The second we opened the car door, it smelled like someone was burning a very fancy, earthy candle—the kind that says, “You’re about to relax whether you like it or not.” That sacred aroma of copal smoke meant one thing: we’d arrived at Our Habitas San Miguel de Allende, and check-in was about to get spiritual.
Instead of a front desk, there was a carpet, low table, and incense. Our concierge gently asked us to close our eyes for a quick meditation. I tried. I really did. But all I could think was, Did I remember to pack my daughter’s toothbrush? And also, what’s that smell—is it me or is it the incense?
Still, by the time he finished explaining the whole “wellness, community, and nature” thing, I have to admit: my shoulders had dropped approximately two inches. The outside world felt far, far away. And so began our Countryside Culinary Journey—a weekend that promised more than just a change of scenery. It promised naps.
A Room with a View (and a Dog Bed)
Our Habitas is basically a bunch of adorable little casitas sprinkled across a hillside like someone got excited with a fairy-tale salt shaker. There are 60 of them, tucked between cacti and wildflowers. Very minimalist. Very “we don’t need walls when we have views.”
Our room had floor-to-ceiling windows, earthy tones, and a welcome platter featuring local wine, cheese, and meats. They’d also set up a bed for our 10-year-old daughter and—this is the real test of any hotel—a giant, plush dog bed for Brownie, our four-legged chaos agent.
But the real win was outside: a private deck opening onto an open field. Our daughter and Brownie immediately morphed into wilderness explorers, sprinting through the grass like they’d never seen oxygen before. My husband and I sat on the deck, wine in hand, doing absolutely nothing. It was glorious.
We Make Guac Now
The “culinary journey” kicked off with a private guacamole-making class in the garden. Their sous chef taught us the ways of the avocado. My daughter was fully invested, mashing away like a tiny, focused chef. I mostly just ate the chips.
Afterward, we lounged by a fire pit drinking grapefruit cocktails so good I briefly considered asking the mixologist for marriage. (I didn’t. But it was close.)
Dinner Was a Flavor Fireworks Show
That night, we had a four-course dinner at Comunidad, the resort’s farm-to-table restaurant. We’re talking next-level Mexican food. The ceviche was so fresh I’m pretty sure the fish introduced itself. The corn esquites made street corn look lazy. And the short rib? It fell off the bone like it was tired of holding on. Honestly, one of the best meals I’ve had in San Miguel, and I live here.
We Flew. It Was Cloudy.
Saturday morning we dragged ourselves out of bed at an ungodly hour for a hot air balloon ride. The good news: we went up. The less-good news: it was so cloudy our view was basically… more clouds. We did spot our house from the air, though, which was cool for three seconds. Mostly it was very, very quiet and very, very peaceful. I almost napped mid-air.
The rest of the day we dedicated to the art of doing nothing. My husband and daughter read. I fell asleep on the deck with Brownie. It was everything.
Painting, Drinking, and More Meat
That evening we joined a “pinto y tinto” class—painting and wine. I am no artist. My tree looked like a broccoli floret. But the wine was delicious and the people were fun. Dinner was another home run: ribs that surrendered at the touch of a fork and steak so perfect I almost clapped.
Pool Day, But Make It Natural
Sunday morning we hit La Playita, the resort’s natural pool area. There was a clear, minty pool for adults, a warmer one with a play structure for kids (our daughter basically moved in), and even a lagoon where you could paddleboard. We floated. We swung in hammocks. We did not check our phones.
There was also a weekend market nearby selling everything from organic veggies to small-batch mezcal. I bought cheese. Because when there’s artisanal cheese, you buy the cheese.
Brunch Like It’s a Festival
We ended our trip with the resort’s Sunday brunch—a legit feast with slow-roasted pork, stews, grilled chorizo, and warm tortillas. We played Scrabble. We ate for two hours. It was the kind of lazy, delicious morning that makes you forget emails exist.
The Takeaway
Our Habitas isn’t just a place to sleep. It’s a place to remember how to breathe. It’s designed for people who want to unplug without feeling like they’re missing out. Also, the food is stupid good.
If you’re looking for a meaningful escape in Mexico that doesn’t involve a timeshare presentation, this is it.
Disclaimer: Our stay was hosted by Our Habitas, but all opinions—and guacamole critiques—are my own.