all-important formula for success: location, location, location. "The essence of Punta Mita is the site," acknowledges architect Diego Villasenor about the dazzling stretch of shoreline. "The site is so good that it told us what to put there."

Following this ecological mandate, Villasenor, working with Donald Fairweather of Wimberley Allison Tong & Goo, opted to forgo the usual hotel paradigm for something far more intimate. "Instead of one big building for all the rooms," he explains, "we thought a series of small ones would be better." Seclusion but inclusion is indeed the unique charm of Punta Mita. The one hundred and thirteen rooms and twenty-seven suites, each set amid lush green foliage, are connected by a winding path easily

traversed by foot or in one of the small staff-driven carts that are always on call.

As a result, Punta Mita feels more like a village than a hotel, more meandering than structured. Its centerpiece is the thatch-roofed main building, or palapa, as Villasenor calls it. Housing the lobby, terrace lounge, gift shop and Aramara, the resort's more formal restaurant, the architect's palapa is, in effect, a huge thatch-roofed cottage (albeit one with honed Fiorito marble floors). (The more informal dining area, Ketsi, all open-air but also thatch-roofed, parallels the pool.)

"It's like a hat," says Villasenor of his traditional roof, handwoven from palm fronds. "The material makes

The retreat consists of 113 guest rooms and 27 suites spread out across the verdant grounds in 13 casitas. The low structures were built to harmonize with the surrounding landscape and the region's coastal architecture. LEFT: The bedroom of the Luna suite.