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A 22‑suite coastal retreat shaped by stepped, earthen volumes, palm shade, and slow paths between dunes and wetlands.
At the edge of Playa El Puertecito—about a half hour south of Puerto Escondido—Kymaia spreads across what used to be a hibiscus farm, now a 3.7‑acre (roughly 1.5‑hectare) site of dunes, mangroves, and native gardens. PRODUCTORA leads the architecture; The Book of Wa handles interiors, landscape, and visual identity. The project keeps a low profile in the terrain: 22 suites set as compact, pyramidal forms with long faces turned to the Pacific or to dry gardens inland. Public spaces gather around a main pool and a sequence of open‑air rooms under palm thatch, culminating in a 33‑foot‑tall palapa that crowns the dining pavilion. The property reads like a quiet campus—paths through sand, shade from fan palms, and a consistent palette of earth, wood, and concrete that takes the glare out of midday sun.
The architecture works by stacking mass low and projecting shade. Each suite uses rammed‑earth blocks—made by local crews and laid by hand—so walls do double duty as structure and thermal buffer. Thin, pigmented concrete slabs project about 1.5 meters to throw shadow lines; an inverted beam system holds the roof without encroaching on the room, so the floor stays clear and the horizon stays clean. Operable shutters in Macuil wood tune cross‑breezes, gauzy drapes soften daylight, and the stepped berms around bathrooms and closets thicken where privacy and insulation matter most. The pool meanders, green with mineral pigment, and the grounds fold in systems that return water to the landscape—constructed wetlands and evapotranspiration filters—backed up by solar generation. The effect is practical rather than scenic: cooler interiors, slower acoustics, and light that lands where you want it, not where it’s harsh.
Daily life moves between stillness and ceremony. A square‑plan shala sits directly on the sand beneath a circular roof for shade; nearby, Azumi—the dry garden for yoga and meditation—holds its own microclimate of desert species. Dining pulls uphill to Septimus, led by chefs Eduardo García and Gabriela López, where guests climb a gentle, pyramidal path from open lounges to a formal room under the palapa. Two satellites round out the sequence: Huachinango Bar by the palms and La Cueva, a semi‑subterranean cellar that trades views for cool air and quiet. The rooms return you to the site’s slower rhythm—earthen walls warm to the touch in late sun, shutters click into a cross‑draft, and the stepped threshold frames a strip of ocean. What stands out isn’t spectacle but pacing: short walks, shaded edges, and a plan that lets you register time in the way light moves across rammed earth and sand.
Photography: Onnis Luque
