
Every room, every terrace and the pool you will have entirely to yourselves — photographed, measured and explained, before you book.
Begin the tourVilla Vargas is a two-level house on a quiet street in Sayulita, built around its own courtyard pool.
The main floor holds the master bedroom, the main kitchen and dining room, a living room that opens completely onto the water, the enclosed garden terrace, and the outdoor bar and grill. Upstairs there are two more bedrooms, a second full kitchen under a palapa roof, and a balcony set among the treetops. A floating Parota-wood staircase joins the two, and each floor has its own private entrance, its own laundry and its own purified-water dispenser.
The whole house is yours. Villa Vargas is never split between bookings and never shared — reserve it and you have all three bedrooms, both kitchens, the garden and the pool for your group alone.
A sand-coloured wall, a quiet street, and a keypad instead of a front desk.

Villa Vargas sits behind a sand-coloured wall on a residential street, a few minutes' walk from the centre of town. There is parking on the property, and it is where the golf cart lives if you rent one — most guests do; it is Sayulita's preferred way to get around. The surfboards stack against the wall beside it.
There is no front desk and no key handover. You let yourselves in with a keypad code, at whatever hour the drive from Puerto Vallarta ends — the airport is about forty-five minutes away. The house has two private entrances, one for each floor, which matters more than it sounds: a group spread across both levels comes and goes without walking through anybody else's room.

The first thing in the house is its best piece of carpentry: Parota treads cantilevered straight out of a white wall, no risers, no visible structure. It is the spine of the villa — every trip between the pool and the upstairs bedrooms goes past it — and the reason the entrance hall feels like a room rather than a corridor.
The wall it turns against is a commissioned piece: a jellyfish, painted life-size on black, by the Mexican artist Pepe Niño. It is the first thing most guests photograph.
Beside it, unglamorous and genuinely useful: a purified water dispenser. There is a second one upstairs. Tap water in Sayulita is not for drinking, so the villa simply removes the question.


The ground floor is one long room that stops being indoors somewhere in the middle.


Sliding glass panels run the length of the living area. Pushed back, the sofas and the pool loungers become the same space and the only boundary left is the change from floor tile to pool deck. Closed, with the air conditioning on, it is a cool room in the middle of a hot afternoon.
The furnishing is deliberately quiet: pale walls, a stone feature wall carrying the television and the sound system, low sofas in oatmeal and teal, ceiling fans turning above. The dining table sits at the kitchen end, so whoever is cooking is never out of the conversation — which is most of the argument for a villa over a hotel in the first place.
Upstairs has its own sitting area under the palapa roof.
Every room in the house points at the same piece of water.
Three bedrooms, five beds, three ensuite bathrooms — and no bad room.
Every bedroom has its own ensuite bathroom, its own air conditioning and its own flat-screen TV, so deciding who sleeps where is a question about beds, not about who gets the good one. One bedroom is on the main floor; the other two are upstairs.

The master is the bedroom on the ground floor, which makes it the shortest walk in the house to both the kitchen and the water. One king bed against a full-height slatted hardwood headboard wall lit from behind, a bench at the foot of it, a sofa and a tall plant in the corner opposite, and its own bathroom through the door.
Being on the main level, it is the natural room for whoever wants to be first into the pool in the morning, or for anyone who would rather not take the stairs at the end of a long day.



The largest of the upstairs rooms, and the most flexible in the house: two queen beds means four adults sleep here properly, or a family splits across the room without anyone on a folding anything. Macramé hangings on a white wall, a wall-mounted television opposite the beds, and sliding doors onto the upper balcony with its palapa roof.
It is a bright room in the morning and a cool one at night — the air conditioning is in this room as it is in every other, and the doors open onto treetops rather than the street.

The third bedroom takes two single beds, which is the configuration that quietly solves the most problems: two children, two friends, two people who do not want to share a bed, or one guest who wants a room to themselves without taking a queen out of circulation.
Same standard as the rest of the house — its own ensuite, its own air conditioning, its own television, its own sliding doors onto the upper terrace. Wood-louvred storage on one wall, a beaded hanging on the other.


The bedding is the same standard throughout — good linen, upgraded mattresses, extra pillows and blankets in the room, hangers in the closet, and shades that actually darken a room at seven in the morning.

Three ensuite bathrooms, one material palette, and a floor of river pebbles under every shower.

All three bathrooms are ensuite, and all three are built from the same short list of materials: polished concrete, dark hardwood, a single oval basin, and the pebbled-rock shower floor the villa is known for. There is no tray and no step — you stand on stone, under hot water, behind one frameless pane of glass, with a recessed niche holding the soap.
Robes hang on the wall. Towels, shampoo, body soap and a hair dryer are already there. It is a small thing, but it is the difference between a rented house and a place that has been thought about.


Two full kitchens, one on each floor. It sounds like an indulgence and turns out to be a logistics fix.

Full gas range and oven, a tall fridge-freezer, dishwasher, and a live-edge Parota island with a glass top that ends up holding everything — groceries, drinks, somebody's laptop. Patterned encaustic tile underfoot, open shelves above, and enough counter for two people to work without negotiating.
The dining table is a few steps away and the pool a few steps past that, so a meal moves between the three without anyone carrying plates very far.

Upstairs, under the palapa roof and a slow ceiling fan, the second kitchen runs along one wall with its own stove, its own fridge and its own dining table — the same equipment as downstairs, not a scaled-down version, opening straight onto the upper terrace through a wall of glass.
This is the one that makes a full house workable. Early risers make coffee up here without going near the master bedroom. A group cooking dinner downstairs is not competing with somebody making lunch. Two couples travelling together get a kitchen each without splitting into two houses.

An enclosed garden at the bottom of the house, a balcony in the treetops at the top, and planting thick enough that neither one feels overlooked.
The ground-floor terrace is fully enclosed — walls, then a deep border of banana, palm and red flowering planting between the water and everything else. It is the reason you can eat breakfast at the pool in a bathrobe without thinking about it.
Upstairs, the balcony sits level with the canopy: a palapa roof, a stone wall, a hanging woven chair, potted palms, and a wooden rail with Sayulita's rooftops beyond it. Each floor has its own outdoor space, so the house never has a single bottleneck for fresh air.





The pool is not a shared amenity, an amenity you book a slot for, or a pool you cross a lobby to reach. It belongs to the house, it is enclosed by the house, and while you are here nobody else swims in it.
It is heated and open year-round, at any hour — a length before breakfast, an hour of shade in the afternoon, a swim at midnight with the waterfall wall lit and the garden lights on. Sun loungers along one side, a hanging chair at the end, and planting close enough to the edge that the water is always half in shadow.





Heated, private, and open at whatever hour you want it.
The villa has its own outdoor kitchen, a bar and a grill — which is how most evenings here end up going.

Fish from the market in the morning, a grill lit at six, the table laid outside, and nobody putting shoes on. The private outdoor kitchen, bar and barbecue sit in the garden terrace beside the pool, with an outdoor sink out there so nothing has to go back inside mid-cook, and barbecue utensils, dishes, glassware and cookware already in the house.
It is a small practical luxury that changes how a week reads: you are not choosing between another restaurant and staying in, because staying in is the better evening.


The parts of a house nobody photographs, and everybody notices by day three.
Two laundry areas — one per floor. A full house of eight generates a genuinely surprising amount of washing, and one machine turns that into a queue. Two does not — two washers and two dryers, one set on each floor, plus iron, hangers and spare linens in the house.
Air conditioning in every room, ceiling fans above it, and purified water dispensers on both floors. Wi-Fi throughout, and flat-screen TVs with cable in the bedrooms and living room. A safe for passports. A crib if you need one, and babysitter recommendations if you would like an evening out.
Cleaning is available during your stay, and stays of 28 nights or longer are welcome.

A quiet street, seven minutes from the sand, and a town you will not need to drive in.

The villa is on a quiet residential street — close to the action without being in it. Trendy restaurants, coffee shops and nightlife are within walking distance, and it is a seven-minute walk to the beach. Sayulita is a Pueblo Mágico: cobbled streets, papel picado overhead, surf schools, taco stands and a plaza that fills up in the evening.
For the beach, the house supplies what you would otherwise be buying on arrival: beach towels, beach chairs and a beach umbrella. Villa Vargas is a short walk from the sand, not on it.



Verified against the property and the current listing. Where an item lives on one floor rather than both, it is noted in the chapter above.
Security cameras are exterior only — the front-door area, a corner of the property and the side/exterior road — and are disclosed here for transparency, as is the presence of noise-decibel monitors. There are no cameras inside the villa.
Eight years of guests, and the reviews keep landing on the same few things.
Villa Vargas holds a 4.99 average across more than 200 Airbnb reviews, with Guest Favourite status and a Superhost who has been doing this for eight years. The category scores are the useful part: cleanliness and accuracy both perfect, communication perfect, location and value a hair under.
Accuracy at 5.0 is the one worth reading twice on a page like this. It means guests arrived at the house you have just walked through and found it to be the house they were shown.

Check your dates for the entire villa — all three bedrooms, both kitchens, the garden and the pool, for your group alone.