Estancia Vik José Ignacio

Uruguay – the England of South America? Really? So I’d been told in terms of scenery at least. Our car turns into the simple entrance of Estancia Vik and a couple of gauchos start cantering alongside us, berets at jaunty angles, giving flight to a flock of wild doves as they disappear into the balmy early March sunset. It’s hard to match this to the green and pleasant land I’m familiar with.

We’re greeted at the Estancia, not with the usual welcome-drink fruit punch, but by a trio of extremely friendly resident dogs. Checked in, we pad through courtyards and up the stairs into our Carlos Seveso, a master suite. Each room is specially designed – down to the beds and doorknobs in some cases – by a famous home-grown artist. Maritime is the theme of Seveso’s paintings and this comes through in his figurative flourishes of blue and yellow – with the odd boat and lighthouse thrown in so we don't waste too much time stroking our chins. This leaves us to focus on the matter in point: the massive suite, which I would happily swap my flat in London for.

I open the third set of glass doors that lead to an L-shaped terrace, in a Dorothy moment I am blown back inside. This part of Uruguay is known for its mistral-type gusts. Not that it’s deterring us from any wind-kissed outdoor pursuits. A delicious pear and pecorino salad in front of the granite-based swimming pool later and we’re galloping towards the stables. The grounds are as impressive as the interiors here: 1,500 hectares of grassland, a snaking lagoon, and 1,400 cows ambling beefily around the plains. There’s a polo field on site, with a stable full of polo ponies, so guests can try their hand with a mallet, or simply hop on a horse and play gaucho amid the pampas.

Mr Smith and his blond Palomino regard one another with suspicion. I try my best horse-whispering techniques on my skewbald pony, and then sink into the armchair saddle with its huge sheepskin seat. Mr Smith manages 100 metres before his horse starts making a sly retreat back home. After much yanking we are all heading through the yellow-green fields past grazing Uruguayan cattle, and white egrets and South American ostriches. I try a gallop, only for my feet to go flying out of the unfamiliar round leather stirrups. Using all reserves of thigh grip I make it back to a serene Mr Smith who is trying in his best syntax and hand movements to enquire about polo moves. ‘Yes, plenty of golf nearby,’ comes the gaucho's reply, to a flummoxed Mr Smith, who thought he had finally hit gold with his Lonely Planet Spanish. To add insult to injury, his horse starts veering back to the stables again.

Later in the ping-pong room, Mr Smith finds less blame can be laid on his bat as he thrashes me against an interesting backdrop: a collage made from leftover building materials. The art-loving Norwegians who own Estancia Vik take their art and their eco-credentials very seriously. And they don’t like doing things by halves. We marvel at the sheer scale of everything: huge quartz fossils stuck onto the wall of the vast sitting room; a towering marble statue by Pablo Atchugerry (whose museum is nearby), all specially commissioned for the Estancia, built from scratch by the Viks. In a room across the courtyard I momentarily ponder whether Apollo 14 has landed, but am told it is a grill, known as a parillero, complete with a street-arty backdrop by one of Uruguay’s edgiest artists, Marcelo Legrand. The grill's fired up several times a week to cook typical asado barbecue food – South Americans love their beef.

Back in our room, I am impressed at how – for once – I have unpacked in a neat and orderly fashion, sorting the items into one of the best dressing rooms I have seen. After a long shower using Estancia Vik’s handmade products, overlooking a field of contentedly grazing horses, it’s time for supper in the cosy, moodily lit dining room. Here the simple menu is in keeping with the informal and relaxed feel of the hotel. Mr Smith is wowed by his huge steak, while my cod with quinoa and mango is delicious and plentiful. After that, puddings seem too much of an indulgence, and sadly the house-special rice pudding remains undeservedly untouched.

The next day, the sprawling dune coastline of José Ignacio, equally suited to surfing and sunbathing, begs to be explored. Just 15 minutes drive away, the resort town's restaurants and chilled-out bars lure jet-setters in their gold gladiator sandals and flowing linen. We dine at Parador La Huella, where simple wooden tables and a chalked-up menu are the unassuming construct for this hip hotspot. My kind of lunch kicks off at 4pm: excellent Argentinean rosé, sushi and octopus carpaccio.

Barefoot, we walk through the sand to the car for the five-minute drive back. Mr Smith takes a post-prandial nap beneath the eaves, on a comfortable sofa under the watchful gaze of the dogs. I sneak in a quick session in the gym, which is decorated in murals by Jose Trujillo celebrating the voluptuous female form (thankfully making me feel a quick pedal is fine), rather than a strict interpretation of the model-like Uruguayan women I have so far spied.

Contemplating a night out in town, we cannot quite bear to drag ourselves from the suite. Instead we stay put and salute a bathroom bigger than my flat and indulge in that stock holiday daydream: how much money would one need to buy an estancia of our own? Thankfully Estancia Vik is here already. The perfect mixture of luxury hotel and the feeling you are in someone’s private designer home. It’s informal and comfortable without any communal dinners that make other ‘home from homes’, well, less like home. We’ll just save our money to splash out on our next trip here. And maybe some riding and Spanish lessons for Mr Smith.