disco with a sweeping view --I saw sailboats bobbing at anchor in a previously hidden cove below and wondered about the fabulous-looking houses nestled in the rocks and foliage of the cliffs above me. The sun was getting low on the horizon and it was time to drive back to my friends’ home, but here, I decided, was a place to return to.

Careyes is the singular creation of Gian Franco Brignone, a tall, aristocratic-looking man who stalks about wearing a poncho slung over one shoulder. With the help of his son, Giorgio, he runs the place more as a personal fiefdom than as a resort. Brignone Sr., once a banker in Italy, discovered the area in the late ‘60s when he flew over it in a small plane. That was before the Pan American Highway was built, and he found himself gazing upon what was untouched wilderness. From the sky, bougainvillea made bright stains on the green jungle, whales spouted in the clear ocean and giant sea tortoises paddled onto an untouched beach to lay their eggs. Brignone knew he had to have that place. Or so the legend goes.

Even skeptics (and Brignone, with his theatrical demeanor, has his) credit him with being one of the first developers in Mexico to be interested in ecology. Along with Mexican partners (whom he later bought out when the government changed its laws to allow foreigners to own land in trust with a Mexican bank), he purchased 2,500 acres of forest, hills and beach he called Careyes, the Spanish word for turtles. Instead of erecting a big, sore - thumb of a luxury hotel, Brignone built a two - bedroom , palm-frond bungalow on a beach he called Playa Rosa. There he began to plan a resort that would respect and protect the environment around it.

His approach was very European--a little here, a little there--and it has resulted in a resort that is a blend of Europe and Mexico. Although most of the key staff speak English, it is rare to hear that language on the premises. Spanish, French and Italian are more common, reflecting the cosmopolitan nature of Careyes’ guests, mostly wealthy Europeans and Latin Americans.

The heart of Careyes is the Hotel Costa Careyes, and that is where I stayed on my return a year after that first tranquil afternoon. Again, as a porter led me across the cobblestone terrace and down an ocher-colored hall decorated with a delicate Mexican-style frieze of frogs and birds, I was struck by the peacefulness of the place. My large room was cool, its white walls, homespun fuchsia bedspread and tiled floor a pleasant refuge from the brilliant sunshine on the private terrace.

Looking around, I opened the refrigerator to find a can of bug spray and a package of peanuts--the room was certainly not pretentious. But I appreciated that everything in it was made locally and was delighted to discover that I could drink the tap water (because of its isolation, the resort has its own wells) and that there was no television or telephone to distract me from the sound of the waves on the beach outside. In this relatively undeveloped part of Jalisco they are hard to come by, so guests queue up for the hotel’s phones and fax, which is kind of fun. One morning waiting my turn, I eavesdropped while one of my fellow guests, an American plumbing czar, made a takeover deal.

The hotel is lovely, but the reason my friends had originally recommended I come here was to see the spectacular Mexican architecture of Careyes’ private villas. That’s not easy, because privacy is key on the Rincon Careyes, the headland where the homes are located. The villas can only be reached by winding cobblestone roads that are beyond walking distance from the hotel. Luckily, when I returned to Careyes, I was lucky enough to be given a tour by Giorgio Brignone.

Designed by such renowned architects as Diego VillaSenor and Marco Aldaco, the houses are like primitive palaces, arranged around soaring, open-air palapas held up by twisting, vine-covered tree trunks. Bedrooms open onto breathtaking vistas of sea and sky, based on Gian Franco Brignone’s philosophy that every window should enhance a view the way that a frame enhances a painting. I marveled at the subtle but bright colors of the stucco walls that seemed to grow organically out of the rocks and trees around them, and at the way that swimming pools had been placed at the edge of cliffs so that they appeared to disappear into the ocean.

The villas are owned by the kind of wealthy, international people who used to be known as the jet set--lumber baroness Eleanor Stimson Clark, Prince Egon von Furstenberg, Guy Peyrelongue, who heads the Latin American division of L’Oreal, and his brother, Herve, who is Mexico’s leading fine jeweler.

One night, I was invited to Gian Franco Brignone’s own magnificent house, Casa Mi Ojo, named for the eye he lost in a construction accident while building it. It was me and the millionaires, gathered for margaritas on a pale-blue terrace that seemed to blend right into the sky. Brignone, dressed in his customary white and a beautiful serape, told me that the great Mexican architect, Luis Barrigan, who visited just before the home’s completion, had suggested its color to him.

Unlike most hoteliers, Brignone seems more concerned with aesthetics than business. “Twenty years ago, when I first came here, there was no road, nothing. I decided to make a beautiful thing, not just to make money in the bank,” he explains. “I wanted to create a new architecture, because it did not exist in Mexico. It was all colonial or Indian, so I decided to wed the concrete with the palapa . John Huston, when he came here, said it was the best marriage of Italy and Mexico.”

His preference for art rather than the bottom line does, however, create some glitches. At the hotel’s restaurant, Los Pelicanos, the food is healthful and fresh but boring--a good chef would no doubt find endless inspiration in the fresh lobster and other seafood that is caught in Careyes daily. There is a similar inattention to detail in some of the accommodations. A friend of mine, who stayed in a casita , could not get the hotel to repair his air-conditioner for several days and complained of the 40-watt bulbs in his bedroom reading lamps.

But those are small problems. After a few days at Careyes, I found that nothing bothered me much. It was as if my pulse slowed almost immediately to the overwhelming rhythm of nature. I’d sleep late, then hike over the hill to the neighboring cove, Playa Rosa. There, I’d loll in the sun or read under one of the billowing white pavilions set up as shelters on the beach. When my stomach started to growl, I’d walk a few steps to the Playa Rosa restaurant and wash down some delectable guacamole and cool chunks of ceviche with a cold Pacifica beer.

Other days, feeling more adventurous, I’d ride horseback through the coastal jungle, where the variety of wildflowers, birds and other creatures is literally breathtaking. Or I’d take my rented Jeep to Playa Teopa, a wild, five-mile-long strip of sandy beach with nothing on it--although in the distance at the far end, you can see Sir James Goldsmith’s vast domed estate, rising like Xanadu on a misty cliff. Sometimes, on weekends, there will be a game of polo in progress on one of the fields that are reached by a bumpy dirt road on the way to the beach. The Careyes polo gang--which usually includes Giorgio Brignone, some local Mexican playboys and a few ringers brought up from Argentina--is boisterous and fun. Spectators stand around under the shade of huge Banyan trees drinking margaritas and cheering their teams.

Once, arriving at Teopa in early morning, I found Giorgio and Careyes’ resident biologist, Alejandro Pena, moving turtle eggs--which are about the size of ping pong balls--from the shore to a chicken-wire pen used to protect them from poachers. Although since 1986 the government of Mexico has taken steps to ban killing of the endangered sea turtles or the taking of their eggs, the eggs still sell for about $1.50 each on the black market because Mexican men believe they enhance virility. When Giorgio began Careyes’ program in 1977, he was among the first in the country to sponsor research on the turtles. He invited members of the Scripps Institute to Careyes, and in 1984 hired a resident biologist. Their findings have influenced the legal guidelines for protecting the eggs.

Another day, some friends and I took an hour’s drive north of Careyes to the village of Tomatlan, which I could not find listed in any guidebook. In the center of town is a dusty but charming colonial square fronting a beautiful old cathedral.

Faded bullfighting posters cling to the stucco walls surrounding the square. A wrought-iron gate leads to the church entrance. Inside, an old woman dressed in black was kneeling before an altar with a beautiful, primitive painting of the Virgin. Birds had built nests in the old crystal chandeliers that hung from the high, vaulted ceiling and plastic flowers and candles in multicolored glass holders adorned shrines on the walls. It was one of the loveliest places of worship I’d ever seen.

Father Pablo, one of the village priests, allowed us to climb the old belfry, from which we got a panoramic view of Tomatlan and its backdrop of mountains. The priest, who it turned out was born in Brooklyn, told us about the history of the church, the Iglesia de Santiago. He said it was built in 1749, shortly after the first Franciscan monks came to the area. He added that one of Careyes’ regulars, Count Carl-Eduard von Bismarck (descended from Germany’s Iron Chancellor) was so taken with the church that he was married there a couple of years ago.

Because of the sheer size of the Costa Careyes--guests have nearly 10 square miles in which to boat, play tennis, go riding, sunbathe, wind surf and hike--it’s easy to get the feeling that you’re the only one there. At night, however, the El Mirador disco is jammed with people. One moonlit evening I was squeezed in at a table on the terrace outside the dance floor with some people I knew from Los Angeles--a real estate magnate, a dress designer and the son of an ambassador--and some I’d just met, including a German prince and a French fashion editor, there with a bevy of models for a shoot for one of the European Vogue magazines.

We ordered drinks and pizza and watched the dance-floor scene. Everyone looked incredibly young, tan and beautiful--the girls wearing teeny stretch miniskirts that somebody said looked like Band-Aids, the boys in shorts and T-shirts or in preppy striped shirts and white pants. They danced wildly to the Gypsy Kings and other Euro-pop groups.

There’s not much else to do at night at Careyes, although I did hear rumors of people who had crashed the disco at the Club Med down the road. For dining outside the hotel, there’s La Viuda (The Widow), a colorful local cantina where the food is genuinely Mexican and the seafood is particularly good. The last time I was there our dinner party was served by the widow’s 8-year-old daughter--and a couple of chickens begged for scraps around our feet.

Besides a bathing suit and someone you love, probably the most important thing to bring to Careyes is a sense of adventure. If I had played it safe, I would have missed one of the most festive evenings I’ve ever spent.

I was invited to accompany some of the locals to the village graveyard on the Day of the Dead, the Mexican version of Halloween. Despite the fact that it was growing dark and they were planning to stay late at the cemetery, my curiosity got the best of me and I tagged along.

Everyone from the village was there--men drinking tequila toasts to their ancestors; vendors selling cotton candy and children’s toys; women carrying wreaths hand-woven from bougainvillea and hibiscus and children, shouting with the excitement of being able to stay up after dark. I learned how to offer a toast, and was moved by the sense of community that exists in small, forgotten places.

Careyes is like that--a place to do nothing or keep very busy. Where you can take long walks on deserted beaches with only sand pipers to watch you. Or where you can finally get a chance to read that great book you’ve been putting off.

And please, if it’s really good, leave it for me. I’ll be back.

DETAILS

Getting there: Delta and Mexicana have daily nonstop flights from LAX to Puerto Vallarta. Mexicana also flies to Manzanillo, with a stop in Guadalajara.

Careyes is only one hour from Manzanillo, but the road is winding and difficult. Puerto Vallarta may be more convenient because of the nonstop flights and the 2 1/2-hour drive goes through beautiful country on the excellent Pan American Highway. Budget, Avis and Hertz rental cars are available at both airports (book in advance).

Where to stay: Hotel Costa Careyes has 72 rooms. Winter (Dec. 15 to April 15) room rates: $90 per person for doubles, $120-$180 for one- and two-bedroom suites. Casitas (with maid service, kitchens--but no utensils--and, sometimes, private pools): $270 for one bedroom, $390 for two bedroom, $590 for three bedrooms. Summer rates are about one-third less. A six-bedroom villa, Casa la Cascada, rents for $1,500 per day in winter, $1,150 in summer. Dinner entrees at the hotel’s three restaurants range from $9--$16.

Reservations from California: (800) 227-0212. Nationwide: (800) 543-3760. Because of irregular mail and phone service in Mexico, the best way to make reservations is by fax. In Mexico, book through hotel’s Guadalajara office; fax (36) 15-4073, telephone (36) 16-0009. Or contact the hotel directly; fax: (333) 70107, phone (333) 70010 or 70050.

What to do: The hotel conducts scuba and fishing tours and will arrange nature trips to Isla Perejera (Bird Island), a major nesting sight for sea birds, and to the turtle preserve during the egg-laying season (July-November).

When to go: Pleasant year around, warmer (85 degrees average) in summer. August and September are the hottest, rainiest months.