There are still places along Mexico’s Pacific coast where the road thins out, the cell signal fades, and the ocean doesn’t feel like a product yet.
Costalegre is one of those places. Or was.
A stretch of Jalisco where the jungle leans hard toward the sea, where beaches are long and pretty empty, and where you can still hear yourself think, sometimes louder than you’d like.
I’ve always liked places like that. Not because they’re untouched myths, but because they resist being rushed. They make you slow down whether you want to or not.
Xala sits right in the middle of that wild calm, spread across a ridiculous amount of land (more than 3,000 acres) and instead of flattening it, fencing it, or selling it off by the square foot, the people behind this project made a strange, almost radical decision. They let the land call the shots. Less than a fifth of it will ever be built on. The rest stays messy, green, tidal, alive.
That alone gets my attention.
This isn’t some glossy “eco” pitch slapped onto a luxury brochure. The bones of the place feel different. The kind of different you notice when you stand still for a minute and realize nobody’s trying to entertain you. Nature does the work. You just show up.
Now add Six Senses to the mix, and things get interesting.
Their first property in Mexico is taking shape here, and if you know the brand, you know they don’t do loud. They do quiet confidence. Space. Comfort that sneaks up on you. Fifty-one suites total. That’s it. No tower, no grand statement, no competition with the horizon.
The design melts into the terrain. Single-story, grounded, almost shy. Like it knows it’s a guest here.
The residences take that same idea and stretch it out. Thirty-six oceanfront homes, each sitting on a lot so large it borders on absurd—nearly four acres per house, with enough beachfront that you won’t hear your neighbor unless you invite them over. Every home stays low to the ground, open to the breeze, built for mornings where coffee turns into lunch because no one feels like leaving the terrace.
People noticed. Fast. Most of the first phase sold before anyone could overthink it.
That makes sense. Privacy has become the real luxury now. Space too. The kind you don’t need to escape from.
Wellness here doesn’t scream at you either. It doesn’t wear white robes and jargon. It just… exists. A gym that opens to the outside. Trails that make treadmills feel pointless. A spa that borrows from local traditions without turning them into costumes. And the Alchemy Bar—one of those quietly magical Six Senses ideas—where herbs, oils, and old knowledge mix into something that feels both ancient and personal.
Food follows the same rhythm. Local, seasonal, unfussy. You eat what the land gives you when it gives it. That philosophy hits harder than any tasting menu.
Beyond the hotel, Xala unfolds like a private map. Miles of beach you can walk without seeing another footprint. Estuaries that catch the light just right in the late afternoon. Mountains you climb not for bragging rights, but because the view reminds you how small you are.
There are plans, sure. Rancho estates. Beach clubs that won’t feel like clubs. A surf break anchored by a reef. Horses. Wine. A turtle camp that actually does the work. And a protected estuary that quietly demands respect, no matter how much money shows up.
Even the airport coming nearby feels measured. Convenient, but not invasive. You can get here. You just won’t stumble into it by accident.
What stays with me most is the long game. The foundation work. Education. Women-led businesses. Fishing done right. A hundred kilometers of coastline protected instead of parceled off. That’s not sexy marketing copy. That’s patience.
Luxury used to mean excess. Now it means restraint. Knowing when to stop. Xala seems to understand that. It doesn’t chase attention. It waits. Confident that the right people will find their way here, sit down, exhale, and maybe remember how good it feels to do absolutely nothing—properly.
And honestly, that might be the most indulgent thing of all.
