Lagunas de Chacahua:
Oaxaca's quiet coast.
A federally protected national park where freshwater lagoons meet the Pacific, mangrove channels wind through unbroken coastline, and the pace of life still follows the tides.
Federally protected
since 1937.
Parque Nacional Lagunas de Chacahua spans roughly 14,187 hectares along Oaxaca's Pacific coast — one of Mexico's oldest protected areas and one of the least touched. It was declared a national park by presidential decree nearly ninety years ago, long before eco-tourism had a name.
The park protects a chain of coastal lagoons — Chacahua, La Pastoria, and several smaller bodies — connected by mangrove channels and bordered by dry tropical forest, wetlands, and open Pacific beach. The diversity of ecosystems packed into this stretch of coast is extraordinary: salt marsh, freshwater swamp, evergreen tropical forest, deciduous hillsides, and long sand barriers separating lagoon from sea.
What makes Chacahua unusual isn't just its designation. It's the fact that, even today, very little has changed. There are no resort towers, no boardwalks, no golf courses. The loudest sound at night is still the insects.
Where freshwater meets the Pacific.
Residents who
were here first.
The park is home to over 180 identified bird species and a rich population of reptiles, amphibians, and marine life. These are some of the animals you'll encounter regularly — or, if you're patient, occasionally.
Herons & egrets
Great blue herons, tricoloured herons, snowy egrets, and cattle egrets are everywhere — stalking the shallows at dawn, perched on mangrove roots, fishing the channels. They're the lagoon's most visible residents.
Ibises & roseate spoonbills
White ibises probe the mudflats in loose flocks. During the right season, roseate spoonbills appear — unmistakable in pink, sweeping their flattened bills through the shallows.
Sea turtles
Olive ridley and leatherback sea turtles nest on the beaches between July and December. Local conservation groups patrol the sand at night, relocating nests to protected hatcheries to improve survival rates.
Crocodiles
American crocodiles (Crocodylus acutus) inhabit the lagoon — typically shy, basking on muddy banks or slipping silently through the reeds at dusk. They're part of the reason these waterways feel genuinely wild.
Migratory birds
Each winter, the lagoons become a stopover for North American migrants — osprey, peregrine falcons, various sandpipers, and warblers. The convergence of freshwater, saltwater, and forest creates a layered habitat few flyway stops can match.
Iguanas, coatis & more
Green iguanas bask on every warm surface. White-nosed coatis move through the trees in troops. At night, you might spot a grey fox, a kinkajou, or — if the sky is dark enough — the silhouette of a great horned owl.
Zapotalito: the pier, the people, the pace.
Zapotalito is the small fishing village at the edge of the lagoon — the departure point for boats crossing to Chacahua and the social centre of the surrounding coast. Life here revolves around the pier: fishermen haul in the morning catch, pangas ferry passengers across the water, and by late afternoon the palapas fill with families eating ceviche and fresh-caught huachinango.
The village is predominantly Afro-Mexican and indigenous Chatino, with deep roots in the region's fishing traditions. There's a weekly market, a handful of small shops, and a rhythm that hasn't changed dramatically in decades. The food is extraordinary — whole grilled fish, tamales de tichinda (small lagoon clams), ceviche dressed with lime and chile, and hand-made tortillas that taste different from anywhere else.
For residents and visitors at Rancho de las Estrellas, Zapotalito isn't just a logistics point. It's a neighbour. We buy from its fishermen, hire from its tradespeople, and understand that the community's wellbeing and ours are inseparable.
Closer than
you think.
Puerto Escondido's international airport (PXM) receives direct flights from Mexico City, Oaxaca City, Guadalajara, and seasonal connections from the US and Canada. From the airport, Rancho de las Estrellas is roughly 58 km southwest — about 50 minutes by car along a paved coastal road through Rio Grande and San Jose del Progreso.
Shared colectivo vans run regularly from Puerto Escondido to Zapotalito. Private transfers can be arranged. The road is well-maintained and paved the entire way.
Less itinerary,
more living.
Surf
Beach breaks and point breaks for all levels. Uncrowded lineups, warm water year-round, and offshore mornings that make Puerto's crowds feel far away.
Fish
Deep-sea sportfishing or lagoon casting with local fishermen. Dorado, roosterfish, snapper — and a tradition of returning what you don't eat.
Boat the lagoon
Guided panga rides through the mangrove channels, into the open lagoon, and across to secluded beaches only accessible by water.
Hike & trail-run
On-site trails wind through the Rancho's fifty hectares and into the surrounding hills. Dry tropical forest, birdwatching, and views of the lagoon system below.
Beach days
Kilometres of empty Pacific sand. Swim, bodysurf, or do absolutely nothing. The beach is a short walk or boat ride from the property.
Local festivals
Zapotalito and surrounding villages celebrate throughout the year — patron saint festivals, fishermen's day, Dia de los Muertos — with music, food, and open invitation.
Pickleball
The Rancho's court is ready. Bring your paddle or borrow one. Sunset games with a Pacific backdrop are quickly becoming a community ritual.
Stargazing & observatory
One of the darkest skies in the region. A future on-site observatory is planned — until then, bring a blanket and look up. The Milky Way is visible to the naked eye.
Yoga & retreats
The El Sueño space hosts ongoing retreats and personal practice. Open-air, shaded, and quiet enough to hear the birds between breaths.
A future pool and additional common amenities are in development. The point is never to over-programme — the place itself is the activity.
We are guests here.
Chacahua's ecosystem is fragile and irreplaceable. The lagoon, the mangroves, the nesting beaches, the species that depend on them — none of these things exist for our convenience. They exist because, so far, this coast has been spared the worst of what coastal development usually brings.
Our presence here comes with obligation. We build small and low-impact. We keep lights dim so turtles can nest and stars can be seen. We don't clear native vegetation. We don't dump into the water. We treat the local community as neighbours, not as a service economy. And we ask everyone who visits to hold the same standard — not because it's written in a rulebook, but because this place asks for it, quietly, and you can feel it the moment you arrive.
The only way to understand
this place is to be here.
Visit for a few days. Walk the trails, take a panga across the lagoon, eat at the pier. Then decide if this coast feels like home.
Plan a visit →