Travel Asia: Ahhh... mankila

By Doug Breath

I spent last summer languidly pondering exotic prose for my forthcoming novel, Deep Breath, at the jaw-droppingly luxe Reid’s Hotel on Madeira. I didn’t quite finish my book - which is full of sheet clutching intrigue, string bikinis and North Korean secret agents posing as NHK fee collectors - but I did put my time to good use. I soaked up a lot of Portuguese sun and generously sampled the local wine, occasionally peeking over the cliffs at the saucy Italian sunbathers. On the humanitarian front, I did my part for the betterment of man by teaching the poolside barman how to make a superb martini, in the process managing to banish a few disreputable labels of badly made vermouth which had somehow infiltrated their stock. On balance it was quite a productive summer.

This year I have to avoid my usual hangout as it will be packed with mopey investment bankers tediously whining about fortunes flung to the wind by shaky investments in risky derivatives. Tisk tisk... If they had only listened when I told them it was time to get liquid - something I do every day.

No. This summer I am hanging with a much more upbeat crowd at Amankila in Bali. I needed a peaceful and contemplative setting in order to concentrate on giving my book the nail-biting cataclysmic nuclear crescendo it deserves. The whole point of this place is to lift the burden from the body and allow you to retreat into a syrupy serenity - ideal when contemplating the sizzling unwinding of man’s existence on the planet just because you won’t give a man in high heels and a bouffant hairdo his ¥4,000 TV fee.

The tranquility of Amankila envelopes you as soon as you are met by any one of their many joyful staff. I had the good fortune to catch a ride on a friend’s charter jet - he had to sell his Gulfstream (the poor guy was so glum!), but his mood brightened considerably the moment we landed at Denpasar. There we were whisked through customs and baggage claim and into the air-conditioned saloon car Amankila had sent to ferry us up the eastern side of the island to Manggis. The well-stocked larder included a wide selection of cool beverages and tasty snacks for the drive, as well as an iPod stocked with any number of playlists to suit our mood. I put on something by MC Solaar. My Dutch travel companions, Hans and his wife, Mies, were happy to let me play DJ while we soaked up the panoply of Balinese life streaming past as we wound our way along the coast. A few of our other friends had opted for the 15-minute helicopter ride direct to the hotel, but Mies would have none of it as her third husband had survived a helicopter crash and she had been forced to divorce him instead. (It was all rather messy.)

We approached the compound just as dusk descended. Our bags were swiftly ported away and we were escorted to the edge of the resort’s iconic three-tiered infinity pool. A group of musicians sat playing the traditional Balinese gamelan instruments, producing a rhythmic and melodic sound that was both otherworldly yet soothingly energetic. As candles floated upon lotus leaves, I tipped back a rather decent glass of Chablis - admittedly a risky choice, but I was in the mood for adventure.

Amankila is well known among Aman-junkies as the crown jewel in an array of luxurious Aman resorts flung like diamonds across Asia. It is a stunningly beautiful compound set on a hill that overlooks a pristine beach softly covered in black volcanic sand. The entire complex applies a Balinese aesthetic in both architecture and design while maintaining all of the four-star amenities you would naturally expect. Each of the hotel’s 35 suites are private villas, made of stone with traditional thatched roofs, connected to the whole via an Escherian maze of staircases. Many have private pools and most have stunning views of the sea, and all are intimate and secluded.

The three-tiered pool is the center of the resort. It is anchored by several bales (essentially thatched gazebos with cushions), where you can lie peacefully out of the sun but conveniently near a waiter bearing drinks. But the real treat is the pool at the beach club. I’ve dipped my toes in many beautiful waters but none so stunningly serene and at peace with their surroundings. Exquisite. The tiles of greens and blues synchronized with the foliage in such a way that the pool and the environment simply merge into each other.

The bales at the beach are both secluded and extremely comfortable. I spent most of my days there writing and reading about nuclear activation codes, roast donkey and Kim Jung Il’s movie collection, when not bobbing aimlessly in the aquamarine surf. To top it off, every afternoon staff bring by frozen desserts for the guests. I found that the little bottle of Stolichnaya Elit I kept handy paired with the strawberry sorbet surprisingly well.

Specially fitted open-air jeeps are summoned to shuttle guests along a winding downhill road from the main resort to the beach club. The ride is quite enjoyable as it gives you a perspective on the expanse of the property, as well as affording you a full panoramic inspection of the beautiful countryside vistas and the sea below. Mies insisted on walking the trail up and down, but Hans and I made a point of announcing cocktail hour whenever asked to join her for the trek. He was wary of his knees and I was wary of any exercise that might interfere with my intense relaxation regimen. It did cross my mind that she was just hoping to move on to another husband - poor Hans would never survive that climb.

The Amankila resort has a long list of activities and diversions: everything from special dining at various bales in the hills or at the beach, down to cooking classes and bike rides through the countryside. Normally I loathe such excursions. I mean, really, what is the point of decamping from hedonistic luxury to go on some cultural experience? Yet I was persuaded to join a gaggle of friends for a snorkel safari. Naturally I had done my research and knew that the trip was aboard the Aman Xll, a 40-foot outrigger. The boat was designed after a jukung, a traditional Balinese fishing boat. (Only, like, it was designed for Prince Charles to do the fishing.) It’s the kind of experience where everyone is quite casual and no one cares if their Prada stuff gets wet. The whole event was made more enjoyable by the fact that the vessel was hampered with a luxurious lunch while the roof was set aside for sunbathers to lounge about in the bronzing Balinese sun. I did tip my toe in the water and had a peek at the vibrant and overly active tropical life below decks. Other than that, I simply surveyed the crowd with my good friends Gin and Tonic.

There is so much more that I could say about this place. I could wax poetically about the omnipresent sound of the surf, which mingles with the conversations and the food and the vibe of the place. I could ramble on about the staff-to-guest ratio, which is something like 5:1. I could mention that the incomparable Tracy, who has managed Amankila for years, is most likely on a first-name basis with just about anyone you’ve read about in Vanity Fair. And I can say that despite all of this, the service is efficient and unpretentious. You won’t find anyone intrusive or overbearing. And the food is pretty good as well - though it seems everyone dines in their villa as there is no extra charge to have it wherever you want it.

With the global recession forcing everyone to reset their lives to the ‘new normal’ I am encouraging myself to do the same. From now on, no more pretentious ‘luxury’ resorts for me. I want pure quality and people who understand value. In my own little way I am going to focus on the important things in life - like room service that is unintrusive yet thoughtful. No more ostentation: only style with substance. Amankila is all of that and more. It is both relaxing and invigorating, secluded yet seductive. It welcomes you joyfully yet feels the sadness of your departure. The feeling is mutual.

On the net: Aman Resorts

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