Hacienda AltaGracia

The moment I realised that Mr Smith really knew me was when he declared – as I tried to balance myself, a water and a wine on a €2 lilo – that I am only truly happy in, on and ideally while consuming water of some form.
 
So consider Hacienda AltaGracia hotel, which has so many infinity pools, plunge pools, spa pools, waterfalls and fountains that navigating them could make you seasick; so many jugs of watermelon-infused water, juice-filled fridges and glass bottles preaching ‘water is the driving force of nature’; plus a 20,000 square-metre spa with a Casa de Agua, water ritual and river bath ceremony – my idea of pure, unadulterated H?O heaven.
 
I think it might be a lot of peoples’ idea of utopia actually. Let me count the ways. First, there’s the location: 180 acres in the foothills of Costa Rica’s Talamanca Mountains. Its lush green hillscape – carved by meandering paths and streams descending on the Pacific, dappled by sunbeams and roly-polying clouds – feels like the culmination of the creation story. It’s very ‘seventh day’, when God finally gets on a dayb-ed, looks over the bougainvillaea-lined walkways, coffee plants and palms, the birds, butterflies and all of creation, and confirms it is good. In short, it’s a great place for a retreat.
 
Second is how AltaGracia honours and immerses you in this slice of paradise. There is a dizzying amount to do, from horse riding, tree climbing and forest bathing to conservation, meditation, mindful surfing and macrame. Third, there’s the food, which is all-inclusive and all outstanding: a celebration of local ingredients and ancestral cooking across three restaurants, a café called Mercado and a range of experiential dinners.
 
And fourth is the casas and casitas scattered across the hillside, with their ranch-luxe interiors and sweeping valley views. It is here that we’re buggied after an enchanting welcome ritual for an in-room check-in with our compa (‘personal experience designer’ or ‘compadre’), who will book our classes, reserve our meals and remotely adjust our pool temperature, all via WhatsApp.
 
With yoga scheduled for an hour and dinner booked for 8pm, we were left to play with the room. Did I say room? I mean plus-sized Casa con Piscina, with a comfy living room, bedroom with a colossal canopied four-poster, bathroom that sets the tone for the upcoming spa experience and spectacular stone terrace with a swinging day-bed and plunge pool that transforms into a Jacuzzi – all centred around that valley view.
 
I could spend hours raiding the cacao- and kombucha-stocked kitchen while one-time carpenter Mr Smith admires the joinery, but we’ve got a whole hacienda to explore. And so it begins: 48 heavenly hours of adventuring. After an hour’s energising alfresco yoga, we roam the site, ricocheting from a 700-pound ceremonial crystal to an actual butterfly garden, with mounting wonder. By evening we’re at fever pitch, watching the sunset from our hot tub as everything the evening light touches turns purple, until a slither of moon announces night and the sky fills with stars. Vibrating with glee, we follow the fireflies down to dinner.
 
Food here is fabulously, fanatically local, sourced from the hacienda’s kitchen garden or neighbour farms, with the healthy spin you’d expect of a retreat. We outsmart this by massively over-ordering: rustic bread with pumpkin spread, gallo pinto and plantain, creamy kale and trucha (trout) tartar, chimichurri chicken and caramelised potatoes, local linefish and tres leches cake, eaten overlooking the lights of San Isidro. The problem with unlimited food and limited self-control is that you start to inhabit a space somewhere between bliss and bloatedness – but that’s a tomorrow problem.
 
For now, we float back up the lantern-lit paths, greeted by a gorgeous, high-end hippie turndown. The fire is lit, and a sleep meditation, pillow spray and manifestation cards are beside our beds (mine stating, ‘I am healthy’, Mr Smith’s ‘worthy’). It all works – eight hours later the black-out blinds come up and a beautiful day has arisen. We pad down to the pool in our raffia slippers for a morning swim before breakfast. As a London millennial, I have naturally eaten my first-house’s-worth of avocado on toast, but AltaGracia’s version – with limón mandarina, salsa and eggs on nutty, seedy bread – is unequivocally the best.
 
This is becoming a theme. We find the most loungeable of day-beds to lounge on after breakfast; the hummiest hummingbirds flit past us. The freshest coconut water is brought to us by the most amiable poolside crew. Absolutely everything is absolutely superlative. But, we’ve seen nothing yet. As tempting as it is to roll from day-bed to pool and repeat, we haven’t had our water ritual at the Well spa yet. I cannot articulate the joy I experience over the next 90 minutes. We start with intention-setting to Pachamama (roll with it), then it’s off to  the ‘robe bar’ to choose the perfect grade of gown (from fluffy to waffle). Then the regime is: shower, steam, sauna and smother oneself in essential oils. Shimmering, I meet Smith in the Casa de Agua, a light-filled wonderland of pools, fountains and hot-stone beds. Coated in herb-infused mud, we lie side-by-side on the warm stone, green and giggling like Mr and Mrs Hulk on honeymoon. Showered, we bliss out in the pools before adding more yummy oils – emerging gloriously scented, serene and strokable.
 
Then, as sure as night follows day, it’s cocktail hour, spent spying on a sunset intention-setting ceremony, nursing our mezcals, before another divine dinner. Now, I’m not proud of this, but I think for the sake of a well-rounded review I should admit that during my final morning swim, I was so sad to be leaving I actually cried. I felt like Eve, checking out of Eden. But we’re not cast out completely bereft; our car comes back filled with treats, trail mix and myriad waters. It is so beautifully thoughtful and characteristic of the AltaGracia approach that it brings another tear to my eye. 

Thus we unwillingly head to the airport, me clutching glass bottles of AltaGracia-grade water in a deeply unhinged manner, taking as much Hacienda hydration heaven with me as I can. With a few more wistful tears to shed, I’ll need it.