One Night in an Off-Grid, Brutalist-Style Hotel in Coastal Oaxaca’s Design Enclave

Welcome to One Night In, a series about staying in the most unparalleled places available to rest your head.

The first time I went to Puerto Escondido in June 2023, it’d been almost a decade since Mexican artist Bosco Sodi’s Casa Wabi, designed by Tadao Ando, put the remote stretch of Oaxacan coastline on the global design map. Once a quiet surfing village with a legendary beachbreak, Puerto Escondido has been on the verge of overflow—particularly since the pandemic—due to a boom in tourism bolstered by the ongoing development of its popular backpacker accommodations and slew of design hotels and rentals that have followed in Casa Wabi’s visual tradition.

For years, the area’s main saving grace against overtourism was that it was relatively hard to get to, requiring a costly series of flights or a 10-hour drive through the Sierra Madre del Sur Mountains. When I returned to Puerto Escondido in early 2024, however, everyone was talking about the impending opening of the new Barranca Larga-Ventanilla highway: a contentious project poised to flood the area with even more tourists, cutting the drive down to two hours from Oaxaca City.

Conflicted about my own role in Puerto Escondido’s development, I originally stayed away from the one-mile stretch northwest of town called Punta Pájaros, where Casa Wabi and the nearby Hotel Escondido by Grupo Habita (also established 2014) gave way to similarly brutalist-style hospitality projects that blend traditional elements of Mexican and Japanese architecture. Among those places is Terrestre, a 2022 retreat from Grupo Habita that was designed by Mexican architect Alberto Kalach, who was also behind the brick-and-stone Casona Sforza south of the famous "Mexican Pipeline" at Playa Zicatela, and designed a pavilion at Casa Wabi, as well as a Mexico City outpost for the arts nonprofit. At upwards of $350 per night, however, Terrestre also wasn’t in my budget. But when I learned about the low-impact ethos behind its design—the resort says it operates fully off-grid using solar power—I was intrigued. After reaching out to the team to see if I could set up a stay and getting a yes, I decided to find out more for myself.

Wednesday

11 a.m.: After a 40-minute taxi ride from Playa Zicatela, where I’ve been staying near Puerto’s touristic center, the driver rolls up the windows as we turn onto a dusty, single-lane road. I’m greeted outside Terrestre’s entry and led down a path shrouded in wild greenery: craggy cacti, copal trees, and yellow oleander, to name a few. The open-air lobby features a reflecting pool balanced on a concrete platform. There’s ambient music playing softly. I pull out my phone to Shazam, but: no service.

Given the hotel’s carefully curated appearance, I half expected a stiff experience catered to the Instagram-inclined. My first impression proves me wrong. With only 14 villas, an open-air restaurant, and a few geometric structures holding pools and spa areas, the grounds are exceptionally quiet. The staff give me an overview of the property and services, including the complimentary hammam, where I book a later reservation. I grab a map that will come in handy for navigating the maze of sand pathways that circumnavigate the site’s buildings. It’s small enough to walk across in about five minutes—that is, if you can find your way. I also indulgently sign up for an afternoon massage.

Outside each villa, and strategically placed across the property, are foot-washing basins made from volcanic rock. Before I enter my room, I gently rinse my feet in the cool water and get my first taste of the simple but sensorial sophistication that the hotel markets itself with. It’s fabulous.

Each of the monolithic villas comprises two floors with a private garden on the ground level and an exterior staircase that leads to a personal rooftop pool. I walk in to a queen-size bed situated in front of a small side table and pair of chairs by Mexican architect and designer Oscar Hagerman, all oriented toward a wall of slatted wooden doors and windows that open onto the gardens. The palette is earthy and restrained: smooth concrete floors, thick brick walls, barrel-vaulted ceilings, and wooden accents. A floating shelf with a Bluetooth speaker and a chaotic selection of English- and Spanish-language secondhand books—a Bill Gates biography, a compendium of Mexico’s 250 best restaurants, and a Marianne Williamson title—are neatly placed alongside a note gently reminding me to watch my energy consumption at the solar-powered property. Hanging in the closet are lightweight, robe-like garments made by Oaxacan designer Maison Gallot for guests to wear around the property. It’s not my thing, but I’ll eventually see a few others wearing them while wandering the sinuous sandy walkways.

1:15 p.m.: I head to the pool where I take a dip after rinsing my feet in another basin. A few daybeds dot the perimeter, but the only sign that I have company is a crumpled towel left on a cushion.

2 p.m.: On the way from the pool to my appointment with the hotel masseuse, Carmen, I get lost for the first of many times over the next 24 hours. After a couple of wrong turns and a few minutes, I arrive at the conical pavilion that fits a massage table and not much else. In place of a door and windows, the treatment area has a beaded wood curtain and louvers that let air and light circulate. My rambling thoughts are spirited away through the thick wafts of copal incense that burn throughout the hour-long treatment. I leave feeling relaxed and ready for a snack.