What do Gisele, Mel Gibson and I have in common? We all look good in a kilt, yes. But also we all found our happy place at the southernmost tip of Costa Rica’s Nicoya Peninsula – in the misnomered, and really rather magical, Malpaís. In my case, at Ocio Villas: new contender for Best Place Ever.
Coming from capital city San Jose, you have two main options if you want to get to Ocio – and trust me, you really do.
One: by air. The ultimate way to make an entrance, swooping over the Pacific coast’s jungle-backed beaches, past surf town Santa Teresa, and straight onto the property’s very own helipad without so much as opening a gate.
Alternatively, less flash, more splash: by sea, heading west via the Puntarenas-Pacuare ferry.
This is where Mr Smith and I begin our Ocio adventure, turning winter white shoulders red while sipping a beer on the ferry deck (spot the Brits) as we glide through the Nicoya Gulf. It’s a spectacular way to start the trip – and, remarkably, it’s all uphill from here.
Firstly, physically uphill; coasting up the dirt road from Malpaís until we’re greeted by the charming Ocio team and a welcome coconut. Disappearing into the estate with walkie talkies, they leave us to explore – by which I mean run around saying ‘Oh my god!’ for three hours.
We are staying in Villa Numu. The ‘smaller’ of two villas, it’s almost 4,000 square feet, but sleeps four rather than entire retreats like Villa Nimbu, off in the distance.
A sprawling indoor-outdoor space – all Aesop-style aesthetics (achingly tasteful in many shades of brown), white flowing curtains, engraved wood and water features hugging a huge infinity pool amidst acres of lightly-manicured private jungle – Numu is a study in places to sit, lie, lounge and stare at the sea in slack-jawed wonder.
You could start at the breakfast bar, overlooking the hot tub, overlooking the pool, overlooking the sea. Move to the outdoor dining or sitting rooms. The double hammock upstairs. The enormous bath, blinds open to the jungle. Lounge poolside. In the pool’s chill-out space. Or, if you wanted (which we did), lie on the helipad’s lawn, jutting out into the jungle.
All of this anchored around those panoramic Pacific views – and all of it, hilariously, ours.
There is a Geller family tradition called a ‘magic moment’: a sacred, perfectly curated situation, where everything’s aligned for the best possible time. I now see this may have been my mum’s ploy to sanctify a much-needed timeout with a beer, a sunny corner and some peace, but the idea has stayed in our family rhetoric.
The hour we spend drifting between the pool and hot tub, drinks in hand, as the sun sinks into the sea and the sky turns orange, red, pinky-purple, then inky blue-black – feeling as though it’s been put on just for us – is the definitive magic moment.
Then, as the jungle launches into the dusk chorus, the house eases into evening mode: the pool lights come on, the jacuzzi fires up, the light dies over the sea, and we toast under the stars as fireflies flit past. Magic moment: the extended director’s cut.
With jet lag creeping, we crawl down the hill for a pizza, then crawl into our colossal canopy bed.
We wake with the jungle, throwing open the wraparound doors to watch the sky lighten over the sea from bed as the birds chatter. Not to sound hyperbolic or anything, but it’s absolute heaven.
And it’s not just me: shortly afterwards Mr Smith, not prone to gushing, looks up from his coffee, his mango and his coconut across the horizon and says: ‘I’m sorry, but look at this. Could life be any better?’ It could not.
Leaning into the euphoria, we make Ocio our own. We loaf, we lounge, we do laps of the pool, we look at things, we marvel, we exclaim. We watch baby howler monkeys learn to tightrope the treetops and eagles surf the breeze. We say ‘incredible’ so often it ceases to hold meaning.
We break for breakfast by brilliant in-villa chef Christian – who magically appears at the rumble of a stomach and magically vanishes having done the washing up – devouring traditional gallo pinto with eggs and tortilla, local fruit, jam, juice and coffee.
Then we’re back to the lounging, loafing and looking, staring down cheeky capuchins and prehistoric iguanas.
Under the circumstances, leaving the estate is onerous, but we are in a particularly blessed part of the world – beloved by nature-lovers and A-listers alike.
Below us is Malpaís, its smattering of restaurants, Cabo Blanco national park and pin-up beaches, and just north is Santa Teresa. Trust me when I say that everyone you’re jealous of spent NYE in Santa Teresa. It’s arguably the most ‘scene’ part of the country, think Shoreditch-on-sand, but there’s a dusty, salty from surf, lo-fi vibe – and the beauty of Ocio is that you can dip in and out at will.
So we dip in: dip our toes in the ocean, nip into bikini boutiques, to aptly named Tipsy for a crateload of wine – then, having spent an hour in town and considering ourselves spent, dip straight back out again and up to our sanctuary Ocio.
Cue more lounging, loafing and laughing at the obscene beauty of it all, until another sunset spectacular rolls around and friends come up for dinner.
Nothing makes you feel more at home than hosting. Showing them around our manor, serving straight-off-the-boat ceviche and chef-cooked fish risotto, it suddenly stops being a great holiday and starts being great fortune that we live here.
And that is the story of how Mr Smith and I got arrested for squatting in a luxury villa…
Or, alternative ending: the story of how we had an outrageously special time, took a gallery’s worth of sunset selfies, and left a little bit of our hearts in the perfect piece of paradise that is Ocio. Mel, Gisele; we’ll be back.
Find out more about Ocio Villas or explore our complete collection of Costa Rica hotels
Features editor at The Guardian, writer for the likes of National Geographic and Condé Nast Traveller, and keen collector of hotel stationery, Cassia’s travels have brought her to pencils from Balinese beach retreats, personalised paper from the Marrakech Medina, pens from deep in the Costa Rican jungle, and a lovely little notepad from the Grand Canal in Venice. She is happiest between a breakfast buffet and a body of water.