Sitting Pretty at the One & Only Mandarina on Mexico’s Pacific Coast

My husband, Adam, and I aren’t really drawn to resorts—our day-to-day existence is relaxed enough that we’re never in dire need of decompression. When we moved here, however, we vowed to be “yes” people, to be open to experiences that we might normally pass on, because what’s the point of starting a new life across the country if you can’t do a reset on yourself in the process? So when friends asked if we wanted to join them at the One & Only Mandarina resort on Mexico’s Pacific coast, we said yes.

The stakes are higher at a resort than at a city hotel because you spend much more time—maybe all of your time—on the property. If you’re never leaving the resort, it had better be good. And that goes double at this price point: the One & Only Mandarina was expensive, even considering that we took advantage of a buy-three-nights-get-one-free deal, and then a “20% sales & occupancy tax and 10% service charge” raised the overall cost by 30 percent.

Not far from Sayulita, the hotel is about a 90-minute drive from the Puerto Vallarta airport, and when a highway currently under construction is completed, the trip will be much quicker. We opted for the round-trip private transfer arranged by the hotel, which was money well spent.

The reception building is open-air and attractive—yes, they ring the gong when you arrive—and after you check in, you have no reason to return to the building until checkout. The restaurants and other facilities are all elsewhere, and you’re assigned a staffer, with whom you text on WhatsApp, to handle anything you need.

The rooms are embedded in the hillside above the beach, as you can see if you look closely at the second photo below, and while a few are conjoined for use by families, most are in freestanding buildings. You’re encouraged to call for a golf cart if you want to go anywhere, but we preferred to walk. Getting from one end of the property to the other takes 15 or 20 minutes.

The rooms called “treehouses” sit on stilts. I’m not sure that added much to my experience, but it does make them more photogenic than the ones on the ground. Our view was amazing, and I loved not having neighbors right nearby. We were fortunate in that no one was staying in the room that looked down on ours, not that it would’ve stopped me from skinny-dipping in the plunge pool. At this point in life, I’d only be flattered by anyone wanting a peek.

The interior was swanky, although I was tempted to ask our dedicated staffer, Tomas, to take the TV away. It’s worth noting that the wood, striking as it is, is not aging well. Our floor was buckling here and there, and in other spots, we could see where someone had tried to nail it back into place.

The bathroom had a massive shower, with a bathtub out on the balcony.

The best part was the deck, with the plunge pool flanked by a table and chairs on one side and lounge chairs on the other.

The pump container on the end table was filled with natural insect repellent, and I’m delighted to say that bugs—by which I mean mosquitoes—were not a problem. Friends who had visited in summer got eaten alive, and as a result, I brought DEET and more DEET, but we never needed it. The area evidently gets extremely buggy during the rainy season of June through September.

Raccoon-like animals called coatis are a year-round nuisance, and you’re advised to keep your doors locked whenever possible, for they have been known to pull open the sliding screen doors to forage around the guest rooms. (I’m not sure why the hotel doesn’t put latches on the screen doors.) The only other wildlife we saw were whales spouting in the distance and various birds, some of which had intense calls—one was like a squeaky toy, another made a total cackle racket.

I suppose insects count as wildlife…. Another friend who had been to the hotel said we absolutely had to check out the butterfly enclosure that’s part of the kids’ club, even though we don’t have kids. We were too late in the day for the butterflies, but I doubt they would’ve compared to the various stick and leaf insects in the collection. Talking about them with the staff entomologist was an unexpected highlight of our stay.

During the run-up to the trip, we spent a lot of time debating with our friends what we should do. Snorkeling? A sunset cruise? Pickleball? A trip into Sayulita? But then we decided that we were paying so much for the resort that perhaps we should just revel in being there, and instead of spending even more on extras, try to be content with activities included in the rate—in our case, kayaking, paddleboarding, and yoga.

In the interest of research, I did get a massage—I was convinced you’d want to know what the spa is like. It’s nice! There was no one around when I was there, so it was a little like a more upscale I Am Legend, and perhaps because I’m tall and robes never fit well, I’ve never been into the lounging part of the spa experience. (Just because I don’t mind being seen naked doesn’t mean that I want to flash bystanders.) But I did participate in a tribathlon—steam room, cold plunge, sauna—and I tried applying the crushed ice that’s dispensed via a pipe in the ceiling, to little effect or pleasure.

The hotel was anywhere from 55 percent to 75 percent occupied, depending on whom I asked, and we never had the feeling that we might have to fight for a chaise longue. The resort’s main pool was quite attractive….

…not that it mattered, because the adults-only pool was even better, with fewer people and no music. We spent an afternoon at the deck’s edge, facing the ocean; it was idyllic. Adam told me that taking a photo of the infinity pool and the horizon is a cliché, but come on—how can you not?

And we spent a fair amount of time at the resort’s Jetty Beach Club. (A tangent: Hernan Diaz’s Trust is the best novel I’ve read in years.)

Breakfast was at Alma, the all-day restaurant by the main pool. The food was good, but the room was a bit grim if you looked anywhere besides out at the view, and being around so many other people was disconcerting—not because it was particularly crowded, but because we had grown accustomed to solitude. We had dinner there once, for variety’s sake; the guitarist’s decision to play the “White Lotus” theme felt rather pointed.

The resort’s bar, Treetops, is a swell place to have a drink.

My favorite restaurant was Carao, where we ate dinner twice. It’s overseen by Enrique Olvera, best known for Pujol in Mexico City and whose Atla in New York City is one of our favorite restaurants. Again, the interior could use warming up—someone attempted to soften the ugly LED glare by draping napkins over the fixtures—but the food was excellent. I don’t remember what the first dish below was (but I loved it); the others are grilled fish, a dish of cheese and octopus “chorizo,” and leek Milanese (and I loved them, too). It became a running joke that I couldn’t stop talking about how much I loved Carao. Perhaps someone who believes in manifesting could summon Olvera to Santa Barbara?

Mandarina, we eventually learned, is the name of a development that includes the One & Only (opened in November 2020) and its private homes (most still under construction); the 140-room Rosewood Mandarina (due in 2024); the Mandarina Polo & Equestrian Club; and the Canalan Beach Club. The Italian food served at the beach club was no better than fine, but the setting was holy-shit spectacular. I’ve been fortunate to travel widely and well over the years, but I had never had dinner with my feet in the sand.

So what’s not to like?

One day at 8 a.m., the exquisite quiet was broken by a mechanical beep-beep-beep every few minutes. Tomas rushed over and—after trying to persuade us that it was construction at the Rosewood resort—then to the spa down the hill. It turns out that a new instructor brought his own timer for that morning’s outdoor fitness class. These things happen. But when they happen again the next morning, it starts to burn.

On a more macro level, we were often in the dark about the various amenities and restaurant options—I guarantee you that there have been guests who didn’t know about the Canalan Beach Club restaurant. And the 10 percent service charge: what exactly does it cover? At breakfast, which was included in our rate, we were presented bills with a gratuity line; at the end of our stay, Tomas stood by the exit, clearly ready for a tip.

Part of enjoying a vacation like this is giving into it, trying not to care every time you open your wallet. And yet, no one likes to feel like he’s getting milked. At breakfast, for instance, the restaurant pours house-filtered water for free, but at other meals, you have to know to specifically request it or you’ll end up paying $8 for bottled water. And leaving the hotel brought to mind Cinderella at midnight: while the trip from the airport included snacks and drinks, we got nothing on the trip back. A few days later, I contacted the guest services team—so helpful before our visit—to ask about getting a map of the property. I never heard back.

For all that, I’d still recommend the One & Only Mandarina. No place is perfect, but it’s close. And I suspect the time to go is soon, because the facilities are bound to get more crowded once the Rosewood and private homes are completed.

P.S. Siteline pays its own way, and no one there knew I would be writing about it.

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Previous travel coverage:
↓↓↓ The Mysteries of Istanbul
••• Palm Springs: Midweek at the Oasis
••• A Summer Swing Through the Northeast
••• Why Is Everyone Going to Portugal?
••• Patagonia Made Easy
••• A Quickie in L.A.
••• From Penthouse to Pavement in Mexico City
••• Do Greek Islands Live Up to the Fantasy?
••• Splendid Isolation at Utah’s Lodge at Blue Sky
••• Three Reasons to Visit Paso Robles Now
••• The Rebirth of the Cuyama Buckhorn

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