No plans, no worries in paradise

Spending a week on a tropical beach wasn’t only a pleasant prospect, it was necessary. If we didn’t de-stress from our demanding jobs soon, my significant other and I felt, the alternative would be a soundproofed white room with bars on the windows.

Bill and I had several requirements. Our dream destination had to be off the beaten track. No standard, glitzy resort for us. We wanted to be close to nature, not a five-minute elevator ride away, but camping wasn’t an option. We wanted to be surrounded by natural splendor from the moment we woke up in a Frette-sheeted bed.

And that’s exactly what we got at El Tamarindo, a secluded cluster of 29 thatch-roofed villas and a fabulous golf course nestled into a 2,040-acre ecological reserve on Mexico’s Pacific Coast between Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo. We found it at Boutique Hotels of Mexico (www.mexicoboutiquehotels.com), a Web site so tantalizing that cruising it can begin to feel like a vacation in itself. It includes colonial mansions and historic monasteries converted to lodging in large and small Mexican cities, as well as beach resorts.

A friend who had been to El Tamarindo suggested it was gorgeous but not a place to spend an entire week. “It’s great if you’re with someone you love a lot, but there’s really very little to do,” she said. In other words, perfect. We chose El Tamarindo for the first three nights and El Careyes Beach Resort, its sister property less than an hour’s drive away, for the final four. Both are on a stretch of Mexico’s Pacific coastline called the Costa Alegre.

So in March, after an easy 2 1/2-hour flight from L.A. to Manzanillo, a well-traveled taxi without air-conditioning transported us to El Tamarindo on the dusty, bumpy 45-minute drive north. The route took us through small towns that were neither depressing nor picturesque. (We passed the turnoff to the port town of Barra de Navidad, which I later learned has lively restaurants, tourist shops and beaches, but which we never got to.) I imagine that some of the people who are accustomed to the luxury El Tamarindo offers, perhaps first-time visitors to Mexico, might be distressed by the uncomfortable drive.

When we turned off the highway onto El Tamarindo’s private cobblestoned road, it was clear we were leaving the real world. The sunbaked landscape suddenly gave way to a tropical oasis. Well before we could see the ocean, we felt cooled by the sheltering forest. The road wound through dense jungle for 15 minutes or so, finally arriving at the resort’s main building, a large, open structure supported by the trunks of giant guayabillo trees and covered with an immense thatched roof, a sort of beach palapa on hormones. It contained a reception area and a boutique selling bathing suits, sunscreen and crafts.

The resort was built in 1995 and initially run by a Singapore-based hotel management firm. But last February, Grupo Plan, the Mexican real estate company that owns both it and El Careyes, turned the management over to U.S.-based Starwood Hotels & Resorts, which markets them under its Luxury Collection.

Luxurious simplicity

Once we were registered at El Tamarindo, a bellhop and golf cart brought us and our luggage to our casita along a meandering pathway through tropical gardens. The simple white stucco villa, also with a thatched roof, was only 600 or 700 square feet but felt spacious, with a bedroom and sitting area, bathroom and dressing room. The main room’s glass doors could slide open to make the patio, bar area, built-in cushioned banquette and dipping pool seem like one extended space. The spare décor incorporated natural woods, polished stone floor inlays and luxurious white bed linens. The effect of the sophisticated design was a calming simplicity.

As we followed a stone path to the beach, we passed numbers identifying other casitas hidden among palm trees and lush landscaping. For $429 a night, excluding meals, we’d chosen a casita that was away from the beach and less expensive than the larger villas nearer the water’s edge.

Being surrounded by jungle was novel, romantic and extremely peaceful. The sounds of the jungle, different during the day and after dark, were a wonderful alternative to the usual noise of telephone or TV, neither of which was available in our room. (Phones have since been added.)

Within a few hundred miles there are several deluxe resorts where the nightly charge can be even more, but I can’t believe that they could be more beautiful. The service was excellent but unobtrusive. We’d return from a late afternoon walk on the beach to find that candles had been lighted around our private pool and fresh towels had been provided. Special insect repellent candles were placed in the room, but on our next visit I’ll bring some bug spray of my own.

The resort’s communal area overlooks a stunning beach. All meals are served outdoors, near the infinity pool. The menu is international, with a few Mexican selections. Food never would be the high point of a day for us; it was good enough at the resort’s one restaurant, but choosing from the same menu three times a day for three days gets monotonous. In March we needed a sweater or wrap in the evening, and the days were pleasantly warm but not hot. (Temperatures are similar in the fall and winter.)

El Tamarindo is popular with honeymooners, and most guests kept to themselves. There were some young American couples and a German family that had small children and a grandmother in tow. We met a couple in their 50s from Minneapolis who vacation one week a month so they don’t get in the way of the adult children they’d brought into the family business. They were sampling all the activities the resort offers: snorkeling, sea kayaking and golf.

We napped and read, convinced that we’d found the ideal spot in which to do absolutely nothing. Above the pool, a slatted wooden platform with an assortment of pillows and views of the ocean was a favorite spot to sleep, read or daydream. In fact, I napped so much at El Tamarindo that I was reminded of “Carnal Knowledge,” in which Jack Nicholson says to Ann-Margret, “You sleep more than any woman over the age of 6 months I’ve ever seen.”

After nearly three days of blissful laziness, we were ready to move. Just before sundown on our last evening, we walked the entire 18-hole golf course, designed by Robert Trent Jones Jr. and David Fleming. Not being golfers, we couldn’t judge how challenging or fun the course was, but it offered magnificent views. Putting greens overlooked chiseled rock cliffs that dropped dramatically to the ocean. The Ninth Hole is a restaurant, guess where, that serves grilled chicken or beef sandwiches and other snacks under a palapa.

The resort was far from booked, and obviously few golfers were in residence: The course was completely empty! On our five- or six-mile walk we encountered six lemurs, four wild pigs and many lizards, but no people under the trees, some as tall as 150 feet, that line the course. Curious, because the lack of crowds and the spectacular vistas would make El Tamarindo a golfer’s paradise.

A haven on the sand

Perhaps we loved our next stop, El Careyes Beach Resort, so much because our stay at El Tamarindo had mellowed us so much. A 45-minute, $80 taxi ride along a winding two-lane highway reminded us how hot and dry Mexico can be, even when the road turns slightly inland in the tropics (this coastal area lies below the Tropic of Cancer). Originally called Costa Careyes (Turtle Coast), the area was developed by Franco Brignone, an Italian entrepreneur who discovered it in the late 1960s. His goal was not to build a huge resort but to protect sea turtles and keep the tropical coastline unspoiled. With a 48-room hotel, one- to four-bedroom condominiums and about 20 villas overlooking a small bay, the area still feels like a well-kept secret.

But even a 48-room hotel had sounded too big to us. So we reserved a one-room bungalow on the beach for $325 a night. Compared with the elegant casita at El Tamarindo, our little bungalow was less than luxurious, particularly considering the price. It resembled a seaside haven that Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw might have stopped at while on the lam in “The Getaway.”

One of only three tiny houses at the edge of a quiet beach called Playa Rosa, it would almost have seemed a little seedy if it hadn’t been such a sexy spot. A double window that opened to the sand became our back door. We always left it open: At night we’d see silhouettes of palm trees and moonlight reflected off the water. A seaside restaurant steps away served whatever fish had been caught that morning. After the first day, I ambled over there barefoot, tying a pareo over my bathing suit. Dinners were $40 a person, without alcohol, and lunches a bit less. The other diners were all casually dressed -- Americans who’d parked their yachts in the harbor, or Europeans who rent or own the architecturally interesting palapa-style villas tucked into the hills overlooking the bay.

For breakfast, we’d climb several flights of stairs, passing the tile-roofed condominiums terraced along the hillside, to the Lantana, the hotel’s outdoor restaurant. Various shades of bougainvillea grow like weeds, complementing the Mediterranean village-like architecture of El Careyes. The stucco buildings have been painted bright pink, blue, coral, peach, yellow and green. At sundown we walked the hilly roads overlooking the bay, fantasizing about which villa we’d like to buy.

On past visits to Mexico, neither one of us had found a spot so magical. We left wondering how soon we’d be able to return.