The grand tent at the Naviva luxury eco-resort owned by Four Seasons and located on the private Punta Mita peninsula on Mexico’s Pacific Coast.Four Seasons
As I pick my way over the rocks on the shore, my eyes fall from the Pacific horizon, where they’ve been fruitlessly scanning for whales, to a tiny white object at my feet. “Look, a fish washed up,” I say, with my gift for stating the obvious. I kneel beside it, and so does Oswaldo, the guide on our nature hike. We realize at the same moment that it is, in fact, a plastic toy fish, lost to the sea. “Probably my niece’s,” Oswaldo laughs, and puts it in his pocket.
He fully embodies the creed of the Naviva resort, where I’m staying: Everything is reused or reclaimed. Nothing goes to waste. He’s already pocketed a soggy tennis ball that he’ll use to play with his dog.
This is the first piece of plastic I’ve seen at Naviva, a luxury eco-resort owned by Four Seasons and located on the private Punta Mita peninsula on Mexico’s Pacific Coast. “Luxury eco-resort” is, I’ll admit, the kind of oxymoronic descriptor Kurt Vonnegut might have come up with if he’d lived long enough to experience a “shamanic sound healing” on a cliff overlooking the crashing waves while frigate birds soared overhead. I did experience the shamanic sound healing, and in place of restorative silence my mind kept whispering please let’s never go home.
I struggled with the many ways I could describe Naviva – The White Lotus meets Nine Perfect Strangers? – and then it clicked. You know those viral videos of tourists having fist fights over pool chairs at some all-inclusive resort in Tenerife? Well, Naviva has the opposite energy in every imaginable way. Quiet, exquisitely tasteful, beautiful and serene. If you think that comes at a price, well – it really does. A stay at one of its luxury tents starts at US$4,000 a night, before taxes.
Glamping tents are decorated with Mexican pottery and fabrics from local craftspeople.Four Seasons
Naviva, which is located about 45 minutes from Puerto Vallarta’s airport, opened in December, 2022. It consists of 15 “tents” spread across 19 hectares of forest and beachside. These are not the tents of your rain-lashed childhood in Killarney. I’ve never before occupied a tent that contained a clothes steamer, a margarita-making kit, Marshall speakers and my own personal plunge pool. My glamping pod was also outfitted with gorgeous Mexican pottery and fabrics from local craftspeople; much of the building material was reclaimed. The tents contain no TVs, radios or computers, but do provide a level of WiFi that suggests Bill Gates installed the routers himself.
Why would you want a TV anyway? All of life is outside. Pelicans and vultures soar overhead. The bushes are thick with clouds of butterflies, bright as the jewels in a necklace. Mischievous, raccoon-adjacent coati dart through the underbrush. The only sounds to disturb the silence (have I mentioned that Naviva is adults-only?) are the songs of various birds, which my Merlin app identifies as great kiskadees, streak-backed orioles and yellow warblers. Martina, a three-legged peccary, which resembles a wild pig, is the resort’s mascot, roaming the grounds in search of treats.
Meet the new all-inclusive resort
Wildlife is abundant but in my three days at Naviva I see almost no one who isn’t staff. For a certain class of traveller, that’s probably the ultimate luxury. I make my way down to Copal Cocina, which is the heart of the resort. Here, in an open-air restaurant/clubhouse perched over the ocean, the lovely staff endeavour to stuff me like a pepper. I honestly feel like I’m back with my Italian nonna as I’m urged to eat a series of dishes, each more delicious than the last: a ceviche of local mahi mahi crowned with shaved fennel, eggs benedict spiked with poblano sauce, and pan de muerto, a wonderful cinnamon-infused pastry available only around the time of Dia de los Muertos.
Inside the temazcal, a low igloo-like stone structure, a fire pit at its centre is filled with red-hot lava rocks. Water with herbs is poured on the rocks to fill the room with steam.Four Seasons
Naviva’s vibe is meant to suggest you’ve arrived at a friend’s place (well, if your friend is a billionaire with a jungle hideaway). Personalized experiences can be arranged for any guest. You want to go snorkeling? Done. Visit an artist’s studio? No problem. You want to stay in your palatial tent all day swinging in your hammock? No one’s going to bother you.
It’s all very chill. All the food and drink are included in the accommodation price, and the kitchen is a place of learning as well. One afternoon I’m taught “seacuterie” by sous-chef Miguel, and I make a fairly decent tuna tostada and a zingy ceviche. Before long talk turns to the efficacy of ceviche as a hangover cure in many parts of the world. I told you it was a learning experience.
I’m also recruited in the Naviva war on waste. I learn to make tepache, a sort of Mexican kombucha using pineapple peels, cinnamon and brown sugar. Later, I’m encouraged to try the house-made espresso tequila, which is infused with the grounds used to make our morning coffee. Reluctantly, and only in the name of journalistic research, I agree to help them test this product. It might have been very delicious. I just don’t remember.
The resort is also dedicated to “wellness,” that most elusive and profitable 21st-century grail. My own ideal of wellness is achieved as I lie on one of the swinging beds on the beach, staring off into the distance, vaguely searching for the humpback whales that migrate south to these waters every winter. The beach is empty, and silent except for the waves. An egret eyes me suspiciously. I manage to bestir myself to write in my notebook, “not one useful thought has crossed my mind in two days.” If that’s not wellness, I don’t know what is.
Unfortunately, the wellness world is geared to the less indolent, and I have to get up if I want further enlightenment. There are energy healings and clarity massages offered at the spa tucked away in the jungle, but I’ve opted for a gratitude ceremony in the temazcal, a traditional “house of heat.”
A spa pod at the resort, which is dedicated to its guests' wellness.Yoshihiro Makino/Four Seasons
I’m greeted by Luis, who informs me that our session will involve a reverent summoning of our ancestors, as well as paying thanks to the Earth, the sun and moon. He asks me to throw tobacco on the fire and set an intention, and then we kneel while Luis apologizes to Mother Earth for the terrible things we’ve done. We’re like teenagers trashing our parents’ house, he says, and this strikes me as a pretty fair analogy.
We crawl inside the temazcal, a low igloo-like stone structure with a fire pit at its centre. Luis brings in red-hot lava rocks on a pitchfork, and then pours water and herbs on them. The room fills with steam as he sings and calls on our ancestors. I could tell you more, but you know the rules: What happens in the temazcal stays in the temazcal. You’ll just have to try it for yourself.
My final morning at Naviva is my favourite. It’s a simple hike along the rocky shore and up into the forested hills, with Oswaldo pointing out the tracks of deer and the mud pits where the peccary like to wallow (their version of a spa day). Oswaldo provides a commentary about the plants and trees, until we come to a vast fig tree that is growing around the boulder at its base. “At the end of the fight,” he says, “the tree will win.”
Of course, this makes me want to return to check on the tree’s progress, and to listen to all that delicious silence once again. I’m already buying lottery tickets.
The writer was a guest of Four Seasons Naviva resort. It did not review or approve the story before publication.