“1-0!” hollered the ref — a hotel employee named Karla — after a sleeve-tattooed dad spiked the ball. Water splashed from the blue raspberry ICEE-hued infinity pool at Grand Velas Riviera Maya. The mom yelled, “Get it, Axel!” and “Esther, pass!” Excitement was high at the “Ambassador” infinity pool at as a raucous family of 10 played water polo.
“It’s a battle! Shoot, shoot!” shouted the grandmother. Later, the grandmother, Lynette, told me she was part of a multigenerational band of three families traveling together. Aww, I thought as I passed a child wrestling an inflatable alligator and two little girls eating potato chips and giggling, in tot-sized cabanas.
With visions of a slower-paced, child-free vacation, my boyfriend and I had left Los Angeles for this all-inclusive luxury resort in Mayan Riviera, located on the coast of Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula. And while we were certainly romanced through spa treatments, a meal from a Michelin-starred chef and a choice of three pools, the hotel’s flurry of adorable family activities and amenities made us wish at times that our three children were with us.
A grand entrance
Located off Highway 307 is a mammoth, cream-colored wall that has a bridge jutting from the middle of it. On the afternoon of our arrival, it looked so otherworldly that my boyfriend commented that it looked like the “Jurassic Park” opening scene. We crossed the bridge and entered Grand Velas Riviera Maya’s 206-acre compound of jungle and mangroves. “We don’t want you to walk on the grounds. Call a shuttle, and we’ll take you if you need to get anywhere,” our driver said, alluding to the vastness.
We parked at the hotel’s check-in area. Bright letter statues the size of children spelled “SALINAS DAY” before a soaring palapa. Under that was a living room with air gently flowing through it. Our greeter, who offered us champagne, told us that Salinas was the “Jeff Bezos of Mexico.” Business people in tailored suits and lanyards streamed past as we sipped our bubbles and then hopped in a shuttle to see our room.
Exquisite moments
A wooden door the size of a castle’s gate swung open, and the end of the room looked so far away that my boyfriend joked, “Maybe we should call the shuttle if we need to get over there.” The bellhop pointed out the No Me Olvides mezcal on the dresser and told us it was made exclusively for the resort and not for sale at stores or bars. We fell onto the bed and did not miss the bleep-bloops of our kids’ iPads or having to say, “What should we cook for dinner tonight?”
That question was being asked, instead, by Michelin-starred chef Nahúm Velasco one short shuttle ride away at Cocina de Autor. We arrived there for our dinner reservation by walking through a Y-shaped corridor of covered walkways flooded with golden light. In those corridors and at several dinners, we noted that attire rises to the occasion at Grand Velas Mayan Riviera; women wore designer dresses dripping with golden jewels and men sported tailored clothes with freshly shined shoes. Everyone held hands, and so did we.
Cocina de Autor’s all-white décor — from linens to Carrara marble to a midcentury-style screen — lets the dishes take center stage. Our eight-course tasting menu surprised and delighted us, and the results of my request for an all-plant-based course sometimes left my boyfriend jealous. Years ago, when I ate meat, I lived part-time in Buenos Aires, where morcilla is king. Cocina de Autor’s vegan version, which was made with portobello mushrooms, was a divine reproduction.
Mayan traditions
During a property tour the next day, Kevin, the resort’s tour and travel manager, filled us in on some local lore. He divulged that the property was rumored to contain some aluxes, or “little people” of the Yucatan Maya, akin to gnomes or leprechauns. Apparently, the aluxes liked to play tricks. Kevin told us that the workers’ tools went missing for three days when the Grand Velas began construction on the land. Thinking the aluxes might be behind it, the workers built them a little house. “The next day, the tools were back,” Kevin said. Our kids would have liked to hear that story, I thought, wishing they were with us in that moment.
That afternoon, during my 80-minute “Bacal massage” at the two-story, 90,000-square-foot Grand Velas SE Spa, an angel woman named Sim Duy exfoliated my body with honey and rolled me into bliss with an ear of maize. My boyfriend was in another treatment room being massaged with calabash gourds. The spa rooted our treatments in the Mayan and Aztec traditions of using sacred plants to heal.
Family fun
A popsicle cart wheeled by us the next day as we read novels and napped by the “Ambassador pool.” I imagined our kids choosing their flavors and finishing with sticky red and blue fingers and mouths, then rolled over and blissfully fell asleep on my boyfriend’s chest. This was a weekday. The kids were in school, and we were in paradise. We’d won a lottery, I reminded myself.
I forgot about our kids all through lunch at Azul, a buffet-style, tiered restaurant on the beach hugged by a panoramic curve of open windows. With bellies full of plant-based sushi, tiny veggie tacos and personal Crème Brulés the size of arcade tokens, my boyfriend and I headed over to the Zen pool near our room for more quiet catnaps.
On the way, we noticed an on-site karaoke lounge big enough to be a standalone bar if air-dropped into any U.S. town. Its liquor shelf, mammoth TV screen and soft leather sofas created a flirtation between us public-singing newbies (at least around each other): “Would you?” I asked. “Maybe,” he said. “Let’s put a pin in this,” we both said. Then, a little girl in a flouncy dress walked up to the stage, and the lyrics to Frozen’s “Let It Go” rolled down the screen behind her. The performance, of course, melted the girl’s family.
Sing your heart out
We did karaoke the next night. My boyfriend sang Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorn,” and I rapped De La Soul’s “Magic Number.” I sang my song as an homage to my 10-year-old son who performed it weeks prior at his school talent show, and I couldn’t wait to see how cool or uncool he would think it was when we got home (flash forward: I got neither answer, but when his face broke into a Cheshire cat grin, it was worth emotional millions).
Our romantic getaway ended the following day, and as we passed the Margaritaville restaurant inside the Cancun airport en route to LAX, we enjoyed one last meal that didn’t require three children squabbling and dragging us all over the food court. We asked ourselves, “Was something missing all along, or did we get the experience we needed?”
Let’s just say we’re bringing them next time.
Stacy Suaya is a Los Angeles-based writer who focuses on travel, art, design and architecture.
