Nayarit, A Coastal Mexican State, Offers Travelers Adventure, Culture, Beauty
If you're considering travel to Mexico, consider Nayarit, a small state in western Mexico between the forested mountains of the Sierra Madre Occidental and the Pacific Ocean. Besides tourism, the state's economy is based mainly on agriculture and fishing, so the vibe is chill and authentic, with rugged, pristine beaches, lush landscapes, and vibrant cultural experiences.
North of the beaches of San Blas and the so-called "Riviera Nayarit," popular with tourists and snowbirds, is the colonial town of San Blas, whose Fuerte de San Basilio fort once protected the area from pirates.
Just south are Matanchen Bay's surfing beaches, while north is Mexcaltitlán Island, considered the birthplace of Aztec civilization.
Aerial view of the colorful houses of Mexcaltitan, a magical town built on an island in a mangrove ... More swamp in Nayarit, Mexico
Beaches: Golden, sandy beaches lay beneath the Sierra Madre mountains, with groves of palm trees and powerful Pacific waves, with more than two dozen beach towns along nearly 200 miles of coastline. Favorites include Sayulita and San Pancho, the secluded coves of Punta Mita, and the remote, wildlife-rich estuaries of Rincon de Guayabitos, San Blas, and beyond.
Surfer in Sayulita, Nayarit Mexico
Surfers and surf enthusiasts head to the beaches of San Pancho on June 20 for International Surfing Day. Playa San Panch, with powerful waves, is the main beach. Diving is best in Nayarit during the summer, when water temperatures and visibility are at their peak.
Outdoor Adventures: You can experience the lush jungles of the Sierra Madre mountains on a zip-lining excursion, hike to hidden waterfalls, surf the secret breaks, or go whale watching along the coast.
Cultural Immersion: Nayarit has a rich cultural heritage. Explore the colorful markets of Tepic, where you can sample local cuisine and shop for handmade crafts. Check out traditional Huichol art and learn about the indigenous culture that has thrived in the region for centuries.
Mexican indigenous Huichol beading necklace and bracelet.
Magical Towns: More than any other state in Mexico, Nayarit is home to nine Magical Towns, special destinations recognized for heritage, culture, natural beauty, legends, and gastronomy. Ahuacatlán, Amatlán de Cañas, Ixtlán del Río, San Blas, and Puerto Balleto (Islas Marías), Sayulita, Compostela, Jala, and Mexcaltitan offer an opportunity to get in touch with the history and soul of the state.
Scenic view of Jala, Nayarit, a pueblo magico (magical town) in Mexico, with its iconic church tower ... More and volcano in the background.
Food: Traditional Narayit recipes feature fresh seafood and fish, and dishes are seasoned generously. A delicacy is corn-based tamales, both sweet and savory. This cooked corn dough stands out for its spongy texture and versatility, and can be filled with the ingredient you prefer.
The most popular desserts are jericalla and cocadas, found both on restaurant menus and at street stalls.
Cocada Coconut Candy
Luxurious Resorts: Summer often means lower prices or exclusive travel deals Besides tropical gardens and azure waters, luxe resorts offer accommodations from palatial suites to private villas, offering panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean or jungle landscapes. Outdoor activities include championship golf courses to water sports and tours of nearby villages and vibrant markets.
Golf: Nine world-class golf courses are designed by legends such as Jack Nicklaus, Greg Norman, Jim Like, Percy Clifford, and Robert Von Hagge & Baril. These top-tier golf courses feature spectacular views over the Bay of Banderas and the Pacific Ocean, as well as the beaches and mountain rainforests of the Sierra Madres.
Crystal Clear Water surround the golf course in Punta Mita, Nayarit Mexico
Wellness: The jungle-covered mountains, crashing Pacific coastline, and abundance of wildlife is an ideal backdrop for a wellness journey. Whether it's an indulgent treatment at a world-class spa in Punta de Mita, a multi-day yoga retreat in Sayulita, or filling your days with alcohol-free activity and adventure, Nayarit can send you on a wellness journey.
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We popped in to the studio of the avant-garde fashion designer Ziv Rei Alexi, who showed us a jacket covered in what appeared to be cracked paint ('inspired by the rawness of concrete,' he said) and a translucent racer-back top ('Margiela 1998'). Next door, we met Arts Serrano, who runs One Zero, the interior-architecture firm behind some of Manila's trendiest restaurants. 'The old and the new merge in this building,' Serrano told us. 'It encourages you to play around with ideas. There's a natural energy that encourages cross-pollination.' That intersection of history and innovation came to mind one night at the Peninsula Manila hotel, where we were staying. When my family lived in the Philippines, we went to 'the Pen,' as locals call the grande dame of the city's hotels, on special occasions. It's even more beautiful than I remembered (it received a facelift just prior to the pandemic) and its buffet just as lavish. 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The sugar industry has faded, but the homes remain. Silay City, in the province's north, has the most significant collection, though nature has reclaimed many, with kudzu and strangler figs grabbing roof tiles and tearing down walls. If you want to experience the country's heart, you have to explore beyond Manila. We stopped at one of the best preserved, Casa A. Gamboa, for lunch with Reena Gamboa, a fifth-generation farmer. Built in 1939 by Gamboa's grandfather, the mansion marries Art Deco style with bahay kubo architecture, a traditional Filipino house on stilts. It has high ceilings and linear calados —carved-wood door transoms that improve air circulation. Over stewed chicken, Malabar spinach, and tiny pickled cucumbers called pipinitos, Gamboa told us how she was still learning new things about her family's land. (Those pipinitos were discovered on her farm last year, when she was 60, and were a 'revelation,' she said.) When World War II arrived, the U.S. Army requisitioned the house. Gamboa heard stories of Douglas MacArthur's visit, but only got proof recently; near the front steps, a framed photograph shows the general descending them in 1945. From left: Ceviche at 7 Hectares, an aquaculture farm in Bacolod; grilled fish at 7 Hectares. Next, we visited the provincial capital of Bacolod, where Lilia V. Villanueva welcomed us to a 1930s gem called Daku Balay ('Big House'), which was built by her grandfather. With its elegant Art Deco curves and terrazzo floors, the house wouldn't be out of place in Miami Beach. But the details are unique to the area: floorboards and doors made of native hardwoods; wall reliefs depicting agrarian scenes of sugarcane, water buffalo, and folkloric animals. 'Inside, he made sure you don't forget you're in the Philippines,' Villanueva said. War is part of Daku Balay's story, too: it was once the city's tallest building, so the Japanese army installed guns on its roof. Villanueva lived in the U.S. for decades before returning in 2012 to restore the run-down home. In New York, she sold Asian antiques; in Bacolod, she tends to one. Several miles outside Bacolod, we visited a hacienda with an even greater military pedigree. It belonged to the sugar baron Aniceto Lacson, who, along with his cousin, led hundreds of people on a march against Spanish colonizers in 1898. From afar, the troops appeared heavily armed, so the Spaniards surrendered. In truth, the rifles were actually palm fronds shaped to look like guns. The cannons? Rolled-up bamboo mats, painted black. The ruse helped Lacson become president of the short-lived Republic of Negros; during those four months, his home was designated the presidential palace. With its brick-and-coral façade and wraparound veranda, the Lacson hacienda is an exemplar of bahay na bato —an architectural style that blends Filipino motifs with Spanish and Chinese influences. The house is unoccupied, and nobody was there when we arrived, so I opened the massive door and wandered around. I peeked into the chapel, which had tidy rows of kneelers and an altar crafted by Spanish artisans. I climbed the grand staircase, admiring the floral balusters and lavish fretwork. 'Be careful, Jeff!' Totengco shouted from downstairs, as termite-damaged planks creaked underfoot. I imagined all the stories these wood-paneled walls had witnessed: political strategy sessions, family meals, elegant balls. From left: A coffee break at a market in the city of Bacolod; the Art Deco stairs at Daku Balay, in Bacolod. When I emerged, Anna Balcells, Lacson's great-granddaughter, had arrived. 'I was born in this house,' she said wistfully. Last year, her family donated the home to the nation, which has promised to restore it. Not only ancestral homes are being restored and reimagined. So are farmlands. Early one afternoon, we drove to meet Kiko Torno, a former marketing executive who runs 7 Hectares, a fish farm in the town of Saravia that uses regenerative aquaculture—the practice of producing seafood while improving the ecosystem. He cultivates algae, which feed tilapia, which feed barramundi, snapper, and sea bass. Snails inhabit these ponds, too. Oysters help filter the water. 'If I keep a healthy supply of algae,' he said, 'that's the main thing.' Between two fish ponds, in the ample shade of gmelina trees, Torno had set a table for lunch. From an outdoor kitchen emerged a lavish feast: bruschetta topped with mangrove clams; squash soup with snails; fish fritters; sea-bass kinilaw —ceviche's Filipino cousin—cured with lime and young-coconut vinegar. As we ate, Torno stood nearby, watching proudly. 'Pond to table,' he said. From left: A garden courtyard on Siargao; a private terrace at Nay Palad Hideaway. I heard a similar philosophy the next day, when we drove inland to meet Teddy Canete, a third-generation coffee farmer. I hadn't been sure we'd make it. Canete's farm sits in the shadow of Mount Kanlaon, an active volcano, and that morning my phone buzzed with a warning: 'Beware of possible ash fall.' The volcano was erupting. A quarter-mile from Canete's farm, our van stalled on the steep, half-paved road, so we continued on foot. When we arrived, Canete and his wife, Joy, greeted us with wide smiles and waved off concerns about Kanlaon. Accompanied by their nine rescue dogs, we hiked across the farm and down a ravine where rains had slicked the muddy path—yes, I slid. While sugarcane fields remain, there were also groves of coffee trees, including species like arabica, robusta, and the less-common liberica. Some were 80 years old, others planted recently. Canete, a member of the Indigenous Panay-Bukidnon tribe, belongs to an agricultural collective that tends 5,000 acres. He has traveled the world to learn sustainable farming practices, including how to intersperse coffee with other trees (banana, rambutan) to prevent soil erosion, reduce disease, and provide extra income. He has shared those lessons back home. 'It's how I help my people,' he said. From left: Outdoor sculptures in the Bacolod arts district; a no-frills hotel in Manila. How do you say adventure in Tagalog?' I asked Totengco one day. The question stumped her. Nor could she think of an answer in Hiligaynon, Negros Occidental's local language. Text messages went flying from friend to friend and, slowly, suggestions trickled in: Maybe iskursiyon ? That Spanish-derived Tagalog word felt too small. Lágaw ? In Hiligaynon, that means 'to roam.' Reena Gamboa offered another option: pag pasimpalad, which can mean 'taking a chance' or 'trying one's luck'; it implies an action taken with hope but no certainty. I carried my question to Siargao, our last stop. This teardrop of an island sits along the country's eastern fringe, and its proximity to the Philippine Trench, a deep marine canyon, makes for formidable waves. Surfers from around the world began coming in the 1980s and were drawn particularly to Cloud 9, a break near General Luna. But the 170-square-mile island remains relatively unknown—it gets 50,000 foreign visitors each year, about as many people as Disneyland welcomes in a day. We stayed at Nay Palad Hideaway, which has 10 sumptuous villas scattered across 10 oceanfront acres. On our first night, resort co-owner Herve Lampert, who is from France, joined us for dinner. He recounted how, in December 2021, Typhoon Odette had blown through. Odette killed 405 people across the archipelago and left Nay Palad in ruins. Only some outdoor furniture survived; the staff had ingeniously pushed it into the swimming pools, which saved it from being swept away. 'Everything else was gone,' Lampert said. From left: A grove of coconut trees near Nay Palad Hideaway hotel, on Siargao; sunset in the town of Pilar, on Siargao. Rebuilding Nay Palad took 18 months. As I lounged on my villa's shaded deck, gazing across a pristine lawn toward the white-sand beach, it was hard to believe that, not long ago, everything before me had been wasteland and debris. Lampert noted that much of the property had been hand-built in the Philippines, including the thatched roofs and woven wall panels. 'The craftsmanship here is exemplary,' he said. 'When we were building this place, we thought, we have to tell the story of that heritage.' On Tourism Road two days later, I grew annoyed as I wrestled with the dissonance between Nay Palad's celebration of Filipino heritage and what I saw around me. Why the Bob Marley murals and posters? Did people really come all this way for cheap margaritas? I popped in to Rad, a tattoo shop, because I needed to use the bathroom. After thanking the shopkeeper, I told her I was curious—what did travelers ask for most often? She shrugged. 'Waves,' she said. 'Or a palm tree.' We briefly visited Cloud 9 beach, which was crowded with tourists. Cabigon, the driver, told us he and other local surfers typically avoided it. 'We go to our secret spots,' he said. We continued north, stopping occasionally to explore deserted beaches and quiet villages. Around noon, we got a snack at the Women's Kitchen in the town of Burgos, near Siargao's northern tip. Run by a women's collective, it serves home-style food like tortang talong —eggplant battered in egg, then fried. One gorgeously greasy bite, and I felt a wave of comfort. It sustained me until we got to Kitchenette Food Houz7, a family-run restaurant nearby. After ordering vegetable curry and chicken adobo, we watched as one of the servers grabbed a machete and started hacking away at coconuts for us to drink from. From left: A helipad attendant at the Peninsula Manila hotel; the lobby of the Peninsula. Why did that tortang talong, that curry, that coconut water fill me with joy, while Tourism Road ignited irritation? Why did I judge one as authentic, the other as not? In both places—indeed, everywhere we'd gone—people were just doing what they'd always done: pag pasimpalad . Perhaps it was all authentic, in the sense that it was all true to the Philippines' story. Its people have always been open to the world and constantly reshaped by it, unfailingly hospitable and ready to adapt. The Philippines is a nation of travelers. Every family I encountered had a tale of dramatic rises, steep falls, and transporting ambition. About a tenth of the country's population works abroad, sending back more than $30 billion in remittances each year. Even within the archipelago, the Filipino story is one of migration. People on every island spoke of roots elsewhere—across time, space, some body of water. Perhaps the impulse to go out and take chances and try one's luck is so ingrained in Filipino culture that they see no need for a word like 'adventure.' It's not what they do; it's just who they are. A version of this story first appeared in the July 2025 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline "Turning the Tide. "
