With winter raging in the Northern hemisphere and the tropics as balmy as ever, choosing the temperature of your holiday is as easy as turning a dial. There’s no better time of year to pick and choose the temperature you want when you holiday in Asia – and all within a few hours’ flight time. Fancy something cold and fresh? Can do. Something more tropical and steamy? Also possible.
-20 degrees: HARBIN, CHINA
If you like it cold – very cold – Harbin is the place for you. Built by the Russians at the endof the 19th century when the railway was being laid from Moscow to Beijing, Harbin is an architecturally fascinating place: with a history of Jewish and European settlement,it looks more like Melbourne than Manchuria. Add to that the blanket of snow coveringthe town at this time of year, as well as the world famous Ice Sculpture festival featuring ice sculptors from all over the world, and you have a recipe for an intriguingly different vacation.
Where to stay:
To get a feel for Harbin’s history, the Modern Hotel – built in 1906 by a Russian Jew – isthe only place to consider. In the middle of the charming Old Quarter, the Modern is a quirky yet perfectly comfortable choice, with Harbin’s most popular 101-year-old icecream parlour attached. Tel: +86 451 8461 5846
Where to eat:
Russian restaurants abound, serving borscht, Russian sausage and Leba rye bread. Butfor a unique experience, head to Russian Park, where you can enjoy a steaming Chinesehotpot in a restaurant built entirely out of ice.
2 degrees: SAPPORO, JAPAN
Cold enough for the Winter Olympics, yet offering a warm welcome at the many innsand izakayas dotting the city streets, Sapporo is charming come winter. With its famousSnow Festival, deliciously hearty regional Japanese cuisine and famous brewery – a beer so good they named a town after it – winter is the right time to sample the delights ofJapan’s most famous northern city.
Where to stay:
The Ginrinso is one of Japan’s finest examples of traditional ryokan inns. Situated abovethe city in the mountains, with spectacular views and outdoor hot springs, the Ginrinso doesn’t come cheap, but is worth every penny to experience the art of the ryokan done properly. japaneseguesthouses.com/db/sapporo/ginrinso
Where to eat:
The Sapporo Brewery – a must visit – features a superb restaurant, offering a deliciousrange of food, Japanese and German, that complements their delicious brew. It is a fascinating insight into the history of Japanese brewing and the German pioneers whobrought brewing to this area.
8 degrees: HANGZHOU, CHINA
With its picture-perfect location on the West Lake and impossibly beautiful avenues linedby weeping willows, Hangzhou in winter – all mist and silver skies – is beautifully moody destination.
Where to stay:
The West Lake (Xihu) State Guest Hotel, a former mansion on the shores of the lake, is asbeautiful as hotels come. A 100-year-old construction oozing history and character – butsacrificing nothing in luxury and amenities – the Xihu will have you composing poetry andwriting calligraphy praising its beauty in no time. Tel: +86 571 8797 9889
Where to eat:
Hangzhou cuisine relies on vinegary spices and meats to create hearty meals – perfect forthis time of year. The Louwailou Restaurant is one of the best of many in the city, servingclassic Hangzhou cuisine on a beautiful bridge over the lake: fresh West Lake fish in vinegarsauce, Aunt Song’s Fish Broth and Dragon Well Tea & Shrimps are just a few of the manydelights on offer.
16 degrees: MACAU, CHINA
These days, it’s better known as Vegas on the Pearl River Delta, but 500 years of colonial history isn’t so easily erased: there’s still much of old Portugal to discover in Macau. Wander the winding cobbled streets, marvel at the gorgeous old houses, stop off at the many cafes and restaurants fora vinho verde and a bacalhau, wonder at the cute Portuguese letterboxes and street signs. If the Brits across the river were in Hong Kong for reasons of commerce, the Portuguese must have hada different motive altogether: this place was designed for relaxation.
Where to stay:
Converted from an old Portuguese fort, with six-foot-thick walls and overlooking the innerharbour, the Pousada de Santiago is the best place to stay to get a feel for Macau’s history.Beautiful old antique furniture in the rooms, ornate decoration and a lovely outdoor terracemake this a little piece of Lisbon in the South China Sea. saotiago.com.mo
Where to eat:
On pretty Hac Sa beach, Senor Fernando has been serving up the best Portuguese food –some would say the best food full stop – in the region. In this elegant yet laid-back beachsideeatery, you can feast on roast suckling pig and salted cod rice, washed down with generousamounts of wine from the 100% Portuguese selection.
20 degrees: HANOI, VIETNAM
Winter is the best time to enjoy the Vietnamese centre of style, when the population bringsout its best Parisian boho-chic outfits. Stylish restaurants, beautiful bars, magnificentmonuments and the hauntingly serene West Lake are just some of many attractions. Hirea moped, brave the traffic, and spend the days scooting through the leafy boulevards,discovering the many gems hidden in this most satisfying of cities.
Where to stay:
For a sense of place in Hanoi, nothing beats the Sofitel Metropole. A colonial Frenchstructure as old as Hanoi itself, the Metropole exudes Gallic style while enveloping you in trueluxury. accorhotels-asia.com
Where to eat:
It’s not Vietnamese, and it has nothing to do with French history, but La Salsa tapas bar, inthe shadow of Notre Dame Cathedral, is a superb place to spend an evening with a glass.
24 degrees: LUANG PRABANG, LAOS
Winters are mesmerising in LP: golden light, perfumed air and a temperature a few degreescooler than the customary sweltering heat. In this soporific town, days are filled by cyclingaround the temples with frequent stops in shady cafes for iced lemon teas, before retiring to a spafor a two-hour massage in the afternoon, finishing in time for a Beer Lao by the river at sunset.
Where to stay:
Maison Souvannaphoum is a converted Prince’s palace, renovated stylishly by the BanyanTree. Spend your time under the fans in the café with a fresh coffee, or lounge by the pooland watch the palm trees sway, framed by the bright blue winter sky. coloursofangsana.com
Where to eat:
Café Ban Wat Sene, run by a happily exiled Frenchman, epitomises the Laotian mix ofFrench class with laid-back Indochinese charm. A welcome oasis of shade during the day, astylish bolthole at night.
28 degrees: PAI, THAILAND
Make the most of the all-too-brief Thai winter by heading up north. Pai – a small bohemiantown an hour or two west of Chiang Mai – manages to retain its backpacker (sorry,independent traveller) roots, while adding more and more upmarket accommodation optionsevery month. Situated in highland territory, nights can get chilly, but the local Thai whiskywill warm the cockles of your heart, and many other places besides.
Where to stay:
Rim Pai Cottage captures the essence of the new Pai: stylish but not slick, comfortable butnot corporate. Beautiful wooden houses (including one tree house) with lovely polishedfloors and stylish bathrooms: after a stay here, you’ll be looking for nearby land and askingfor the architects’ drawings. rimpaicottage.com
Where to eat:
Pai Burger Stall begs the question: is the world’s best burger in New York? Chicago? Philadelphia? No, it’s here at this tiny shack on Pai’s main walking street, across theroad from the temple. Pull up one of the six stools, order a Chang beer, and make yourselfcomfortable while the owner – herself an escapee from Bangkok’s chaos – rustles up the best burger and chunky chips you’ll ever have.
32 degrees: KOH YAO, THAILAND
All of Thailand is beautiful in the winter months: the rainy season has ended, the air is fresh, the land is green and the sky is blue. The South is no exception, and for an example oftropical bliss, you’d be hard pressed to find something better than Koh Yao. Only an hour east of Phuket by boat, yet a million miles away from the bars and shopping, Koh Yao is where yougo when you’ve already been away from it all, but still want to go further.
Where to stay:
Koh Yao Resort is Robinson Crusoe meets Giorgio Armani: undeniably basic and open-to the-elements bungalows (think roof but no walls), yet with an understated sense of style thatcan be hard to find in this part of the world.
Where to eat:
You can eat in the resort while gazing out to sea – something of which you might possibly never tire – or you can hire a motorcycle and go scouting for one of the many small Thaifamily restaurants serving delicious fresh seafood, expertly cooked.
36 degrees: PERTH, AUSTRALIA
If heat is your thing, fly south for winter: the most isolated capital city in the world is at itshottest this time of year. Burning sun and noonday temperatures of 40 degrees – sometimes more – are common; but watching the sun sink below the Indian Ocean as you are fanned bythe cooling sea breeze, makes it hard to imagine being anywhere else.
Where to stay:
The Cottesloe Beach Hotel is situated in Perth’s most glamorous beachside district, withbars and cafes in every direction and the astonishingly clear waters of Cottesloe Beach justacross the road. cottesloebeachhotel.com.au
Where to eat:
Fremantle’s boutique brewery hotel, the Sail & Anchor, offers a modern take on classicAussie pub grub: Asian-influenced gastronomic delights which taste all the better when accompanied by one of the mouth-watering selection of boutique brews.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + Travel magazine.
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Beer'd trimmer.
Last year was a tough year. And, before getting into the serious business of starting 2008, you’d be forgiven if you were thinking of taking a short breather. A breather with a nice, cold, refreshing beverage, naturally. The best places in the region to enjoy the amber nectar:
Samui: The Cliff
No matter where you’re reading this, whether it be within a two-hour radius of Samui in Singapore or Bangkok, or further afield in Europe or America, your mission is the same. Drop what you’re doing, book a ticket to Samui, and upon arrival make your way straight to The Cliff. Even if you fly from Anchorage, coming to Samui for the sole purpose of enjoying a cold Heineken at The Cliff would be a thoroughly sensible expedition. As the sun rolls slowly overhead, turning the sky from a bright blue to a gorgeous deep red, an evening spent here in the company of several green bottles will be one of the highlights of any trip to Thailand. Situated on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean with a feeling of glamour that would not be out of place in Amalfi, The Cliff gets six stars on the atmosphere scale.
Dubai: The Left Bank
A French-named bar in an Arabian-themed development in Dubai might not be the first place you would expect to make it on this list. But fear not. Particularly at this time of the year, when the weather is utterly gorgeous, The Left Bank is a shoo-in to any list of watering holes. With the bright Arabian sun reflecting off the water and onto the fresh golden frothy pints being carried directly to your table by the charming Filipina waitress, trust us: your wellbeing level will be off the charts. Stylish, atmospheric and with an international clientele that gives the place energy and intrigue, the Left Bank should be top of the To Do List of any Dubai visitor.
Bangkok: The Old Pra Athit Pier
Visitors to Bangkok who find they’re unable to pull themselves away from the gravitational pull of Siam and Sukhumvit are missing out on the whole raison d’etre of the city: the river. When you’re on the River of Kings, whether it be on a maritime vessel or simply a well-positioned eatery on the banks, you get a feel for Bangkok’s birthplace, and it suddenly begins to make more sense. The Old Pra Athit Pier is a relatively new addition to the long list of waterside establishments but exudes all of the long-lasting charm of a Raffles or Eastern & Oriental. Sit at the long bar under slowly whirling fans and order a draught Chang from the barman, enjoy the breeze from the river, and you’ll find it impossible to remove yourself from the barstool before closing time.
Hong Kong: South Bay
Nobody needs any introduction to the glitzy bars of Lan Kwai Fong or Soho. Hollywood Road and the area around the escalator are packed with quirky and fashionable places to imbibe. But for Hong Kong’s most relaxing place to lift a cold bottle to your lips, gravitate away from the urban surrounds to the beaches on the south side of the island. In secluded South Bay, two beaches around from Repulse Bay, you’ll find a café. Nothing fancy, nothing spectacular, just a place on the roof of the building where the lifeguards store their equipment. Grab a San Miguel from the fridge, pop it open and enjoy one of the best views Hong Kong has to offer: the green mountains behind, the beach and the islands in front. Stay until the sun sinks behind Lamma Island and you’ll have enjoyed one of Hong Kong’s best-kept secrets.
Singapore: Toa Payoh Hawker Centre
Singapore these days is usually mentioned in the same breath as slick, cool, modern, stylish. To hell with all that. Well, before Dempsey Road and Clarke Quay, Singaporeans in the know were already drinking in cool surrounds of a different kind. Toa Payoh Hawker Centre, designed as part of Singapore’s first new town in ambitiously modernist 1960s style, is a superb place to chug back a few Tigers surrounded by clean brutalist architecture and unremitting straight lines. And the food from the neighbouring hawker stalls – spicy chilli stingray, hokkien fried noodles, perfectly grilled satay – provide a perfect accompaniment to the ice-cold amber liquid.
Hanoi: Tapas
A few glasses of Stella into your drinking session at Tapas, you’ll most certainly be in ‘where the hell am I’ territory. The authentically worn Spanish feel, the view of the Notre Dame cathedral out of the window, the elegant scooters parked neatly on the sidewalk under the spreading flame trees… if, in your beery haze, you get the impression you’ve been magically transported back to Europe, you’ll be forgiven. In a city with many excellent places for a beer, including the countless Bia Hoi stalls, Tapas is one of the very best.
Shanghai: Cottons
Shanghai presents a challenge for the professional archivist of drinking places. Would it be M at the Bund, with its glorious views of the Huangpu River and the countless Chinese flags fluttering in the evening breeze? Would it be Faye Wong’s stunning rooftop bar in Suzhou Creek (appropriately situated on a 1930s-built Czech Brewery)? Perhaps, perhaps. But for this particular list, Cottons is Shanghai’s representative. In the cosy neighbourhood vibe of Anjing Lu, Cottons is far and away the place for a comfortable few beers among a relaxed crowd and staff who always have time to crack an amusing back-translated witticism. Knock back a few Tsingtaos – either in the gorgeous garden in the warmer months, or inside by the roaring fireplace inside the beautiful old European villa. Every time this particular writer is in Shanghai, he finds himself drawn to Cottons for at least a couple of happy hour beers almost every evening, even if there are different plans for the rest of the night.
Luang Prabang: Café Ban Wat Sene
The stylish French owners of this place could franchise the idea in a hundred cities and be multi-millionaires overnight. But the fact that they haven’t, makes Café Ban Wat Sene all the more special. A sort of unpolished, unfinished, unrefined feel, which gives you the impression that it’s been here since at least the colonial period. A shadowy, cool interior and a few tables scattered around the pavement overlooking the street. And a mixed clientele of long-term residents, well heeled and bohemian travellers only adds to the charm. There’s a selection of beers here: but only one possible choice. When in Laos, it has to be Beer Lao.
Siem Reap: FCC
In Siem Reap, where else could it have been? A crowd drawn from all four corners of the earth. The FCC (Foreign Correspondents Club) is a stunning architectural environment. A view of the nightly Cambodian promenade as they make their way along the riverbanks, lit by ornate French-era streetlamps. And accompanying food that goes perfectly with the frosty one-dollar happy hour Tigers. Angkor is one of the world’s great travel destinations. But you can’t be looking at temples 24 hours a day. As a must-do when in Cambodia, this should definitely be right up there with the Bayon and Ta Phrom.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + travel magazine.
Samui: The Cliff
No matter where you’re reading this, whether it be within a two-hour radius of Samui in Singapore or Bangkok, or further afield in Europe or America, your mission is the same. Drop what you’re doing, book a ticket to Samui, and upon arrival make your way straight to The Cliff. Even if you fly from Anchorage, coming to Samui for the sole purpose of enjoying a cold Heineken at The Cliff would be a thoroughly sensible expedition. As the sun rolls slowly overhead, turning the sky from a bright blue to a gorgeous deep red, an evening spent here in the company of several green bottles will be one of the highlights of any trip to Thailand. Situated on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean with a feeling of glamour that would not be out of place in Amalfi, The Cliff gets six stars on the atmosphere scale.
Dubai: The Left Bank
A French-named bar in an Arabian-themed development in Dubai might not be the first place you would expect to make it on this list. But fear not. Particularly at this time of the year, when the weather is utterly gorgeous, The Left Bank is a shoo-in to any list of watering holes. With the bright Arabian sun reflecting off the water and onto the fresh golden frothy pints being carried directly to your table by the charming Filipina waitress, trust us: your wellbeing level will be off the charts. Stylish, atmospheric and with an international clientele that gives the place energy and intrigue, the Left Bank should be top of the To Do List of any Dubai visitor.
Bangkok: The Old Pra Athit Pier
Visitors to Bangkok who find they’re unable to pull themselves away from the gravitational pull of Siam and Sukhumvit are missing out on the whole raison d’etre of the city: the river. When you’re on the River of Kings, whether it be on a maritime vessel or simply a well-positioned eatery on the banks, you get a feel for Bangkok’s birthplace, and it suddenly begins to make more sense. The Old Pra Athit Pier is a relatively new addition to the long list of waterside establishments but exudes all of the long-lasting charm of a Raffles or Eastern & Oriental. Sit at the long bar under slowly whirling fans and order a draught Chang from the barman, enjoy the breeze from the river, and you’ll find it impossible to remove yourself from the barstool before closing time.
Hong Kong: South Bay
Nobody needs any introduction to the glitzy bars of Lan Kwai Fong or Soho. Hollywood Road and the area around the escalator are packed with quirky and fashionable places to imbibe. But for Hong Kong’s most relaxing place to lift a cold bottle to your lips, gravitate away from the urban surrounds to the beaches on the south side of the island. In secluded South Bay, two beaches around from Repulse Bay, you’ll find a café. Nothing fancy, nothing spectacular, just a place on the roof of the building where the lifeguards store their equipment. Grab a San Miguel from the fridge, pop it open and enjoy one of the best views Hong Kong has to offer: the green mountains behind, the beach and the islands in front. Stay until the sun sinks behind Lamma Island and you’ll have enjoyed one of Hong Kong’s best-kept secrets.
Singapore: Toa Payoh Hawker Centre
Singapore these days is usually mentioned in the same breath as slick, cool, modern, stylish. To hell with all that. Well, before Dempsey Road and Clarke Quay, Singaporeans in the know were already drinking in cool surrounds of a different kind. Toa Payoh Hawker Centre, designed as part of Singapore’s first new town in ambitiously modernist 1960s style, is a superb place to chug back a few Tigers surrounded by clean brutalist architecture and unremitting straight lines. And the food from the neighbouring hawker stalls – spicy chilli stingray, hokkien fried noodles, perfectly grilled satay – provide a perfect accompaniment to the ice-cold amber liquid.
Hanoi: Tapas
A few glasses of Stella into your drinking session at Tapas, you’ll most certainly be in ‘where the hell am I’ territory. The authentically worn Spanish feel, the view of the Notre Dame cathedral out of the window, the elegant scooters parked neatly on the sidewalk under the spreading flame trees… if, in your beery haze, you get the impression you’ve been magically transported back to Europe, you’ll be forgiven. In a city with many excellent places for a beer, including the countless Bia Hoi stalls, Tapas is one of the very best.
Shanghai: Cottons
Shanghai presents a challenge for the professional archivist of drinking places. Would it be M at the Bund, with its glorious views of the Huangpu River and the countless Chinese flags fluttering in the evening breeze? Would it be Faye Wong’s stunning rooftop bar in Suzhou Creek (appropriately situated on a 1930s-built Czech Brewery)? Perhaps, perhaps. But for this particular list, Cottons is Shanghai’s representative. In the cosy neighbourhood vibe of Anjing Lu, Cottons is far and away the place for a comfortable few beers among a relaxed crowd and staff who always have time to crack an amusing back-translated witticism. Knock back a few Tsingtaos – either in the gorgeous garden in the warmer months, or inside by the roaring fireplace inside the beautiful old European villa. Every time this particular writer is in Shanghai, he finds himself drawn to Cottons for at least a couple of happy hour beers almost every evening, even if there are different plans for the rest of the night.
Luang Prabang: Café Ban Wat Sene
The stylish French owners of this place could franchise the idea in a hundred cities and be multi-millionaires overnight. But the fact that they haven’t, makes Café Ban Wat Sene all the more special. A sort of unpolished, unfinished, unrefined feel, which gives you the impression that it’s been here since at least the colonial period. A shadowy, cool interior and a few tables scattered around the pavement overlooking the street. And a mixed clientele of long-term residents, well heeled and bohemian travellers only adds to the charm. There’s a selection of beers here: but only one possible choice. When in Laos, it has to be Beer Lao.
Siem Reap: FCC
In Siem Reap, where else could it have been? A crowd drawn from all four corners of the earth. The FCC (Foreign Correspondents Club) is a stunning architectural environment. A view of the nightly Cambodian promenade as they make their way along the riverbanks, lit by ornate French-era streetlamps. And accompanying food that goes perfectly with the frosty one-dollar happy hour Tigers. Angkor is one of the world’s great travel destinations. But you can’t be looking at temples 24 hours a day. As a must-do when in Cambodia, this should definitely be right up there with the Bayon and Ta Phrom.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + travel magazine.
Altitude slickness.
Because most of them started as ports, Asia’s big cities are generally low-lying affairs, situated near sea level. But the region has plenty of opportunities for elevation to loftier climes.
From the equatorial highlands of Java to the celestial mountains of China and everywhere in between, more and more of Asia’s high-altitude areas are being developed for tourism – some rough and ready, but some with levels of luxury as lofty as their geography. All you have to ask yourself is: how high do you want to go?
1,140 METRES
Phonsavan, Laos
At just over a kilometre above sea level, Phonsavan doesn’t exactly qualify as truly alpine, but the higher altitude does give a fresh feel to the morning air in contrast to the plains below. The town itself is charming enough, with ample opportunities for alfresco Beer Lao consumption. Nearby, the Plain of Jars is one of Asia’s last unsolved mysteries, with hundreds of ancient pots scattered through the landscape.
Where to Stay
The French-run Phu Pha Daeng (Tel: +856 61 312 044), otherwise known as Auberge de Plaine des Jarres, is Phonsavan’s best option in the style stakes, with lovely stone and wooden cabins just outside the centre of town.
1,460 METRES
Puncak, Indonesia
On the road between Bogor and Bandung, Puncak is a picturesque village in the Javanese highlands, sitting between two spectacular mountains. The scents of coffee and cinnamon drift on the air from the many surrounding plantations, and the air has a distinctly fresh feel, helped along by the fact that the sun disappears behind the mountain early in the afternoon. Puncak itself is quiet and charming, but for day trips, Bogor’s world-famous botanical gardens are nearby, as is the incredible Taman Safari Indonesia.
Where to Stay
The quirky Puncak Pass Resort (puncakpassresort.com) is a property in the ‘if it’s in the mountains, build it Swiss-style’-school. Authentically Helvetian cottages with sloped roofs overlook the valley below, and all that’s lacking is the fondue.
1,620 METRES
Sapa, Vietnam
North from Hanoi, on the last stop of the train line before it hits China, Sapa is one of Vietnam’s highest points. Its altitude means temperatures can approach freezing, with a blanket of fog descending every evening to create a mysterious, otherworldly feel. The brick-and-tile houses are straight out of Tuscany, the minority hilltribe treks are fascinating, and the steaming Vietnamese coffee never tasted as good as it does in the thin mountain air here.
Where to Stay
The Victoria Sapa Resort (victoriahotels-asia.com) is a gorgeous spot. Sip mulled wine by roaring log fires, sit in the open air with a hot chocolate around a big bonfire, or stay in the comfort of your room and watch the mists swirling over the valley.
1,650 METRES
Baguio, Philippines
The garden city of the Philippines, with more public parks and gardens than the rest of the country put together, Baguio makes the most of its out-of-the-way location. Pine-scented air, darling little inns and restaurants overlooking forested valleys, and an outdoorsy, back-to-nature vibe makes this a lovely spot to get away from the sensory overload that is Manila.
Where to Stay
Historical Camp John Hay Manor (campjohnhay.com) is perhaps Baguio’s most stylish place to stay, and also its most environmentally friendly, with numerous good governance awards to its name. Built on a mountain on top of another mountain, the Manor boasts spectacular views; the feeling of being above it all is palpable.
1,782 METRES
Doi Ang Khang, Chiang Mai, Thailand
The areas in far north Thailand abutting the Burmese and Laotian borders are a mountain-lovers’ paradise. Peaks soar to over two km above sea level, nighttime temperatures plum-met to low single figures, and rosy-cheeked ethnic minorities give the area an exotic, unfamiliar feel. Perfect for motoring trips whether on four wheels or two, the winding mountain roads north of Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai offer some of Asia’s most accessible and enjoyable high-altitude holidays.
Where to Stay
The Angkhang Nature Resort, (amari.com/angkhang) run by the Amari group, offers individual villas on the side of a mountain, wedged into a valley less than a kilometre from the Burmese border. If the modern fare on offer at the restaurants doesn’t appeal, you can always walk down to the market and snack on Burmese and Chinese cuisine in one of the many restaurants set up by migrants from over the border.
1,829 METRES
Cameron Highlands, Malaysia
Malaysia’s airy Cameron Highlands started life as a retreat for the British escaping the heat of the capital, and even now the feel of the place reflects it colonial origins. Mock-Tudor houses, strawberries and cream, and steaming pots of tea still define the atmosphere of this hill station. But there are many more modern delights too. Rolling golf courses, jungle walks and luxurious spas will all fill some time in during daylight hours while you wait for nightfall and the chance to sit around the fireplace sipping red wine.
Where to Stay
Built in the 1930s, The Smokehouse Hotel & Restaurant By The Golf Course (thesmokehouse.com.my/ch.htm) captures the essence of the High-lands, with gorgeously twee rooms and a lovely rose garden where you can sit outside and take tea. If you’re feeling homesick, you can always call home from the red British telephone box outside.
1,923 METRES
Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lanka
There’s not much that Nuwara Eliya doesn’t offer: culture, history, and physical activity in the national park trails surrounding the area. A highlight is the St Clair tea centre: a fascinating interactive museum where you can learn the history of the area and about life on the tea plantations. When you’ve had enough education for one day, retire to the terrace and have a cup of the steaming brew while watching the sun set over the plains below.
Where to Stay
The Tea Factory, (aitkenspencehotels.com/teafactory) a tasteful hotel built from – you guessed it – a former tea factory, offers the coolest and most stylish accommodation in the hill country. Nice touches in the rooms remind you of the building’s provenance, and the location in the middle of a tea estate is simply gorgeous.
2,370 METRES
Ayubia, Pakistan
Only 90 km north of Islamabad, Ayubia is one of many popular holiday resorts in the mountains of northern Pakistan. Snowbound in winter, fresh and pine-scented in summer, nearby attractions include Khanspur, the beautiful small town where many of Pakistan’s elite have their country homes, and Murree, the hill resort famous for being the only town still in possession of a working brewery in overwhelmingly dry Pakistan.
Where to Stay
The Ayubia Motel (Tel: +92 (0) 992 359 004) is much more salubrious than its name suggests; ‘motel’ is simply the word Pakistanis use for any hotel out of major towns is a great base from which to explore the surrounding mountain district, or to use as a stopover point for further exploration north.
2,134 METRES
Darjeeling, India
Backed up against the Himalayas, India’s northern border is one long mountain range. There are dozens of charming resorts; but the queen of them all is Darjeeling, the town where the famous tea industry is centred. Flowering gardens, elegant tea estates, strolls along the stately Mall in the middle of town, and the views of Mt Everest in the distance are enough to detain most people for a few days. For the more adventurous, mountain biking, hot-air ballooning and elephant rides along mountain trails are also on the list of options.
Where to Stay
The Windermere Hotel, (Tel: +91 354 54041) created from an old gentleman’s lodge formerly used to house tea planters, epitomises the genteel atmos-phere of the hill station. Cosy rooms protect you against the chilly mountain mist and hearty breakfasts set you up for a day of trekking, strolling or comfy lounging.
5,600 METRES
Lijiang, China
Lijiang is serious alpine territory, with the nearby Jade Dragon Snow Mountain soaring over five kilometres above sea level. Inhabited by the colourful and horse-loving Naxi people, the wide open plains of Lijiang and the nearly-Tibetan style temples dotted throughout the area make for a culturally satisfying trip, while the nascent Chinese ski resort offers some respectable slopes.
Where to Stay
Zen Garden Hotel, (zengardenhotel.com) situated in the old town section of Lijiang, will give you the best feel for the history and culture of the area. In an old Naxi lanehouse, but renovated beautifully and with lovely staff, the Zen Garden is a gem.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + Travel magazine.
From the equatorial highlands of Java to the celestial mountains of China and everywhere in between, more and more of Asia’s high-altitude areas are being developed for tourism – some rough and ready, but some with levels of luxury as lofty as their geography. All you have to ask yourself is: how high do you want to go?
1,140 METRES
Phonsavan, Laos
At just over a kilometre above sea level, Phonsavan doesn’t exactly qualify as truly alpine, but the higher altitude does give a fresh feel to the morning air in contrast to the plains below. The town itself is charming enough, with ample opportunities for alfresco Beer Lao consumption. Nearby, the Plain of Jars is one of Asia’s last unsolved mysteries, with hundreds of ancient pots scattered through the landscape.
Where to Stay
The French-run Phu Pha Daeng (Tel: +856 61 312 044), otherwise known as Auberge de Plaine des Jarres, is Phonsavan’s best option in the style stakes, with lovely stone and wooden cabins just outside the centre of town.
1,460 METRES
Puncak, Indonesia
On the road between Bogor and Bandung, Puncak is a picturesque village in the Javanese highlands, sitting between two spectacular mountains. The scents of coffee and cinnamon drift on the air from the many surrounding plantations, and the air has a distinctly fresh feel, helped along by the fact that the sun disappears behind the mountain early in the afternoon. Puncak itself is quiet and charming, but for day trips, Bogor’s world-famous botanical gardens are nearby, as is the incredible Taman Safari Indonesia.
Where to Stay
The quirky Puncak Pass Resort (puncakpassresort.com) is a property in the ‘if it’s in the mountains, build it Swiss-style’-school. Authentically Helvetian cottages with sloped roofs overlook the valley below, and all that’s lacking is the fondue.
1,620 METRES
Sapa, Vietnam
North from Hanoi, on the last stop of the train line before it hits China, Sapa is one of Vietnam’s highest points. Its altitude means temperatures can approach freezing, with a blanket of fog descending every evening to create a mysterious, otherworldly feel. The brick-and-tile houses are straight out of Tuscany, the minority hilltribe treks are fascinating, and the steaming Vietnamese coffee never tasted as good as it does in the thin mountain air here.
Where to Stay
The Victoria Sapa Resort (victoriahotels-asia.com) is a gorgeous spot. Sip mulled wine by roaring log fires, sit in the open air with a hot chocolate around a big bonfire, or stay in the comfort of your room and watch the mists swirling over the valley.
1,650 METRES
Baguio, Philippines
The garden city of the Philippines, with more public parks and gardens than the rest of the country put together, Baguio makes the most of its out-of-the-way location. Pine-scented air, darling little inns and restaurants overlooking forested valleys, and an outdoorsy, back-to-nature vibe makes this a lovely spot to get away from the sensory overload that is Manila.
Where to Stay
Historical Camp John Hay Manor (campjohnhay.com) is perhaps Baguio’s most stylish place to stay, and also its most environmentally friendly, with numerous good governance awards to its name. Built on a mountain on top of another mountain, the Manor boasts spectacular views; the feeling of being above it all is palpable.
1,782 METRES
Doi Ang Khang, Chiang Mai, Thailand
The areas in far north Thailand abutting the Burmese and Laotian borders are a mountain-lovers’ paradise. Peaks soar to over two km above sea level, nighttime temperatures plum-met to low single figures, and rosy-cheeked ethnic minorities give the area an exotic, unfamiliar feel. Perfect for motoring trips whether on four wheels or two, the winding mountain roads north of Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai offer some of Asia’s most accessible and enjoyable high-altitude holidays.
Where to Stay
The Angkhang Nature Resort, (amari.com/angkhang) run by the Amari group, offers individual villas on the side of a mountain, wedged into a valley less than a kilometre from the Burmese border. If the modern fare on offer at the restaurants doesn’t appeal, you can always walk down to the market and snack on Burmese and Chinese cuisine in one of the many restaurants set up by migrants from over the border.
1,829 METRES
Cameron Highlands, Malaysia
Malaysia’s airy Cameron Highlands started life as a retreat for the British escaping the heat of the capital, and even now the feel of the place reflects it colonial origins. Mock-Tudor houses, strawberries and cream, and steaming pots of tea still define the atmosphere of this hill station. But there are many more modern delights too. Rolling golf courses, jungle walks and luxurious spas will all fill some time in during daylight hours while you wait for nightfall and the chance to sit around the fireplace sipping red wine.
Where to Stay
Built in the 1930s, The Smokehouse Hotel & Restaurant By The Golf Course (thesmokehouse.com.my/ch.htm) captures the essence of the High-lands, with gorgeously twee rooms and a lovely rose garden where you can sit outside and take tea. If you’re feeling homesick, you can always call home from the red British telephone box outside.
1,923 METRES
Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lanka
There’s not much that Nuwara Eliya doesn’t offer: culture, history, and physical activity in the national park trails surrounding the area. A highlight is the St Clair tea centre: a fascinating interactive museum where you can learn the history of the area and about life on the tea plantations. When you’ve had enough education for one day, retire to the terrace and have a cup of the steaming brew while watching the sun set over the plains below.
Where to Stay
The Tea Factory, (aitkenspencehotels.com/teafactory) a tasteful hotel built from – you guessed it – a former tea factory, offers the coolest and most stylish accommodation in the hill country. Nice touches in the rooms remind you of the building’s provenance, and the location in the middle of a tea estate is simply gorgeous.
2,370 METRES
Ayubia, Pakistan
Only 90 km north of Islamabad, Ayubia is one of many popular holiday resorts in the mountains of northern Pakistan. Snowbound in winter, fresh and pine-scented in summer, nearby attractions include Khanspur, the beautiful small town where many of Pakistan’s elite have their country homes, and Murree, the hill resort famous for being the only town still in possession of a working brewery in overwhelmingly dry Pakistan.
Where to Stay
The Ayubia Motel (Tel: +92 (0) 992 359 004) is much more salubrious than its name suggests; ‘motel’ is simply the word Pakistanis use for any hotel out of major towns is a great base from which to explore the surrounding mountain district, or to use as a stopover point for further exploration north.
2,134 METRES
Darjeeling, India
Backed up against the Himalayas, India’s northern border is one long mountain range. There are dozens of charming resorts; but the queen of them all is Darjeeling, the town where the famous tea industry is centred. Flowering gardens, elegant tea estates, strolls along the stately Mall in the middle of town, and the views of Mt Everest in the distance are enough to detain most people for a few days. For the more adventurous, mountain biking, hot-air ballooning and elephant rides along mountain trails are also on the list of options.
Where to Stay
The Windermere Hotel, (Tel: +91 354 54041) created from an old gentleman’s lodge formerly used to house tea planters, epitomises the genteel atmos-phere of the hill station. Cosy rooms protect you against the chilly mountain mist and hearty breakfasts set you up for a day of trekking, strolling or comfy lounging.
5,600 METRES
Lijiang, China
Lijiang is serious alpine territory, with the nearby Jade Dragon Snow Mountain soaring over five kilometres above sea level. Inhabited by the colourful and horse-loving Naxi people, the wide open plains of Lijiang and the nearly-Tibetan style temples dotted throughout the area make for a culturally satisfying trip, while the nascent Chinese ski resort offers some respectable slopes.
Where to Stay
Zen Garden Hotel, (zengardenhotel.com) situated in the old town section of Lijiang, will give you the best feel for the history and culture of the area. In an old Naxi lanehouse, but renovated beautifully and with lovely staff, the Zen Garden is a gem.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + Travel magazine.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Time travel.
Geographical travel is so passé. Directions, locations, co-ordinates, choice of country… it’s so done. Much better to travel chronologically; to make your travel plans according to the era you prefer. You want to travel to the 1930s? You can. You want to make a getaway to the 1970s? Uh huh. Or you want to spend a weekend in the 1950s? By all means.
1970s
Darwin
Interesting how several of the places on our list represent a certain era as a result of some great calamity. An earthquake in New Zealand, the partitioning of India, a war in Cambodia, a cyclone in Australia. Perhaps the human race needs a major disaster to leave things as they are. In 1972, Cyclone Tracy wheeled through Northern Australia, tearing up everything in its path. One of those things was the city of Darwin, which was ripped into shreds in a matter of hours. The resulting rebuilding programme was swift, vast and intelligent, and defines the atmosphere of the town to this day. Lovely early 70s tropical modernism, gorgeous wide avenues and planned parks, the clean lines and soaring optimism of the era reflected in every public building, framed by the tropical sky and the lush greenery everywhere you turn. Lovely louvered windows, flat white roofs, frangipani trees on perfectly manicured lawns: When you step off your Tiger Airways flight onto the Northern Territory tarmac, you’re taking a step back 30 years. And that can only be a good thing.
1960s
Sihanoukville
Thank God for Communism. Without it, Cambodia would be just one more Asian country full of ticky-tacky buildings, petrol stations and mini marts, untrammelled development and overblown six-lane highways. As it is, the calamity that befell the nation in the 1970s means that Cambodia’s architectural heritage is still for the most part intact. Sihanoukville, the stylish beachside enclave where the noblesse oblige of Cambodia holidayed before the Khmer Rouge decided they wanted a part of the action, is still preserved in all its 1960s-chic glory. Modernist bungalows, low-slung marine-cubist villas, lovely, little curvy hotels that could have been plucked from a Thunderbirds set – and yes, one or two very funky little petrol stations from the era. In this little corner of Cambodia, it’s as if the last 40 years never happened. Very handy.
1950s
Chandigarh
A short history lesson. When Pakistan separated from India, the province of Punjab was divided between the two countries. The Punjabi capital, Lahore, is a lovely Victorian town, Melbourne mixed with Mughal, and was perhaps India’s loveliest city: until it found itself in the Pakistani half of the province. India’s leaders decided they needed a new capital of Indian Punjab to replace the one they lost, and gave legendary modernist architect Le Corbusier a call. The result was Chandigarh. A totally planned city, laid out on a grid, built entirely in concrete. Some say it is nothing more than an English council estate transplanted onto Indian soil, but the sheer spectacular appeal of the place is undeniable. And the unique architectural stamp of the brutalist era is apparent everywhere you turn. If the 1950s is your time, it’s time you headed to Chandigarh.
1940s
Christchurch
While the rest of the world was involved in the fine mess of World War II, New Zealand – despite a huge proportion of its population fighting fiercely in Europe and Asia – was itself physically unaffected. In fact, the years towards the end of the war and afterwards were a veritable boom time, with exports to the rest of the world at record levels. Prosperity translated into construction, and the people of Christchurch benefited as much as anyone. Lovely mock-Victorian mansions, modern Arts & Crafts cottages, impressive state-of-the-art shopping precincts and solid public parks gave the city the mark of the era which remains to this day, and gives a lovely historical feel to the place which complements its more modern activities like bungee-jumping and whitewater jetboating.
1930s
Bandung
Hard to believe today, but there was a time when Indonesia was synonymous with all things modern, and people from around the world travelled to Java to see the world’s most futuristic city. That time was the 1930s. Bandung, built at altitude a respectable distance from the capital Jakarta, may be looking a little worn around the edges these days but the 1930s elegance can still be found. Built entirely in Art Deco style, the architecture is consistently beautiful and some of the interiors of the restaurants, cafes and homes are simply lovely. An Art Deco society exists in the town, and tours are available where visitors can explore private suburban homes in the leafy outskirts. Things have stood still in many ways in Indonesia, but in Bandung, that can be said to be a mainly positive development.
1920s
Penang
Visitors to Singapore are often heard lamenting the fact that a good part of the colonial architecture was pulled down in the 60s and 70s. If only the place had retained its faded colonial charm, they say, the place would be a lot more appealing. Well, they need not fret. All they have to do is board a plane, fly 800 kms north to Penang, and they’ll find what they’re missing. Not just the famous landmarks: the Funicular Railway, the Eastern & Oriental Hotel, Georgetown but practically the whole island retains its slightly weird between-the-wars atmosphere. Wander down any street or peer into almost any building and you’ll be transported back to the era of gin slings, bow ties and frilly hats. Penang, despite the Malaysian government’s determination to make it some sort of IT hub, steadfastly refuses to lose its 1920s soul. Hip hip hooray. As they might have said back in the day.
1910s
Maymo‚ Burma
If Penang isn’t quite surreal enough for you, take a step back another 10 years and see if this decade is more to your tastes. When the British were in Burma, most of the colonials from the Sceptr’d Isle were in fact red-headed Scots, not blue-blooded English. Going slowly mad in the tropical heat and understandably missing the mists, the rain and the chill of home, they did all they could to recreate the atmosphere of Bonnie Scotland in Burma. Finding this place in the Burmese Highlands suitably reminiscent of the crags and lochs they had left behind, they built a hill resort here and retired here whenever the furnace temperatures of Rangoon got too much. Today, the place is almost entirely untouched, and all the houses they built remain completely intact. Spooky would be an unkind word to describe it, but we’re confident that a couple of nights here will see you very glad to return to the year 2007.
1900s
Hua Hin
These days, Hua Hin is best known for its slick design hotels and funky beachside restaurants. But enough of the original Edwardian town remains to justify a visit on temporal grounds. When the railway was pushed through the jungle from Bangkok to Singapore in the late 19th century, Hua Hin was selected as a suitable spot for a seaside resort catering to weary rail travellers. Ladies would enter the sea in bathing machines to protect their modesty from prying eyes, and gents would stroll the promenade with one eye on their fob watches to count down the minutes to the first Pimms of the day. From that era, plenty remains: the original Railway Hotel (now renamed the Sofitel and the only possible choice for accommodation), the lovely railway station, His Majesty’s Klai Klangwon Palace, several other beachside mansions and much besides if you care to discover. Edwardian-era pastel creams and greens are in abundance, matching so well with the blue of the sky and the golden sands. Those Siamese certainly knew how to live.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + Travel magazine.
1970s
Darwin
Interesting how several of the places on our list represent a certain era as a result of some great calamity. An earthquake in New Zealand, the partitioning of India, a war in Cambodia, a cyclone in Australia. Perhaps the human race needs a major disaster to leave things as they are. In 1972, Cyclone Tracy wheeled through Northern Australia, tearing up everything in its path. One of those things was the city of Darwin, which was ripped into shreds in a matter of hours. The resulting rebuilding programme was swift, vast and intelligent, and defines the atmosphere of the town to this day. Lovely early 70s tropical modernism, gorgeous wide avenues and planned parks, the clean lines and soaring optimism of the era reflected in every public building, framed by the tropical sky and the lush greenery everywhere you turn. Lovely louvered windows, flat white roofs, frangipani trees on perfectly manicured lawns: When you step off your Tiger Airways flight onto the Northern Territory tarmac, you’re taking a step back 30 years. And that can only be a good thing.
1960s
Sihanoukville
Thank God for Communism. Without it, Cambodia would be just one more Asian country full of ticky-tacky buildings, petrol stations and mini marts, untrammelled development and overblown six-lane highways. As it is, the calamity that befell the nation in the 1970s means that Cambodia’s architectural heritage is still for the most part intact. Sihanoukville, the stylish beachside enclave where the noblesse oblige of Cambodia holidayed before the Khmer Rouge decided they wanted a part of the action, is still preserved in all its 1960s-chic glory. Modernist bungalows, low-slung marine-cubist villas, lovely, little curvy hotels that could have been plucked from a Thunderbirds set – and yes, one or two very funky little petrol stations from the era. In this little corner of Cambodia, it’s as if the last 40 years never happened. Very handy.
1950s
Chandigarh
A short history lesson. When Pakistan separated from India, the province of Punjab was divided between the two countries. The Punjabi capital, Lahore, is a lovely Victorian town, Melbourne mixed with Mughal, and was perhaps India’s loveliest city: until it found itself in the Pakistani half of the province. India’s leaders decided they needed a new capital of Indian Punjab to replace the one they lost, and gave legendary modernist architect Le Corbusier a call. The result was Chandigarh. A totally planned city, laid out on a grid, built entirely in concrete. Some say it is nothing more than an English council estate transplanted onto Indian soil, but the sheer spectacular appeal of the place is undeniable. And the unique architectural stamp of the brutalist era is apparent everywhere you turn. If the 1950s is your time, it’s time you headed to Chandigarh.
1940s
Christchurch
While the rest of the world was involved in the fine mess of World War II, New Zealand – despite a huge proportion of its population fighting fiercely in Europe and Asia – was itself physically unaffected. In fact, the years towards the end of the war and afterwards were a veritable boom time, with exports to the rest of the world at record levels. Prosperity translated into construction, and the people of Christchurch benefited as much as anyone. Lovely mock-Victorian mansions, modern Arts & Crafts cottages, impressive state-of-the-art shopping precincts and solid public parks gave the city the mark of the era which remains to this day, and gives a lovely historical feel to the place which complements its more modern activities like bungee-jumping and whitewater jetboating.
1930s
Bandung
Hard to believe today, but there was a time when Indonesia was synonymous with all things modern, and people from around the world travelled to Java to see the world’s most futuristic city. That time was the 1930s. Bandung, built at altitude a respectable distance from the capital Jakarta, may be looking a little worn around the edges these days but the 1930s elegance can still be found. Built entirely in Art Deco style, the architecture is consistently beautiful and some of the interiors of the restaurants, cafes and homes are simply lovely. An Art Deco society exists in the town, and tours are available where visitors can explore private suburban homes in the leafy outskirts. Things have stood still in many ways in Indonesia, but in Bandung, that can be said to be a mainly positive development.
1920s
Penang
Visitors to Singapore are often heard lamenting the fact that a good part of the colonial architecture was pulled down in the 60s and 70s. If only the place had retained its faded colonial charm, they say, the place would be a lot more appealing. Well, they need not fret. All they have to do is board a plane, fly 800 kms north to Penang, and they’ll find what they’re missing. Not just the famous landmarks: the Funicular Railway, the Eastern & Oriental Hotel, Georgetown but practically the whole island retains its slightly weird between-the-wars atmosphere. Wander down any street or peer into almost any building and you’ll be transported back to the era of gin slings, bow ties and frilly hats. Penang, despite the Malaysian government’s determination to make it some sort of IT hub, steadfastly refuses to lose its 1920s soul. Hip hip hooray. As they might have said back in the day.
1910s
Maymo‚ Burma
If Penang isn’t quite surreal enough for you, take a step back another 10 years and see if this decade is more to your tastes. When the British were in Burma, most of the colonials from the Sceptr’d Isle were in fact red-headed Scots, not blue-blooded English. Going slowly mad in the tropical heat and understandably missing the mists, the rain and the chill of home, they did all they could to recreate the atmosphere of Bonnie Scotland in Burma. Finding this place in the Burmese Highlands suitably reminiscent of the crags and lochs they had left behind, they built a hill resort here and retired here whenever the furnace temperatures of Rangoon got too much. Today, the place is almost entirely untouched, and all the houses they built remain completely intact. Spooky would be an unkind word to describe it, but we’re confident that a couple of nights here will see you very glad to return to the year 2007.
1900s
Hua Hin
These days, Hua Hin is best known for its slick design hotels and funky beachside restaurants. But enough of the original Edwardian town remains to justify a visit on temporal grounds. When the railway was pushed through the jungle from Bangkok to Singapore in the late 19th century, Hua Hin was selected as a suitable spot for a seaside resort catering to weary rail travellers. Ladies would enter the sea in bathing machines to protect their modesty from prying eyes, and gents would stroll the promenade with one eye on their fob watches to count down the minutes to the first Pimms of the day. From that era, plenty remains: the original Railway Hotel (now renamed the Sofitel and the only possible choice for accommodation), the lovely railway station, His Majesty’s Klai Klangwon Palace, several other beachside mansions and much besides if you care to discover. Edwardian-era pastel creams and greens are in abundance, matching so well with the blue of the sky and the golden sands. Those Siamese certainly knew how to live.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + Travel magazine.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Time travel.
Geographical travel is so passé. Directions, locations, co-ordinates, choice of country… it’s so done. Much better to travel chronologically; to make your travel plans according to the era you prefer. You want to travel to the 1930s? You can. You want to make a getaway to the 1970s? Uh huh. Or you want to spend a weekend in the 1950s? By all means.
1970s
Darwin
Interesting how several of the places on our list represent a certain era as a result of some great calamity. An earthquake in New Zealand, the partitioning of India, a war in Cambodia, a cyclone in Australia. Perhaps the human race needs a major disaster to leave things as they are. In 1972, Cyclone Tracy wheeled through Northern Australia, tearing up everything in its path. One of those things was the city of Darwin, which was ripped into shreds in a matter of hours. The resulting rebuilding programme was swift, vast and intelligent, and defines the atmosphere of the town to this day. Lovely early 70s tropical modernism, gorgeous wide avenues and planned parks, the clean lines and soaring optimism of the era reflected in every public building, framed by the tropical sky and the lush greenery everywhere you turn. Lovely louvered windows, flat white roofs, frangipani trees on perfectly manicured lawns: When you step off your Tiger Airways flight onto the Northern Territory tarmac, you’re taking a step back 30 years. And that can only be a good thing.
1960s
Sihanoukville
Thank God for Communism. Without it, Cambodia would be just one more Asian country full of ticky-tacky buildings, petrol stations and mini marts, untrammelled development and overblown six-lane highways. As it is, the calamity that befell the nation in the 1970s means that Cambodia’s architectural heritage is still for the most part intact. Sihanoukville, the stylish beachside enclave where the noblesse oblige of Cambodia holidayed before the Khmer Rouge decided they wanted a part of the action, is still preserved in all its 1960s-chic glory. Modernist bungalows, low-slung marine-cubist villas, lovely, little curvy hotels that could have been plucked from a Thunderbirds set – and yes, one or two very funky little petrol stations from the era. In this little corner of Cambodia, it’s as if the last 40 years never happened. Very handy.
1950s
Chandigarh
A short history lesson. When Pakistan separated from India, the province of Punjab was divided between the two countries. The Punjabi capital, Lahore, is a lovely Victorian town, Melbourne mixed with Mughal, and was perhaps India’s loveliest city: until it found itself in the Pakistani half of the province. India’s leaders decided they needed a new capital of Indian Punjab to replace the one they lost, and gave legendary modernist architect Le Corbusier a call. The result was Chandigarh. A totally planned city, laid out on a grid, built entirely in concrete. Some say it is nothing more than an English council estate transplanted onto Indian soil, but the sheer spectacular appeal of the place is undeniable. And the unique architectural stamp of the brutalist era is apparent everywhere you turn. If the 1950s is your time, it’s time you headed to Chandigarh.
1940s
Christchurch
While the rest of the world was involved in the fine mess of World War II, New Zealand – despite a huge proportion of its population fighting fiercely in Europe and Asia – was itself physically unaffected. In fact, the years towards the end of the war and afterwards were a veritable boom time, with exports to the rest of the world at record levels. Prosperity translated into construction, and the people of Christchurch benefited as much as anyone. Lovely mock-Victorian mansions, modern Arts & Crafts cottages, impressive state-of-the-art shopping precincts and solid public parks gave the city the mark of the era which remains to this day, and gives a lovely historical feel to the place which complements its more modern activities like bungee-jumping and whitewater jetboating.
1930s
Bandung
Hard to believe today, but there was a time when Indonesia was synonymous with all things modern, and people from around the world travelled to Java to see the world’s most futuristic city. That time was the 1930s. Bandung, built at altitude a respectable distance from the capital Jakarta, may be looking a little worn around the edges these days but the 1930s elegance can still be found. Built entirely in Art Deco style, the architecture is consistently beautiful and some of the interiors of the restaurants, cafes and homes are simply lovely. An Art Deco society exists in the town, and tours are available where visitors can explore private suburban homes in the leafy outskirts. Things have stood still in many ways in Indonesia, but in Bandung, that can be said to be a mainly positive development.
1920s
Penang
Visitors to Singapore are often heard lamenting the fact that a good part of the colonial architecture was pulled down in the 60s and 70s. If only the place had retained its faded colonial charm, they say, the place would be a lot more appealing. Well, they need not fret. All they have to do is board a plane, fly 800 kms north to Penang, and they’ll find what they’re missing. Not just the famous landmarks: the Funicular Railway, the Eastern & Oriental Hotel, Georgetown but practically the whole island retains its slightly weird between-the-wars atmosphere. Wander down any street or peer into almost any building and you’ll be transported back to the era of gin slings, bow ties and frilly hats. Penang, despite the Malaysian government’s determination to make it some sort of IT hub, steadfastly refuses to lose its 1920s soul. Hip hip hooray. As they might have said back in the day.
1910s
Maymo‚ Burma
If Penang isn’t quite surreal enough for you, take a step back another 10 years and see if this decade is more to your tastes. When the British were in Burma, most of the colonials from the Sceptr’d Isle were in fact red-headed Scots, not blue-blooded English. Going slowly mad in the tropical heat and understandably missing the mists, the rain and the chill of home, they did all they could to recreate the atmosphere of Bonnie Scotland in Burma. Finding this place in the Burmese Highlands suitably reminiscent of the crags and lochs they had left behind, they built a hill resort here and retired here whenever the furnace temperatures of Rangoon got too much. Today, the place is almost entirely untouched, and all the houses they built remain completely intact. Spooky would be an unkind word to describe it, but we’re confident that a couple of nights here will see you very glad to return to the year 2007.
1900s
Hua Hin
These days, Hua Hin is best known for its slick design hotels and funky beachside restaurants. But enough of the original Edwardian town remains to justify a visit on temporal grounds. When the railway was pushed through the jungle from Bangkok to Singapore in the late 19th century, Hua Hin was selected as a suitable spot for a seaside resort catering to weary rail travellers. Ladies would enter the sea in bathing machines to protect their modesty from prying eyes, and gents would stroll the promenade with one eye on their fob watches to count down the minutes to the first Pimms of the day. From that era, plenty remains: the original Railway Hotel (now renamed the Sofitel and the only possible choice for accommodation), the lovely railway station, His Majesty’s Klai Klangwon Palace, several other beachside mansions and much besides if you care to discover. Edwardian-era pastel creams and greens are in abundance, matching so well with the blue of the sky and the golden sands. Those Siamese certainly knew how to live.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + Travel magazine.
1970s
Darwin
Interesting how several of the places on our list represent a certain era as a result of some great calamity. An earthquake in New Zealand, the partitioning of India, a war in Cambodia, a cyclone in Australia. Perhaps the human race needs a major disaster to leave things as they are. In 1972, Cyclone Tracy wheeled through Northern Australia, tearing up everything in its path. One of those things was the city of Darwin, which was ripped into shreds in a matter of hours. The resulting rebuilding programme was swift, vast and intelligent, and defines the atmosphere of the town to this day. Lovely early 70s tropical modernism, gorgeous wide avenues and planned parks, the clean lines and soaring optimism of the era reflected in every public building, framed by the tropical sky and the lush greenery everywhere you turn. Lovely louvered windows, flat white roofs, frangipani trees on perfectly manicured lawns: When you step off your Tiger Airways flight onto the Northern Territory tarmac, you’re taking a step back 30 years. And that can only be a good thing.
1960s
Sihanoukville
Thank God for Communism. Without it, Cambodia would be just one more Asian country full of ticky-tacky buildings, petrol stations and mini marts, untrammelled development and overblown six-lane highways. As it is, the calamity that befell the nation in the 1970s means that Cambodia’s architectural heritage is still for the most part intact. Sihanoukville, the stylish beachside enclave where the noblesse oblige of Cambodia holidayed before the Khmer Rouge decided they wanted a part of the action, is still preserved in all its 1960s-chic glory. Modernist bungalows, low-slung marine-cubist villas, lovely, little curvy hotels that could have been plucked from a Thunderbirds set – and yes, one or two very funky little petrol stations from the era. In this little corner of Cambodia, it’s as if the last 40 years never happened. Very handy.
1950s
Chandigarh
A short history lesson. When Pakistan separated from India, the province of Punjab was divided between the two countries. The Punjabi capital, Lahore, is a lovely Victorian town, Melbourne mixed with Mughal, and was perhaps India’s loveliest city: until it found itself in the Pakistani half of the province. India’s leaders decided they needed a new capital of Indian Punjab to replace the one they lost, and gave legendary modernist architect Le Corbusier a call. The result was Chandigarh. A totally planned city, laid out on a grid, built entirely in concrete. Some say it is nothing more than an English council estate transplanted onto Indian soil, but the sheer spectacular appeal of the place is undeniable. And the unique architectural stamp of the brutalist era is apparent everywhere you turn. If the 1950s is your time, it’s time you headed to Chandigarh.
1940s
Christchurch
While the rest of the world was involved in the fine mess of World War II, New Zealand – despite a huge proportion of its population fighting fiercely in Europe and Asia – was itself physically unaffected. In fact, the years towards the end of the war and afterwards were a veritable boom time, with exports to the rest of the world at record levels. Prosperity translated into construction, and the people of Christchurch benefited as much as anyone. Lovely mock-Victorian mansions, modern Arts & Crafts cottages, impressive state-of-the-art shopping precincts and solid public parks gave the city the mark of the era which remains to this day, and gives a lovely historical feel to the place which complements its more modern activities like bungee-jumping and whitewater jetboating.
1930s
Bandung
Hard to believe today, but there was a time when Indonesia was synonymous with all things modern, and people from around the world travelled to Java to see the world’s most futuristic city. That time was the 1930s. Bandung, built at altitude a respectable distance from the capital Jakarta, may be looking a little worn around the edges these days but the 1930s elegance can still be found. Built entirely in Art Deco style, the architecture is consistently beautiful and some of the interiors of the restaurants, cafes and homes are simply lovely. An Art Deco society exists in the town, and tours are available where visitors can explore private suburban homes in the leafy outskirts. Things have stood still in many ways in Indonesia, but in Bandung, that can be said to be a mainly positive development.
1920s
Penang
Visitors to Singapore are often heard lamenting the fact that a good part of the colonial architecture was pulled down in the 60s and 70s. If only the place had retained its faded colonial charm, they say, the place would be a lot more appealing. Well, they need not fret. All they have to do is board a plane, fly 800 kms north to Penang, and they’ll find what they’re missing. Not just the famous landmarks: the Funicular Railway, the Eastern & Oriental Hotel, Georgetown but practically the whole island retains its slightly weird between-the-wars atmosphere. Wander down any street or peer into almost any building and you’ll be transported back to the era of gin slings, bow ties and frilly hats. Penang, despite the Malaysian government’s determination to make it some sort of IT hub, steadfastly refuses to lose its 1920s soul. Hip hip hooray. As they might have said back in the day.
1910s
Maymo‚ Burma
If Penang isn’t quite surreal enough for you, take a step back another 10 years and see if this decade is more to your tastes. When the British were in Burma, most of the colonials from the Sceptr’d Isle were in fact red-headed Scots, not blue-blooded English. Going slowly mad in the tropical heat and understandably missing the mists, the rain and the chill of home, they did all they could to recreate the atmosphere of Bonnie Scotland in Burma. Finding this place in the Burmese Highlands suitably reminiscent of the crags and lochs they had left behind, they built a hill resort here and retired here whenever the furnace temperatures of Rangoon got too much. Today, the place is almost entirely untouched, and all the houses they built remain completely intact. Spooky would be an unkind word to describe it, but we’re confident that a couple of nights here will see you very glad to return to the year 2007.
1900s
Hua Hin
These days, Hua Hin is best known for its slick design hotels and funky beachside restaurants. But enough of the original Edwardian town remains to justify a visit on temporal grounds. When the railway was pushed through the jungle from Bangkok to Singapore in the late 19th century, Hua Hin was selected as a suitable spot for a seaside resort catering to weary rail travellers. Ladies would enter the sea in bathing machines to protect their modesty from prying eyes, and gents would stroll the promenade with one eye on their fob watches to count down the minutes to the first Pimms of the day. From that era, plenty remains: the original Railway Hotel (now renamed the Sofitel and the only possible choice for accommodation), the lovely railway station, His Majesty’s Klai Klangwon Palace, several other beachside mansions and much besides if you care to discover. Edwardian-era pastel creams and greens are in abundance, matching so well with the blue of the sky and the golden sands. Those Siamese certainly knew how to live.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + Travel magazine.
Hourly rating
Everywhere in Asia has its best time, its magical hour, the time of day when you see it at its best and when you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
7AM
Assuming an early rise – we wouldn’t want to waste our perfect 24 hours snoozing – the best place to be at this hour is somewhere in the region of Kata beach, in the tourist magnet of Phuket. At this time, the sun isn’t too high in the sky, so the bay is still in shadow but the water is warm. The ideal day should really include some sort of exercise so we won’t feel too guilty about overindulging later, so we start with a wade into the sea at the south of Kata Noi beach, put our goggles on and commence our perfect freestyle stroke to head north. Across the bay, around the headland, out to sea, back in again to land up at Kata Yai, and a short run back to Kata Noi to dry off and make up the 60 minutes to 8 o’clock.
8AM
This hour means a coffee and a leisurely read of a quality morning paper, preferably surrounded by a buzzy morning vibe. Those criteria, applied together, mean only one place: the legendary New South Wales capital, where bad coffee seems to have been outlawed by federal decree and the Sydney Morning Herald is substantial enough to while away at least an hour with a perfect combination of serious news, gossipy trash and audacious real estate deals. We set the co-ordinates of our magical traveling machine directly to Five Ways in Paddington, where there are any number of quirky and cool al fresco cafes where we can pop ourselves down in the sun and enjoy a frothy cappuccino.
9AM
At certain times of day, it’s a tossup between several locations as to where is the best place to be. But for breakfast, there’s only one possible choice: the city that perfected the art of breakfast, the place that invented a whole culinary culture that has now spread and sees cities all over the world attempting to emulate its offerings. Of course, we’re talking about none other than Hong Kong for dim sum. It’s a difficult task to find a bad dim sum house in Hong Kong: there are so many good ones that a bad one would go out of business in a matter of weeks. But for an authentic experience, we travel directly to Fung Shing Restaurant in On Tai Street, Sheung Wan, for the original take on the art form with surly waitresses pushing steaming carts from table to table. No need for Cantonese language skills; we just point at what we want and it is slammed down in front of us with the sort of charm that only Hong Kong serving staff can muster.
10AM
At this stage, the sensible course of action is to bring the pace of the day down a little. After all, there’s a long way to go; we wouldn’t want to deplete ourselves too early. Continuing the urban theme, but with a slightly more relaxed slant on affairs, 10 o’clock of our perfect day sees us sitting in Holland Village, in the west of Singapore, sipping another coffee – this time a longer version, a mocha, while catching up on the gossip with Singapore’s matinee mummies and reading the latest edition of one of the many cool monthly Singapore publications from the Indian magazine stall on the corner.
11AM
What? We’ve done so much already, but still two hours until lunch? So be it: the best way to fill the time, while our minds are still active, is without doubt something educational and fulfilling. 11 o’clock finds us in the heart of Bangkok, at the Thailand Creative & Design Centre on the top floor of Emporium. Usually open to members only but available to travellers for a nominally-priced tourist pass, the TCDC is a treasure trove of art and design books, obscure DVDs and world-class travelling exhibitions from the British Library, Paris’ Musee d’Orsay and any number of stellar global institutions.
1PM
It would be easy to spend the entire day at the TCDC, so rich is the wealth of material there, but we have a job to do. Lunchtime beckons, and that means one thing. With all of Asia available to us, our culinary compass points to none other than Brussels, Belgium. Little Brussels to be precise – Le Petit Bruxelles, the classic Belgian restaurant in the heart of Hanoi. Fresh mussels, perfectly chilled rosé wine, appallingly appealing chocolate desserts and irresistible French calvados to finish our meal – all in the gorgeous surrounds of a tastefully renovated colonial French villa in Tran Quoc Toan –sees us lingering here for two hours to do justice to the delights on offer.
3PM
No matter what the geographical location, the perfect day must include some sort of self-pampering – the more the better. From Hanoi it is an easy matter for us to pop up in Malaysia’s Langkawi, where the combination of perfect tropical foliage, gorgeous clear seas, and the relaxation-inducing heavy grey clouds along the skyline provide the perfect backdrop for an exotic spa therapy. Despite finding itself in Malaysia, the Datai wisely gives more than a nod to its northern neighbour Thailand with its healthy massages and other slimming spa treatments. A couple of hours of this and we’ve forgotten our moules marinieres and gateaux in Hanoi, and we’re almost ready to begin another round of ridiculous gluttony in the fast-approaching evening.
5PM
It’s terrible how time flies. A whole day gone, and not a bit of shopping has been achieved. In light of time pressures, we simply have to think in terms of efficiency, and that can only mean retracing our steps to Bangkok. There may be better malls, there may be greater selections spread over entire cities, but Bangkok has the edge on sheer concentration of high-end shopping opportunities in one small area. Starting at Siam Paragon for quality fashion, we flit through Siam Square for quirky one-off pieces, blaze through Gaysorn Plaza for something exclusive and expensive, bust a move through Siam Discovery Centre for natty Thai interior design, and finish our tour of duty (via Central Chidlom) at Emporium to pick up the latest grey import mobile phone and a few kilos of otherwise hard-to-find tropical fruits from the supermarket to take home.
7PM
Thus satisfied, we can begin to think about dinner, but naturally not before an aperitif or three. For a spectacular beginning to the evening, we can think of nothing better than a few cocktails at M On The Bund. Shanghai has many new pretenders, all attempting to emulate the grande old dame of the Huangpu River, but the original has not yet been beaten. Lifting a frosted glass to our mouths, overlooking the barges honking along the river while the iconic red and gold flags flutter in the evening breeze, we can’t resist drinking a toast to Marx and Lenin for the communist philosophy that ensured all of this historic heritage remains in existence for our enjoyment.
8PM
Dinner beckons. After a full day, we are in no mood to impress anybody, but we do want something stylish, with a bit of drama to boot. The FCC Angkor – with its perfect combination of comfort food, historically sinister location and fascinating international clientele – is just what we require. A decent bottle of Australian wine, the fans whirling overhead, the fresh breeze coming off the river, the mysterious smell of Cambodia on the evening air – we couldn’t have chosen a better place. We had allocated two hours here, but end up lingering longer over one too many amarettos – but who’s counting here?
10:59PM
Bali. Bali! You mean we haven’t been to Bali today? What were we thinking? We recitify the situation before anybody realizes our mistake, and just make it into Ubud’s Bukit Becik Bar a minute before closing time. The waiter tries to tell us we’re too late, but we insist that we’ve been here all along and he’s simply failed to notice us because of the tastefully subdued lighting, and our cool persuasiveness wins the day. An hour of sipping perfumed cocktails in the heady forest air follows, and we can rest easy in the knowledge that this fabled island has been ticked off on our itinerary.
12AM
We’re pleasantly surprised how often in our perfect day we keep finding ourselves drawn back to Bangkok. It’s hard to beat the Bangkok banyakaat (atmosphere); and at this hour, with the early curfew in mind, there is a delicious desperation in the air with the beautiful people of the city determined to cram maximum enjoyment into minimum hours. Frenetic Soi 11 is still the epicenter of the action, with Q Bar, Bed Supperclub and a host of surrounding satellite establishments providing sufficient diversions until closing time.
2AM
Other than a few excitingly illicit late-night boites, Bangkok’s nightlife is short-lived these days. No matter. We find our own entertainment at Pak Klong Talat – the riverside wholesale flower market where the whole of the city comes to stock up on fresh roses and jasmine garlands. Dodging the buyers from the city’s finest hotels looking to fill their rooms with the magnificent blooms on offer, we make a beeline for the old woman in the middle of the market for her unfailingly fresh lilies to fill our apartment with their exotic scent – leaving ourselves time for a quick bowl of noodles at the stall by the canal on the way out.
3AM
We can sleep tomorrow. For now, there’s only one way to finish off the day. And that’s with possibly Asia’s finest late-night snack creation: roti canai. 3am finds us in Malaysia’s famous muddy estuary, otherwise known as Kuala Lumpur, ravenously devouring our roti telur (egg) while sharing our stories of the day and sipping on delicious teh halia (ginger tea).
4AM
For a moment, sated after our excessive consumption of fried egg, flour and curry in KL, we had thought of calling time on proceedings. But in the interests of editorial professionalism, we shake off our weariness and determinedly press on. 4am sees us heading south, back in Singapore on Sentosa Island, at the beachside Ibiza import Café del Mar. (We may have neglected to mention that our ideal day falls on a Friday; the one night when the shoreline crowd is guaranteed to last until dawn.) With the downtempo beats, the cool sea breeze, the minty mojitos and the comforting murmur of sleepy fellow revelers, we manage to spend a couple of hours reviewing the events of the day before pushing on to our final episode.
6AM
It’s been quite a day. To bring ourselves safely down after such prolonged excitement, we make a beeline for Beijing, where every available public space is filled with tai qi quan practitioners. What with several years of untrammeled development, Beijing may not be the gorgeous lane-filled place it once was, but there is still enough of the old imperial city – for now, at any rate – for us to find the right position to look over the timeless hutongs and imagine ourselves moving gracefully through space in a more genteel era. An hour of flowing movement and faultless internal muscle control sees our body and our spirit cleansed, and the end of our perfect Asian 24-hour adventure. There’s only one remaining journey to make: the journey back home to bed to refill our energy reserves for the next assignment and congratulate ourselves on an excellent use of the time allocated to us.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + Travel magazine.
7AM
Assuming an early rise – we wouldn’t want to waste our perfect 24 hours snoozing – the best place to be at this hour is somewhere in the region of Kata beach, in the tourist magnet of Phuket. At this time, the sun isn’t too high in the sky, so the bay is still in shadow but the water is warm. The ideal day should really include some sort of exercise so we won’t feel too guilty about overindulging later, so we start with a wade into the sea at the south of Kata Noi beach, put our goggles on and commence our perfect freestyle stroke to head north. Across the bay, around the headland, out to sea, back in again to land up at Kata Yai, and a short run back to Kata Noi to dry off and make up the 60 minutes to 8 o’clock.
8AM
This hour means a coffee and a leisurely read of a quality morning paper, preferably surrounded by a buzzy morning vibe. Those criteria, applied together, mean only one place: the legendary New South Wales capital, where bad coffee seems to have been outlawed by federal decree and the Sydney Morning Herald is substantial enough to while away at least an hour with a perfect combination of serious news, gossipy trash and audacious real estate deals. We set the co-ordinates of our magical traveling machine directly to Five Ways in Paddington, where there are any number of quirky and cool al fresco cafes where we can pop ourselves down in the sun and enjoy a frothy cappuccino.
9AM
At certain times of day, it’s a tossup between several locations as to where is the best place to be. But for breakfast, there’s only one possible choice: the city that perfected the art of breakfast, the place that invented a whole culinary culture that has now spread and sees cities all over the world attempting to emulate its offerings. Of course, we’re talking about none other than Hong Kong for dim sum. It’s a difficult task to find a bad dim sum house in Hong Kong: there are so many good ones that a bad one would go out of business in a matter of weeks. But for an authentic experience, we travel directly to Fung Shing Restaurant in On Tai Street, Sheung Wan, for the original take on the art form with surly waitresses pushing steaming carts from table to table. No need for Cantonese language skills; we just point at what we want and it is slammed down in front of us with the sort of charm that only Hong Kong serving staff can muster.
10AM
At this stage, the sensible course of action is to bring the pace of the day down a little. After all, there’s a long way to go; we wouldn’t want to deplete ourselves too early. Continuing the urban theme, but with a slightly more relaxed slant on affairs, 10 o’clock of our perfect day sees us sitting in Holland Village, in the west of Singapore, sipping another coffee – this time a longer version, a mocha, while catching up on the gossip with Singapore’s matinee mummies and reading the latest edition of one of the many cool monthly Singapore publications from the Indian magazine stall on the corner.
11AM
What? We’ve done so much already, but still two hours until lunch? So be it: the best way to fill the time, while our minds are still active, is without doubt something educational and fulfilling. 11 o’clock finds us in the heart of Bangkok, at the Thailand Creative & Design Centre on the top floor of Emporium. Usually open to members only but available to travellers for a nominally-priced tourist pass, the TCDC is a treasure trove of art and design books, obscure DVDs and world-class travelling exhibitions from the British Library, Paris’ Musee d’Orsay and any number of stellar global institutions.
1PM
It would be easy to spend the entire day at the TCDC, so rich is the wealth of material there, but we have a job to do. Lunchtime beckons, and that means one thing. With all of Asia available to us, our culinary compass points to none other than Brussels, Belgium. Little Brussels to be precise – Le Petit Bruxelles, the classic Belgian restaurant in the heart of Hanoi. Fresh mussels, perfectly chilled rosé wine, appallingly appealing chocolate desserts and irresistible French calvados to finish our meal – all in the gorgeous surrounds of a tastefully renovated colonial French villa in Tran Quoc Toan –sees us lingering here for two hours to do justice to the delights on offer.
3PM
No matter what the geographical location, the perfect day must include some sort of self-pampering – the more the better. From Hanoi it is an easy matter for us to pop up in Malaysia’s Langkawi, where the combination of perfect tropical foliage, gorgeous clear seas, and the relaxation-inducing heavy grey clouds along the skyline provide the perfect backdrop for an exotic spa therapy. Despite finding itself in Malaysia, the Datai wisely gives more than a nod to its northern neighbour Thailand with its healthy massages and other slimming spa treatments. A couple of hours of this and we’ve forgotten our moules marinieres and gateaux in Hanoi, and we’re almost ready to begin another round of ridiculous gluttony in the fast-approaching evening.
5PM
It’s terrible how time flies. A whole day gone, and not a bit of shopping has been achieved. In light of time pressures, we simply have to think in terms of efficiency, and that can only mean retracing our steps to Bangkok. There may be better malls, there may be greater selections spread over entire cities, but Bangkok has the edge on sheer concentration of high-end shopping opportunities in one small area. Starting at Siam Paragon for quality fashion, we flit through Siam Square for quirky one-off pieces, blaze through Gaysorn Plaza for something exclusive and expensive, bust a move through Siam Discovery Centre for natty Thai interior design, and finish our tour of duty (via Central Chidlom) at Emporium to pick up the latest grey import mobile phone and a few kilos of otherwise hard-to-find tropical fruits from the supermarket to take home.
7PM
Thus satisfied, we can begin to think about dinner, but naturally not before an aperitif or three. For a spectacular beginning to the evening, we can think of nothing better than a few cocktails at M On The Bund. Shanghai has many new pretenders, all attempting to emulate the grande old dame of the Huangpu River, but the original has not yet been beaten. Lifting a frosted glass to our mouths, overlooking the barges honking along the river while the iconic red and gold flags flutter in the evening breeze, we can’t resist drinking a toast to Marx and Lenin for the communist philosophy that ensured all of this historic heritage remains in existence for our enjoyment.
8PM
Dinner beckons. After a full day, we are in no mood to impress anybody, but we do want something stylish, with a bit of drama to boot. The FCC Angkor – with its perfect combination of comfort food, historically sinister location and fascinating international clientele – is just what we require. A decent bottle of Australian wine, the fans whirling overhead, the fresh breeze coming off the river, the mysterious smell of Cambodia on the evening air – we couldn’t have chosen a better place. We had allocated two hours here, but end up lingering longer over one too many amarettos – but who’s counting here?
10:59PM
Bali. Bali! You mean we haven’t been to Bali today? What were we thinking? We recitify the situation before anybody realizes our mistake, and just make it into Ubud’s Bukit Becik Bar a minute before closing time. The waiter tries to tell us we’re too late, but we insist that we’ve been here all along and he’s simply failed to notice us because of the tastefully subdued lighting, and our cool persuasiveness wins the day. An hour of sipping perfumed cocktails in the heady forest air follows, and we can rest easy in the knowledge that this fabled island has been ticked off on our itinerary.
12AM
We’re pleasantly surprised how often in our perfect day we keep finding ourselves drawn back to Bangkok. It’s hard to beat the Bangkok banyakaat (atmosphere); and at this hour, with the early curfew in mind, there is a delicious desperation in the air with the beautiful people of the city determined to cram maximum enjoyment into minimum hours. Frenetic Soi 11 is still the epicenter of the action, with Q Bar, Bed Supperclub and a host of surrounding satellite establishments providing sufficient diversions until closing time.
2AM
Other than a few excitingly illicit late-night boites, Bangkok’s nightlife is short-lived these days. No matter. We find our own entertainment at Pak Klong Talat – the riverside wholesale flower market where the whole of the city comes to stock up on fresh roses and jasmine garlands. Dodging the buyers from the city’s finest hotels looking to fill their rooms with the magnificent blooms on offer, we make a beeline for the old woman in the middle of the market for her unfailingly fresh lilies to fill our apartment with their exotic scent – leaving ourselves time for a quick bowl of noodles at the stall by the canal on the way out.
3AM
We can sleep tomorrow. For now, there’s only one way to finish off the day. And that’s with possibly Asia’s finest late-night snack creation: roti canai. 3am finds us in Malaysia’s famous muddy estuary, otherwise known as Kuala Lumpur, ravenously devouring our roti telur (egg) while sharing our stories of the day and sipping on delicious teh halia (ginger tea).
4AM
For a moment, sated after our excessive consumption of fried egg, flour and curry in KL, we had thought of calling time on proceedings. But in the interests of editorial professionalism, we shake off our weariness and determinedly press on. 4am sees us heading south, back in Singapore on Sentosa Island, at the beachside Ibiza import Café del Mar. (We may have neglected to mention that our ideal day falls on a Friday; the one night when the shoreline crowd is guaranteed to last until dawn.) With the downtempo beats, the cool sea breeze, the minty mojitos and the comforting murmur of sleepy fellow revelers, we manage to spend a couple of hours reviewing the events of the day before pushing on to our final episode.
6AM
It’s been quite a day. To bring ourselves safely down after such prolonged excitement, we make a beeline for Beijing, where every available public space is filled with tai qi quan practitioners. What with several years of untrammeled development, Beijing may not be the gorgeous lane-filled place it once was, but there is still enough of the old imperial city – for now, at any rate – for us to find the right position to look over the timeless hutongs and imagine ourselves moving gracefully through space in a more genteel era. An hour of flowing movement and faultless internal muscle control sees our body and our spirit cleansed, and the end of our perfect Asian 24-hour adventure. There’s only one remaining journey to make: the journey back home to bed to refill our energy reserves for the next assignment and congratulate ourselves on an excellent use of the time allocated to us.
This article first appeared in Lifestyle + Travel magazine.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Harbouring desires.
Something strange has happened to Hong Kong.
As someone who lived there when it was still a British territory, the change is unsettling, confusing, and even downright incomprehensible. Former residents should be forgiven if they struggle to come to terms with the change, however, because it is something that nobody would ever have imagined in a million years:
Hong Kong has become friendly.
Taxi drivers greet you with a cheery ‘good morning’ when you get into their cabs. 7-Eleven cashiers announce the total cost of your purchases in English. Café waiters rush to see that your table is clean and that your glass is full. MTR ticket staff wish you a pleasant day and patiently suggest options for your stored value public transport card needs. Hotel receptionists charm you with witty remarks.
And most shockingly of all, wonton min sellers flash you a wide smile, giving a cute wave and calling out a breezy ‘see you again soon’ as you walk satisfied out of their door.
I spent three days in Hong Kong this week. And must have done more than a dozen double takes during the visit, as I was assaulted by unexpected friendliness. It’s no exaggeration to say that the Hongkongers’ new-found cheeriness makes the Thais look slightly surly in comparison.
What was always good about Hong Kong was its open door policy. During the British era, immigration policy was always, ahem, hands-off to say the least. (Indifferent would probably be too derisive a word for something with so positive an outcome.) The result was an ethnically diverse place, where you really felt that you were in a true city of the world; a free port, where anyone could come and set up shop. New Zealanders would work behind bars; South Africans would serve you in beachside restaurants; fat Yorkshire lasses would take your order in fish and chip shops; Pakistanis would set up small eateries in apartment buildings serving shockingly good food.
I always suspected that when China took over, things would change – not because of any difference in immigration policy, but simply because what rules there were would probably be more strongly enforced. I imagined that all the not-quite-legal residents would have to pack up and return to the abodes from whence they came, and I thought that could only be a bad thing: it would make Hong Kong a more homogenous place, and would take away a large slice of what made the place so unique, which would benefit nobody.
I’m glad to report that my suspicions were unfounded. I was still asked whether I wanted Tsingtao or Carlsberg in an unmistakable Auckland accent; the young man who took my order on Lantau had the blond hair and definitive sun-kissed look of a Durban native; and the chicken tikka I enjoyed on my last night in Tsimshatsui was without a doubt cooked by a son of Lahore. Hong Kong, thankfully, is still a city whose doors are permanently open.
Strangely, for a place with a reputation as one of the most densely-populated, urbanised societies on earth, it’s still remarkably easy to get some fresh air in Hong Kong.
Living in Bangkok, where despite Thailand’s reputation as a tropical paradise it takes at least two or three hours’ drive to get to the nearest decent beach, I’m envious of my Hong Kong friends.
Even the ones living in ultra-urban Causeway Bay or Sheung Wan can hop on their mountain bikes, do a 20-minute ride over the hill through gorgeous green national parks, and be swimming in the sea for an hour before heading back for breakfast and work.
And on weekends, a quick escape to the outlying islands or the new territories sees them basking on gorgeous beaches, ringed by spectacular mountains with not a soul to disturb them.
(Of course, if they want the tropical paradise that is Thailand, a direct flight from Chek Lap Kok to Samui takes about the same length of time as a drive from Bangkok to Ban Phe.)
It may be my imagination, but as well as the new friendly attitude, another change seems to have come over the place.
It’s clean.
Sidewalks are neat, spacious and freshly scrubbed. Grass verges are green and lovingly manicured. Beachfront areas at Stanley and Repulse Bay have been extended and beautified, to provide more public space. Parking is orderly and traffic flows freely. Public transport is ridiculously efficient: and covers every nook and cranny of the territory, urban and otherwise.
I am no politician. And I am aware that there were teething problems during the transition from British to Chinese ownership.
But from what I can see, the change to Chinese rule has done the place the world of good.
Maybe, on these credentials, it would be worthwhile striking some sort of deal whereby the Chinese could run other British territories too. Perhaps they could start with Scotland and see how that works out.
As someone who lived there when it was still a British territory, the change is unsettling, confusing, and even downright incomprehensible. Former residents should be forgiven if they struggle to come to terms with the change, however, because it is something that nobody would ever have imagined in a million years:
Hong Kong has become friendly.
Taxi drivers greet you with a cheery ‘good morning’ when you get into their cabs. 7-Eleven cashiers announce the total cost of your purchases in English. Café waiters rush to see that your table is clean and that your glass is full. MTR ticket staff wish you a pleasant day and patiently suggest options for your stored value public transport card needs. Hotel receptionists charm you with witty remarks.
And most shockingly of all, wonton min sellers flash you a wide smile, giving a cute wave and calling out a breezy ‘see you again soon’ as you walk satisfied out of their door.
I spent three days in Hong Kong this week. And must have done more than a dozen double takes during the visit, as I was assaulted by unexpected friendliness. It’s no exaggeration to say that the Hongkongers’ new-found cheeriness makes the Thais look slightly surly in comparison.
What was always good about Hong Kong was its open door policy. During the British era, immigration policy was always, ahem, hands-off to say the least. (Indifferent would probably be too derisive a word for something with so positive an outcome.) The result was an ethnically diverse place, where you really felt that you were in a true city of the world; a free port, where anyone could come and set up shop. New Zealanders would work behind bars; South Africans would serve you in beachside restaurants; fat Yorkshire lasses would take your order in fish and chip shops; Pakistanis would set up small eateries in apartment buildings serving shockingly good food.
I always suspected that when China took over, things would change – not because of any difference in immigration policy, but simply because what rules there were would probably be more strongly enforced. I imagined that all the not-quite-legal residents would have to pack up and return to the abodes from whence they came, and I thought that could only be a bad thing: it would make Hong Kong a more homogenous place, and would take away a large slice of what made the place so unique, which would benefit nobody.
I’m glad to report that my suspicions were unfounded. I was still asked whether I wanted Tsingtao or Carlsberg in an unmistakable Auckland accent; the young man who took my order on Lantau had the blond hair and definitive sun-kissed look of a Durban native; and the chicken tikka I enjoyed on my last night in Tsimshatsui was without a doubt cooked by a son of Lahore. Hong Kong, thankfully, is still a city whose doors are permanently open.
Strangely, for a place with a reputation as one of the most densely-populated, urbanised societies on earth, it’s still remarkably easy to get some fresh air in Hong Kong.
Living in Bangkok, where despite Thailand’s reputation as a tropical paradise it takes at least two or three hours’ drive to get to the nearest decent beach, I’m envious of my Hong Kong friends.
Even the ones living in ultra-urban Causeway Bay or Sheung Wan can hop on their mountain bikes, do a 20-minute ride over the hill through gorgeous green national parks, and be swimming in the sea for an hour before heading back for breakfast and work.
And on weekends, a quick escape to the outlying islands or the new territories sees them basking on gorgeous beaches, ringed by spectacular mountains with not a soul to disturb them.
(Of course, if they want the tropical paradise that is Thailand, a direct flight from Chek Lap Kok to Samui takes about the same length of time as a drive from Bangkok to Ban Phe.)
It may be my imagination, but as well as the new friendly attitude, another change seems to have come over the place.
It’s clean.
Sidewalks are neat, spacious and freshly scrubbed. Grass verges are green and lovingly manicured. Beachfront areas at Stanley and Repulse Bay have been extended and beautified, to provide more public space. Parking is orderly and traffic flows freely. Public transport is ridiculously efficient: and covers every nook and cranny of the territory, urban and otherwise.
I am no politician. And I am aware that there were teething problems during the transition from British to Chinese ownership.
But from what I can see, the change to Chinese rule has done the place the world of good.
Maybe, on these credentials, it would be worthwhile striking some sort of deal whereby the Chinese could run other British territories too. Perhaps they could start with Scotland and see how that works out.
Blowing hot and cold.
I have an illness.
Doctors have been unable to treat it – or even identify it – but I have come up with my own scientific name for it.
It’s called ‘Iwanttolivehereitis.’
The symptoms are thus: wherever I go on holiday or for work, almost without exception, I find myself making plans to relocate there, to set up home there, to make a living and have a life there. In the relatively recent past, Vientiane, Sydney, Shanghai, Zurich, Hanoi and Dubai have caused my condition to flare up to a dangerous degree.
Over the past few months, however, I thought I had my illness beat. Trips to the UK and Kuala Lumpur had passed without my making plans of any sort, and I had returned to Bangkok quite content to stay there.
I should have known better. On the six-day working trip to Finland from which I have just returned, I suffered a major relapse, and my condition returned with a vengeance.
The trip was organised by Finnair and the Finnish Tourist Board to highlight the delights of northern Finland, in the area near the arctic circle abutting the Russian border. Their intention, of course, was to show the region as an attractive destination for tourism. By the time I boarded the Finnair flight back home, however, I had found real estate agents, discovered detailed information on property prices, and located the exact lakeshore I wanted to buy land on.
The area – centred around the small town of Kuusamo - is a land of thousands of lakes. Every house, whether owned by the founder of a successful international design brand like Anu Pentik or simply by a bus driver or tourist guide, seems to face a body of water of some sort. The land I am looking at faces a lake of 45 square kilometres, which I would share with a mere seventeen other households.
Every house also possesses a sauna. On their days off, Finns can apparently spend all day alternating between sitting around in hundred-degree heat and jumping into the icy lake adjoining their property. I and my travelling companions were able to spend hours doing the same. I never thought four-degree-celsius water would be so attractive: but after twenty minutes of sweating in darkened, pine-scented surroundings, an enthusiastic head-first plunge into an icy lake seems like the only sensible option. A minute splashing around in almost-freezing water cools and refreshes the body amazingly, and leaves it ready for another twenty minutes of overwhelming heat. This practice is addictive: the cycle of hot sauna and icy lake is repeated ad infinitum, and we quite literally had to be dragged away to dinner after our sixth round. The feeling of mental and physical rejuvenation is something I have never experienced to such a degree in all my life. (The thirst-quenching qualities of pear cider, downed while in the sauna, probably contributed to the overwhelmingly positive feeling: but I am absolutely sure it could not all be attributed to the beverage alone.)
I was there in the autumn, when the days and nights are of an approximately equal length, so the place had a distinctly normal feel about it. But what had me working out financial details to see how many hectares my budget could stretch to were the stories of the summers and the winters. Summers are two to three months of almost constant sunshine: days of tanned skin, sun-bleached hair, canoeing down rivers and across lakes, and all-day barbecues washed down with generous amounts of apple and pear cider.
Winter sounds even better. Contrary to ideas about total darkness and miserably short hours of sunlight, the stories I heard were of magical dark blue star-filled skies, bright moons illuminating clear snowy white landscapes, roaring log fires both indoors and out, marathon snowmobile rides through the forest and ice-skating on frozen lakes by moon and starlight. Not to mention, of course, more scorching saunas, with the obligatory dip in the water made possible by cutting holes in the metre-thick ice covering every lake and river.
Nature is at is most beautiful in this part of the world. But naturally, this being Scandinavia, the human contribution is exceptional too. Everything from architecture to transport, to food, to supermarkets, to dark chocolate, to milk carton design, is of the highest standard; and left our travelling group astonished that a nation of only five million people (less than half the population of Bangkok) could produce and maintain so many beautiful things.
The fact that Helsinki is a mere nine hours from Bangkok – a fact that had me scrutinising the world map in open-mouthed disbelief - only adds to the appeal. I can think of no other nine hour journey that transports you between two more utterly different worlds. You could be sipping Tom Yam Goong while overlooking the Chao Phraya River in the evening and waking up to a snowy white landscape the very next morning.
Not for me an escape to warmer climes for winter. The Brits and the Germans can have their Spanish holiday resorts with their temperate and sunny winters. If the land purchase goes to plan and after I have worked out details with a suitable architect, from now on I’ll be heading north for winter.
Doctors have been unable to treat it – or even identify it – but I have come up with my own scientific name for it.
It’s called ‘Iwanttolivehereitis.’
The symptoms are thus: wherever I go on holiday or for work, almost without exception, I find myself making plans to relocate there, to set up home there, to make a living and have a life there. In the relatively recent past, Vientiane, Sydney, Shanghai, Zurich, Hanoi and Dubai have caused my condition to flare up to a dangerous degree.
Over the past few months, however, I thought I had my illness beat. Trips to the UK and Kuala Lumpur had passed without my making plans of any sort, and I had returned to Bangkok quite content to stay there.
I should have known better. On the six-day working trip to Finland from which I have just returned, I suffered a major relapse, and my condition returned with a vengeance.
The trip was organised by Finnair and the Finnish Tourist Board to highlight the delights of northern Finland, in the area near the arctic circle abutting the Russian border. Their intention, of course, was to show the region as an attractive destination for tourism. By the time I boarded the Finnair flight back home, however, I had found real estate agents, discovered detailed information on property prices, and located the exact lakeshore I wanted to buy land on.
The area – centred around the small town of Kuusamo - is a land of thousands of lakes. Every house, whether owned by the founder of a successful international design brand like Anu Pentik or simply by a bus driver or tourist guide, seems to face a body of water of some sort. The land I am looking at faces a lake of 45 square kilometres, which I would share with a mere seventeen other households.
Every house also possesses a sauna. On their days off, Finns can apparently spend all day alternating between sitting around in hundred-degree heat and jumping into the icy lake adjoining their property. I and my travelling companions were able to spend hours doing the same. I never thought four-degree-celsius water would be so attractive: but after twenty minutes of sweating in darkened, pine-scented surroundings, an enthusiastic head-first plunge into an icy lake seems like the only sensible option. A minute splashing around in almost-freezing water cools and refreshes the body amazingly, and leaves it ready for another twenty minutes of overwhelming heat. This practice is addictive: the cycle of hot sauna and icy lake is repeated ad infinitum, and we quite literally had to be dragged away to dinner after our sixth round. The feeling of mental and physical rejuvenation is something I have never experienced to such a degree in all my life. (The thirst-quenching qualities of pear cider, downed while in the sauna, probably contributed to the overwhelmingly positive feeling: but I am absolutely sure it could not all be attributed to the beverage alone.)
I was there in the autumn, when the days and nights are of an approximately equal length, so the place had a distinctly normal feel about it. But what had me working out financial details to see how many hectares my budget could stretch to were the stories of the summers and the winters. Summers are two to three months of almost constant sunshine: days of tanned skin, sun-bleached hair, canoeing down rivers and across lakes, and all-day barbecues washed down with generous amounts of apple and pear cider.
Winter sounds even better. Contrary to ideas about total darkness and miserably short hours of sunlight, the stories I heard were of magical dark blue star-filled skies, bright moons illuminating clear snowy white landscapes, roaring log fires both indoors and out, marathon snowmobile rides through the forest and ice-skating on frozen lakes by moon and starlight. Not to mention, of course, more scorching saunas, with the obligatory dip in the water made possible by cutting holes in the metre-thick ice covering every lake and river.
Nature is at is most beautiful in this part of the world. But naturally, this being Scandinavia, the human contribution is exceptional too. Everything from architecture to transport, to food, to supermarkets, to dark chocolate, to milk carton design, is of the highest standard; and left our travelling group astonished that a nation of only five million people (less than half the population of Bangkok) could produce and maintain so many beautiful things.
The fact that Helsinki is a mere nine hours from Bangkok – a fact that had me scrutinising the world map in open-mouthed disbelief - only adds to the appeal. I can think of no other nine hour journey that transports you between two more utterly different worlds. You could be sipping Tom Yam Goong while overlooking the Chao Phraya River in the evening and waking up to a snowy white landscape the very next morning.
Not for me an escape to warmer climes for winter. The Brits and the Germans can have their Spanish holiday resorts with their temperate and sunny winters. If the land purchase goes to plan and after I have worked out details with a suitable architect, from now on I’ll be heading north for winter.
Do. Buy.
When travelling, the occasional disappointment is something that has to be accepted. Things are rarely as good as the imagination makes them out to be; words in a travel brochure or tourist guide generally manage to do a better job of conjuring up a dream destination than its creators do in actually building it.
But sometimes the opposite happens: a place turns out to be much better than you imagined.
I was never one of those people labouring under the impression that Dubai was nothing more than desert and a bunch of camels. I had been through the fantastic airport, I had flown on the brilliant airline, I had read the stories about the world’s tallest hotel and seen the pictures of new islands being built in the shape of palm trees. So I was aware that there was something amazing going on there. But I was unprepared for just how exciting the place is.
Restaurants and bars of every description. Incredibly beautiful architecture. A disorienting level of hipness in the venues, the stores, the newspapers and magazines, and the people. Definitely the most glamorous collection of cars on the road that I have ever seen. And a feeling of incredible energy and ambition in the air which is nothing short of intoxicating.
I recall being disappointed by the Sydney Opera House when I first saw it. Nice as it is, it somehow looked a bit small and unspectacular compared to the photos.
When I drove towards the Burj al-Arab, the iconic sail-shaped hotel built on its own island off the coast and linked to the mainland by a curving white causeway, however, the opposite occurred. No photo I have seen, however expertly taken, does justice to this construction. Its elegant beauty, its simple lines on such a huge scale: I literally felt faint at the sight of this monumentally beautiful building. Riding up sixty storeys in the elevator with its view of the sea, the coast and the Palm island taking shape a kilometre south, I defy anyone not to feel a dizzying euphoria at the sheer immense beauty of the surroundings.
The Burj al-Arab is the most recognisable of Dubai’s spectacular mega-projects. But by no means the only one. Construction everywhere is on a massive scale. There seems to be no limit to the Emirate’s ambition or imagination.
Madinat Jumeirah, the beautiful hotel built as a traditional souk with canals transporting guests to their rooms, is, quite literally, the size of a town, stretching for miles and miles. Emirates Towers is taller than any building in Europe, and is about to be dwarfed by the Burj, the world’s tallest – and, for a change, perhaps the most elegant – building. Towards Jebel Ali, hundreds of 50-storey blocks are being built to the horizon, making for what has to be the world’s most spectacular construction site.
Cars on the roads go a long way to defining the atmosphere of a place. Most parts of Asia, with their ridiculous levels of import tax, only succeed in lowering the tone of their cities and making their citizens feel like proles by clogging the roads with bland Japanese and Korean models. But in Dubai, with its zero import tax on every kind of four-wheeled transport, the roads ooze glamour; as a result, the whole city feels more exciting, and I’m sure levels of happiness are much higher among the car-owning classes. It must be hard to be too unhappy when there are a couple of Porsches in the driveway.
Indeed, Porsche Cayennes seem to be the vehicle of choice, with the second family car being either a BMW X5 or Toyota Prado. Failing that, a Porsche 911 can be had for about the same price as a Toyota Camry in Singapore.
A typical day out for a Dubai resident would be: go rollerblading or jogging along the beach for an hour in the morning. Shower, then jump in the Landcruiser with the two dogs. Head down to Dubai Marina for a Mocha Ice Blended at Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf by the water. Hop onto the boat for a quick go off the coast. Get in the groceries at any branch of Spinney’s, a truly superb supermarket. Do a bit of shopping at Boulevard, the mall attached to the breathtaking Emirates Towers hotel, then maybe sausages and mash at Scarlett’s with a couple of Kronenbourgs. Work it off with swimming at the Jumeirah Beach Club, then watch the sun go do down at the beach bar. Later, dinner at some appropriately gorgeous and beautifully-lit rooftop Arabic restaurant, then on to a club to hear some DJ freshly flown in from London man the decks until very late indeed.
Time Out Dubai, the listings magazine originating from London, is packed – to a quite incredible degree – with things to do and places to go, and had me shaking my head and wondering if this was not in fact the London edition. Pick up a copy from your hotel, peruse the day-by-day suggestions, hire a car for ease of transport – driving is easy, and parking is never a hassle – and you’re set for one of the best holidays of your life. And if you really enjoy it, stay. Work permits are given out freely; join the tens of thousands of expatriates, mainly British and South African, who have already made Dubai their home and are enjoying the sun, the cars, the glamour and the tax-free salaries.
With Dubai being only five or six hours from both Europe and Asia, making long weekends in either continent an easy matter, living there is I’m seriously thinking about.
But sometimes the opposite happens: a place turns out to be much better than you imagined.
I was never one of those people labouring under the impression that Dubai was nothing more than desert and a bunch of camels. I had been through the fantastic airport, I had flown on the brilliant airline, I had read the stories about the world’s tallest hotel and seen the pictures of new islands being built in the shape of palm trees. So I was aware that there was something amazing going on there. But I was unprepared for just how exciting the place is.
Restaurants and bars of every description. Incredibly beautiful architecture. A disorienting level of hipness in the venues, the stores, the newspapers and magazines, and the people. Definitely the most glamorous collection of cars on the road that I have ever seen. And a feeling of incredible energy and ambition in the air which is nothing short of intoxicating.
I recall being disappointed by the Sydney Opera House when I first saw it. Nice as it is, it somehow looked a bit small and unspectacular compared to the photos.
When I drove towards the Burj al-Arab, the iconic sail-shaped hotel built on its own island off the coast and linked to the mainland by a curving white causeway, however, the opposite occurred. No photo I have seen, however expertly taken, does justice to this construction. Its elegant beauty, its simple lines on such a huge scale: I literally felt faint at the sight of this monumentally beautiful building. Riding up sixty storeys in the elevator with its view of the sea, the coast and the Palm island taking shape a kilometre south, I defy anyone not to feel a dizzying euphoria at the sheer immense beauty of the surroundings.
The Burj al-Arab is the most recognisable of Dubai’s spectacular mega-projects. But by no means the only one. Construction everywhere is on a massive scale. There seems to be no limit to the Emirate’s ambition or imagination.
Madinat Jumeirah, the beautiful hotel built as a traditional souk with canals transporting guests to their rooms, is, quite literally, the size of a town, stretching for miles and miles. Emirates Towers is taller than any building in Europe, and is about to be dwarfed by the Burj, the world’s tallest – and, for a change, perhaps the most elegant – building. Towards Jebel Ali, hundreds of 50-storey blocks are being built to the horizon, making for what has to be the world’s most spectacular construction site.
Cars on the roads go a long way to defining the atmosphere of a place. Most parts of Asia, with their ridiculous levels of import tax, only succeed in lowering the tone of their cities and making their citizens feel like proles by clogging the roads with bland Japanese and Korean models. But in Dubai, with its zero import tax on every kind of four-wheeled transport, the roads ooze glamour; as a result, the whole city feels more exciting, and I’m sure levels of happiness are much higher among the car-owning classes. It must be hard to be too unhappy when there are a couple of Porsches in the driveway.
Indeed, Porsche Cayennes seem to be the vehicle of choice, with the second family car being either a BMW X5 or Toyota Prado. Failing that, a Porsche 911 can be had for about the same price as a Toyota Camry in Singapore.
A typical day out for a Dubai resident would be: go rollerblading or jogging along the beach for an hour in the morning. Shower, then jump in the Landcruiser with the two dogs. Head down to Dubai Marina for a Mocha Ice Blended at Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf by the water. Hop onto the boat for a quick go off the coast. Get in the groceries at any branch of Spinney’s, a truly superb supermarket. Do a bit of shopping at Boulevard, the mall attached to the breathtaking Emirates Towers hotel, then maybe sausages and mash at Scarlett’s with a couple of Kronenbourgs. Work it off with swimming at the Jumeirah Beach Club, then watch the sun go do down at the beach bar. Later, dinner at some appropriately gorgeous and beautifully-lit rooftop Arabic restaurant, then on to a club to hear some DJ freshly flown in from London man the decks until very late indeed.
Time Out Dubai, the listings magazine originating from London, is packed – to a quite incredible degree – with things to do and places to go, and had me shaking my head and wondering if this was not in fact the London edition. Pick up a copy from your hotel, peruse the day-by-day suggestions, hire a car for ease of transport – driving is easy, and parking is never a hassle – and you’re set for one of the best holidays of your life. And if you really enjoy it, stay. Work permits are given out freely; join the tens of thousands of expatriates, mainly British and South African, who have already made Dubai their home and are enjoying the sun, the cars, the glamour and the tax-free salaries.
With Dubai being only five or six hours from both Europe and Asia, making long weekends in either continent an easy matter, living there is I’m seriously thinking about.
Islamagood.
Thailand, yes. Bali, yes. Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, yes, yes, yes. Asia is full of places where you are guaranteed a superb holiday experience.
Now I can enthusiastically recommend another, less likely, destination to add to the list: Pakistan.
The food is superb. The people must be the friendliest on earth, and are so happy to have foreigners visiting their country that they will literally stop at nothing to ensure you enjoy every minute of your stay: I have never been the recipient of so many smiles and so much heartfelt hospitality. The geography is amazing, from most of the world’s highest mountain range to the coastal plains of the south. The culture and history are fascinating; ancient Islamic citadels combined with gorgeous intact British colonial architecture. And with English being the language of choice on everything from road signs to restaurant menus and supermarket receipts, and fluency everywhere from cafés to tiny fabric shops in back alleys, communication and moving around are shockingly simple.
I was in Karachi recently for work; after my business was finished, I flew on Air Blue – a superb airline with excellent food, great design and, dare I say it, utterly gorgeous cabin crew – to Islamabad.
The city could have been designed to feature in Wallpaper magazine circa 1998: conceived and built in the 1950s, the place is a modernist’s dream of wide leafy boulevards, straight lines and gorgeous geometric villas shaded by beautiful trees. Ringed by the spectacular Murghal mountains, and with a lovely nip in the winter air, Islamabad was disorientingly beautiful; I spent hours just walking the streets taking photographs of the architecture.
After that, I drove to Lahore: a 350 kilometre trip on a first class toll motorway, rivalling the French autoroute or the Malaysian North-South Highway in its smoothness and quality. As apricot orchards, ancient villages and the occasional snow-capped mountain rolled by at 120 kilometres per hour, the driving experience was so disconcertingly normal that I found it difficult to comprehend that I was actually somewhere as exotic as Northern Pakistan.
Lahore was another revelation. Parts of it could easily pass for the best of Melbourne: old red brick churches, museums, colleges and railway stations, beautifully laid-out botanic gardens, and green, well-tended suburbs filled with heartbreakingly lovely houses from the 1920s and 30s.
Add to this a mesmerising ancient walled city with a huge mosque that looks like an Islamic Tiananmen Square, built by the same fellow responsible for the Taj Mahal, and a vibrant, modern, distinctly upmarket culture of fashion shops and cafés, and you have a recipe for a very enjoyable visit.
I only scratched the surface of the three main cities. But from what I hear, there is a lot more to experience, from old hill stations, to Himalayan treks, to tribal villages in the North West. Pakistan is somewhere I have every intention of returning to with a view of seeing a lot more of the country.
Now I can enthusiastically recommend another, less likely, destination to add to the list: Pakistan.
The food is superb. The people must be the friendliest on earth, and are so happy to have foreigners visiting their country that they will literally stop at nothing to ensure you enjoy every minute of your stay: I have never been the recipient of so many smiles and so much heartfelt hospitality. The geography is amazing, from most of the world’s highest mountain range to the coastal plains of the south. The culture and history are fascinating; ancient Islamic citadels combined with gorgeous intact British colonial architecture. And with English being the language of choice on everything from road signs to restaurant menus and supermarket receipts, and fluency everywhere from cafés to tiny fabric shops in back alleys, communication and moving around are shockingly simple.
I was in Karachi recently for work; after my business was finished, I flew on Air Blue – a superb airline with excellent food, great design and, dare I say it, utterly gorgeous cabin crew – to Islamabad.
The city could have been designed to feature in Wallpaper magazine circa 1998: conceived and built in the 1950s, the place is a modernist’s dream of wide leafy boulevards, straight lines and gorgeous geometric villas shaded by beautiful trees. Ringed by the spectacular Murghal mountains, and with a lovely nip in the winter air, Islamabad was disorientingly beautiful; I spent hours just walking the streets taking photographs of the architecture.
After that, I drove to Lahore: a 350 kilometre trip on a first class toll motorway, rivalling the French autoroute or the Malaysian North-South Highway in its smoothness and quality. As apricot orchards, ancient villages and the occasional snow-capped mountain rolled by at 120 kilometres per hour, the driving experience was so disconcertingly normal that I found it difficult to comprehend that I was actually somewhere as exotic as Northern Pakistan.
Lahore was another revelation. Parts of it could easily pass for the best of Melbourne: old red brick churches, museums, colleges and railway stations, beautifully laid-out botanic gardens, and green, well-tended suburbs filled with heartbreakingly lovely houses from the 1920s and 30s.
Add to this a mesmerising ancient walled city with a huge mosque that looks like an Islamic Tiananmen Square, built by the same fellow responsible for the Taj Mahal, and a vibrant, modern, distinctly upmarket culture of fashion shops and cafés, and you have a recipe for a very enjoyable visit.
I only scratched the surface of the three main cities. But from what I hear, there is a lot more to experience, from old hill stations, to Himalayan treks, to tribal villages in the North West. Pakistan is somewhere I have every intention of returning to with a view of seeing a lot more of the country.
Domestic bliss.
In Conde Nast Traveller’s most recent UK edition, Thailand is voted a very close second to Australia as the readers’ favourite worldwide destination.
I admit that I have been guilty for a while now of overlooking the appeal of the Kingdom’s travel opportunities in favour of those of the Indochinese region and further afield. I suppose it’s human nature to want to go somewhere… else. No matter how exotic the country you happen to be living in.
After seeing Thailand’s high score in the British magazine’s survey, however, I decided to refocus my attention on the country that I have been neglecting for so long. (The fact that my passport was full, and I couldn’t leave the country until I got a new one, made the decision to stay within Thai borders over the last long weekend that much easier.)
After a gruelling couple of weeks at work, and feeling the beginning of a nasty flu, there was only one option: the healthful sea air and blistering sunshine of a beach resort.
All reasonably upmarket accommodation options on Samet were full, on account of the upcoming extra day’s holiday. And anyway, as convenient as the three hour road trip from Bangkok to Ban Phe is, sometimes I’d rather just hop on a plane and get somewhere further, quicker. For the sake of a few thousand baht, an air traveller can be installed on the beaches of Phuket or Krabi with a cold Heineken in hand while the Samet-bound driver is still behind the wheel, stuck behind convoys of southbound Tesco delivery trucks.
Samui, then, was my destination, the early bird fares on the Bangkok Airways website being just too good to pass up. Early Friday morning saw me at the domestic terminal of Don Muang. Takeoff was at 6am. I stepped onto the tarmac of Samui Airport at 6:50am, avoided the wait at baggage claim with a well-packed carry-on bag, completed check-in at 7:10, and was gazing out at the turquoise waters of the Gulf of Thailand by 7:15, the nascent flu completely forgotten.
The ten best things about Samui, in no particular order:
1. Five Islands restaurant. Not exactly conveniently located, unless you’re staying at Le Meridien. But the half hour journey out from Chaweng is pleasant, and runs along some lovely shady inland forest roads. Five Islands is a lovely place for Thai food: airy, opening directly onto a little beach, with a gorgeous view out to sea and the islands that give the restaurant its name.
2. Hiring a motorbike, getting up early and riding around the island on the coastal road as the sun comes up over the coconut plantations. Good for working up an appetite for breakfast. (It’s about a two hour ride at a relaxed pace; but with its twists and turns, the island ring road is just right for a more competitive motoring event. I think someone should organise a Samui equivalent of the Isle of Man TT.)
3. Related to number two: finding a deserted bay on the west side of the island, laying a towel on the sand and having the whole beach to yourself for the day.
4. Eat Sense, in Chaweng. Another beautiful place to eat: sort of modern Thai in a hip Bangkok vein, with the advantage of having the sea four metres away from your table.
5. Muang Kulaypan hotel. I simply don’t understand why anyone would ever stay anywhere else on Samui. The rooms are very nice indeed, but apart from sleeping and showering, nobody is ever in them. The pool is just too exquisite to drag yourself away from, and the beach at the front of the hotel has to be the best stretch of sand anywhere on Chaweng’s main strip. On the sand under the spreading trees, listening to the regular wash of the waves and the fluttering of the theatrical row of red flags, it’s difficult to feel anything other than pure bliss. I want to be buried here when I die, if the living hotel guests don’t mind arranging their loungers around my headstone.
6. Budsaba, the restaurant attached to Muang Kulaypan. The best Thai restaurant in the world, I think; just next to the sea, each table with its own little private bamboo pavilion, where you can lie back on the ubiquitous triangular cushions as you consume your pomelo salad.
7. Samui Airport. Forget Chek Lap Kok or Dubai: this is the world’s best airport. Everything is outdoors, and you can be sitting on the lawn having a last Heineken two minutes before walking up the steps to the plane.
8. Villa Bianca: Bo Phut on the north coast is a lovely little stretch of tasteful bars, cafes and tiny hotels converted from old Chinese shophouses overlooking the straits between Samui and Phang Nga. Villa Bianca is the best of these: a superb Italian restaurant with a mesmerising view out to the neighbouring island.
9. Real estate. Samui is moving steadily up the food chain and there are some truly lovely properties being erected, but land is still cheap compared with Phuket. If I were to buy a block here, which I am seriously thinking about doing, I would stay away from the beach and the twee Thai-style designs, and build a small modernist mountain retreat in the hills lining the south west coast. The views would be spectacular, your nearest neighbour would be miles away, yet you’d only be 20 minutes from the nearest Boots.
10. Afternoons at The Cliff, a spectacularly positioned and incredibly stylish South African-run restaurant between Chaweng and Lamai. With the sun behind you, a chilled glass of Semillon Blanc in front of you, and a view over the rocks out to sea, you’ll mentally shred your return ticket into a million pieces and find yourself plotting ways to stay on the island forever.
I admit that I have been guilty for a while now of overlooking the appeal of the Kingdom’s travel opportunities in favour of those of the Indochinese region and further afield. I suppose it’s human nature to want to go somewhere… else. No matter how exotic the country you happen to be living in.
After seeing Thailand’s high score in the British magazine’s survey, however, I decided to refocus my attention on the country that I have been neglecting for so long. (The fact that my passport was full, and I couldn’t leave the country until I got a new one, made the decision to stay within Thai borders over the last long weekend that much easier.)
After a gruelling couple of weeks at work, and feeling the beginning of a nasty flu, there was only one option: the healthful sea air and blistering sunshine of a beach resort.
All reasonably upmarket accommodation options on Samet were full, on account of the upcoming extra day’s holiday. And anyway, as convenient as the three hour road trip from Bangkok to Ban Phe is, sometimes I’d rather just hop on a plane and get somewhere further, quicker. For the sake of a few thousand baht, an air traveller can be installed on the beaches of Phuket or Krabi with a cold Heineken in hand while the Samet-bound driver is still behind the wheel, stuck behind convoys of southbound Tesco delivery trucks.
Samui, then, was my destination, the early bird fares on the Bangkok Airways website being just too good to pass up. Early Friday morning saw me at the domestic terminal of Don Muang. Takeoff was at 6am. I stepped onto the tarmac of Samui Airport at 6:50am, avoided the wait at baggage claim with a well-packed carry-on bag, completed check-in at 7:10, and was gazing out at the turquoise waters of the Gulf of Thailand by 7:15, the nascent flu completely forgotten.
The ten best things about Samui, in no particular order:
1. Five Islands restaurant. Not exactly conveniently located, unless you’re staying at Le Meridien. But the half hour journey out from Chaweng is pleasant, and runs along some lovely shady inland forest roads. Five Islands is a lovely place for Thai food: airy, opening directly onto a little beach, with a gorgeous view out to sea and the islands that give the restaurant its name.
2. Hiring a motorbike, getting up early and riding around the island on the coastal road as the sun comes up over the coconut plantations. Good for working up an appetite for breakfast. (It’s about a two hour ride at a relaxed pace; but with its twists and turns, the island ring road is just right for a more competitive motoring event. I think someone should organise a Samui equivalent of the Isle of Man TT.)
3. Related to number two: finding a deserted bay on the west side of the island, laying a towel on the sand and having the whole beach to yourself for the day.
4. Eat Sense, in Chaweng. Another beautiful place to eat: sort of modern Thai in a hip Bangkok vein, with the advantage of having the sea four metres away from your table.
5. Muang Kulaypan hotel. I simply don’t understand why anyone would ever stay anywhere else on Samui. The rooms are very nice indeed, but apart from sleeping and showering, nobody is ever in them. The pool is just too exquisite to drag yourself away from, and the beach at the front of the hotel has to be the best stretch of sand anywhere on Chaweng’s main strip. On the sand under the spreading trees, listening to the regular wash of the waves and the fluttering of the theatrical row of red flags, it’s difficult to feel anything other than pure bliss. I want to be buried here when I die, if the living hotel guests don’t mind arranging their loungers around my headstone.
6. Budsaba, the restaurant attached to Muang Kulaypan. The best Thai restaurant in the world, I think; just next to the sea, each table with its own little private bamboo pavilion, where you can lie back on the ubiquitous triangular cushions as you consume your pomelo salad.
7. Samui Airport. Forget Chek Lap Kok or Dubai: this is the world’s best airport. Everything is outdoors, and you can be sitting on the lawn having a last Heineken two minutes before walking up the steps to the plane.
8. Villa Bianca: Bo Phut on the north coast is a lovely little stretch of tasteful bars, cafes and tiny hotels converted from old Chinese shophouses overlooking the straits between Samui and Phang Nga. Villa Bianca is the best of these: a superb Italian restaurant with a mesmerising view out to the neighbouring island.
9. Real estate. Samui is moving steadily up the food chain and there are some truly lovely properties being erected, but land is still cheap compared with Phuket. If I were to buy a block here, which I am seriously thinking about doing, I would stay away from the beach and the twee Thai-style designs, and build a small modernist mountain retreat in the hills lining the south west coast. The views would be spectacular, your nearest neighbour would be miles away, yet you’d only be 20 minutes from the nearest Boots.
10. Afternoons at The Cliff, a spectacularly positioned and incredibly stylish South African-run restaurant between Chaweng and Lamai. With the sun behind you, a chilled glass of Semillon Blanc in front of you, and a view over the rocks out to sea, you’ll mentally shred your return ticket into a million pieces and find yourself plotting ways to stay on the island forever.
Lao'd and clear.
For the vast majority of Asian city dwellers, the first thought that springs to mind when planning a quick weekend away is the beach.
The lure of tropical island life, white sand and the regular sound of the waves gently coming to a halt on the shore is something that few people will ever tire of, no matter how many times they repeat the experience.
And if sun and sea don't appeal, then an equally enjoyable choice is a short hop to a nearby big city for doing familiar things in an unfamiliar environment.
But we have a whole continent to play with here, and it pays to think of somewhere different to spend the all-important two days out of seven.
The People’s Democratic Republic of Laos is not a country that needs introduction to most inhabitants of this region. The World Heritage Organisation-listed city of Luang Prabang has featured in many travel sections in the past few years, and is by all accounts a lovely place to wind down for a couple of days.
But in succumbing to the understandable desire to gush about the temples and the mesmerising serenity of the ancient citadel, travel writers have sometimes been guilty of overlooking the modest charms of Laos’s other city: Vientiane, the capital.
Late last week, with the weekend looming, the prospect of two full days in Bangkok with no particular obligations to fulfil, and a severe case of itchy feet, I pulled out a map of Asia and weighed up my options.
As my eyes alighted on Vientiane, I noticed for the first time how close the capital was to the Lao-Thai border, and resolved to make it my destination. I decided to indulge my need for a little adventure and booked train tickets to the Thai frontier town of Nong Khai.
A day later, pulling away from the station on Friday evening at a civilised 8:45pm, installed in a first class private double sleeping berth and sipping cold Chang beer as the scenery rolled past, I congratulated myself on my excellent choice of transport.
At the appropriate time, the couch was transformed into a comfortable bed and I retired to a deep sleep, rocked gently by the slow progress of the train through the moonlit province of Isaan.
Waking to breakfast in the couchette, there was time to brush my teeth, freshen up and change out of my pyjamas just in time to arrive at the border. A short cab ride from Laotian border control to the hotel, a simple check-in and a quick shower saw me installed by the pool by 10 o’clock on Saturday morning.
The first sign that the stay was going to be successful was the sight of the hotel itself. The Villa Manoly is a beautiful 1950s affair built around a small pool and surrounded by lush tropical trees. A quirky international clientele adds to the ambience and gives the place an unmistakable Cold War spy novel appeal.
Not wishing to be subject to the whims of taxi drivers or tuk tuk operators, I hired a motorbike for the duration of the stay, an investment which paid off within a couple of hours when my first two-wheeled reconnaissance mission unearthed somewhere suitable for lunch.
The Full Moon proved to be a good choice, its credentials well established by the fact that it was packed to the gills with long-lunching development agency workers, a breed not known for their spartan lifestyles.
After lunch, when the last Landcruiser had pulled away, I weighed up my leisure options. A couple of hours at the luxurious Papaya Spa was a good way to get through the most severe heat of the day; after which I spent a few hours back in the saddle, travelling the suburbs of the town marvelling at the mouthwatering number of slowly decaying late French colonial villas and wondering what it would take to buy one and restore it to its former glory.
A highlight was the old Soviet Union embassy, a hilariously inappropriate Stalinist concrete block surrounded by lush rice paddies.
That evening, after watching the sunset with the obligatory Beer Lao at one of the stalls overlooking the Mekong River, dinner was at Le Vendome, an atmospheric French restaurant set in a beautiful old house. I sat on the terrace and ate what has to have been the best value French meal I have ever had. After dinner there was still time before the midnight curfew, so I made my way to Kob Jai Deu, a lively and stylish outdoor bar packed with the cream of Vientiane hipsters.
Early Sunday morning seemed an appropriate time to explore the more spiritual side of Laos; with the vast number of beautiful Buddhist wats being enough to satisfy the most ardent templegoer. Laotian temples are happy places, with bright primary colours and lush plant life everywhere you look. Breakfast afterwards was at the Scandinavian Bakery, clearly the centre of expatriate life on Sundays, followed by a superb drip coffee at Miss Saigon, which in turn functions as a hub of Vientiane’s Vietnamese activity.
A swim back at the hotel and a slow perusal of the newly air-freighted Bangkok Post left time for a superb paté and salad lunch baguette at PVO Vietnamese café, before the late afternoon flight back to Bangkok.
Vientiane is one of those places just made for weekends. Easy access from Bangkok and by extension Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Hong Kong, with just enough to choose from in the way of dining and drinking, and the added advantage of an interesting history. A superb use of two days and highly recommended.
The lure of tropical island life, white sand and the regular sound of the waves gently coming to a halt on the shore is something that few people will ever tire of, no matter how many times they repeat the experience.
And if sun and sea don't appeal, then an equally enjoyable choice is a short hop to a nearby big city for doing familiar things in an unfamiliar environment.
But we have a whole continent to play with here, and it pays to think of somewhere different to spend the all-important two days out of seven.
The People’s Democratic Republic of Laos is not a country that needs introduction to most inhabitants of this region. The World Heritage Organisation-listed city of Luang Prabang has featured in many travel sections in the past few years, and is by all accounts a lovely place to wind down for a couple of days.
But in succumbing to the understandable desire to gush about the temples and the mesmerising serenity of the ancient citadel, travel writers have sometimes been guilty of overlooking the modest charms of Laos’s other city: Vientiane, the capital.
Late last week, with the weekend looming, the prospect of two full days in Bangkok with no particular obligations to fulfil, and a severe case of itchy feet, I pulled out a map of Asia and weighed up my options.
As my eyes alighted on Vientiane, I noticed for the first time how close the capital was to the Lao-Thai border, and resolved to make it my destination. I decided to indulge my need for a little adventure and booked train tickets to the Thai frontier town of Nong Khai.
A day later, pulling away from the station on Friday evening at a civilised 8:45pm, installed in a first class private double sleeping berth and sipping cold Chang beer as the scenery rolled past, I congratulated myself on my excellent choice of transport.
At the appropriate time, the couch was transformed into a comfortable bed and I retired to a deep sleep, rocked gently by the slow progress of the train through the moonlit province of Isaan.
Waking to breakfast in the couchette, there was time to brush my teeth, freshen up and change out of my pyjamas just in time to arrive at the border. A short cab ride from Laotian border control to the hotel, a simple check-in and a quick shower saw me installed by the pool by 10 o’clock on Saturday morning.
The first sign that the stay was going to be successful was the sight of the hotel itself. The Villa Manoly is a beautiful 1950s affair built around a small pool and surrounded by lush tropical trees. A quirky international clientele adds to the ambience and gives the place an unmistakable Cold War spy novel appeal.
Not wishing to be subject to the whims of taxi drivers or tuk tuk operators, I hired a motorbike for the duration of the stay, an investment which paid off within a couple of hours when my first two-wheeled reconnaissance mission unearthed somewhere suitable for lunch.
The Full Moon proved to be a good choice, its credentials well established by the fact that it was packed to the gills with long-lunching development agency workers, a breed not known for their spartan lifestyles.
After lunch, when the last Landcruiser had pulled away, I weighed up my leisure options. A couple of hours at the luxurious Papaya Spa was a good way to get through the most severe heat of the day; after which I spent a few hours back in the saddle, travelling the suburbs of the town marvelling at the mouthwatering number of slowly decaying late French colonial villas and wondering what it would take to buy one and restore it to its former glory.
A highlight was the old Soviet Union embassy, a hilariously inappropriate Stalinist concrete block surrounded by lush rice paddies.
That evening, after watching the sunset with the obligatory Beer Lao at one of the stalls overlooking the Mekong River, dinner was at Le Vendome, an atmospheric French restaurant set in a beautiful old house. I sat on the terrace and ate what has to have been the best value French meal I have ever had. After dinner there was still time before the midnight curfew, so I made my way to Kob Jai Deu, a lively and stylish outdoor bar packed with the cream of Vientiane hipsters.
Early Sunday morning seemed an appropriate time to explore the more spiritual side of Laos; with the vast number of beautiful Buddhist wats being enough to satisfy the most ardent templegoer. Laotian temples are happy places, with bright primary colours and lush plant life everywhere you look. Breakfast afterwards was at the Scandinavian Bakery, clearly the centre of expatriate life on Sundays, followed by a superb drip coffee at Miss Saigon, which in turn functions as a hub of Vientiane’s Vietnamese activity.
A swim back at the hotel and a slow perusal of the newly air-freighted Bangkok Post left time for a superb paté and salad lunch baguette at PVO Vietnamese café, before the late afternoon flight back to Bangkok.
Vientiane is one of those places just made for weekends. Easy access from Bangkok and by extension Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Hong Kong, with just enough to choose from in the way of dining and drinking, and the added advantage of an interesting history. A superb use of two days and highly recommended.
Shangairish.
Much has been made of Shanghai’s renaissance over recent years. From superb French restaurants to the world’s newest Grand Prix circuit, it’s no exaggeration to say that Shanghai town planners and entrepreneurs won’t rest until they’ve turned Shanghai into the world’s most exciting city.
But as well as beautiful Louis Vuitton stores and gorgeous art galleries in tastefully renovated historical buildings, Shanghai boasts one more benefit.
The Pearl Of The Orient holds what just might be, to my mind at least, Asia’s best Irish pub.
I’m no particular fan of sitting in franchised mock-Dublin surrounds. And normally, drinking imported Guinness under old bilingual County Cork road signs wouldn’t be at the top of my list of leisure options.
But O’Malley’s in Hengshan Road seems to have something about it. A satisfying maze-like layout with dark private snugs to drink in, a beautiful walled garden for imbibing al fresco in the cool Shanghai autumn, and a strange feeling that the place has been there for centuries make a few pints at this particular Gaelic Inn a very worthwhile experience.
But as well as beautiful Louis Vuitton stores and gorgeous art galleries in tastefully renovated historical buildings, Shanghai boasts one more benefit.
The Pearl Of The Orient holds what just might be, to my mind at least, Asia’s best Irish pub.
I’m no particular fan of sitting in franchised mock-Dublin surrounds. And normally, drinking imported Guinness under old bilingual County Cork road signs wouldn’t be at the top of my list of leisure options.
But O’Malley’s in Hengshan Road seems to have something about it. A satisfying maze-like layout with dark private snugs to drink in, a beautiful walled garden for imbibing al fresco in the cool Shanghai autumn, and a strange feeling that the place has been there for centuries make a few pints at this particular Gaelic Inn a very worthwhile experience.
Khmer Moderne.
For some inexplicable reason, in the heyday of modernist architecture, three countries in the whole world took to the style and made it their own; adapting it to their warm climates and creating a unique vernacular that became known as tropical modernism.
One of those countries was Brazil. Another was Senegal. And the third was Cambodia.
Long before the word Cambodia became synonymous with mass graves and weird fanatical ‘burn all the books and get back to the land’ movements, the Khmer Kingdom was an oasis of style, civility, chilled white wine and gorgeous buildings. Straight lines and elegantly simple design were things at which French and Cambodian architects excelled.
For years, this precious building heritage went to seed as the Khmers Rouges carried out their well-documented evils.
But now, with prosperity taking root in some parts of the country and a steady upmarket tourist trade, certain groups of people are finding it worthwhile to restore parts of this impressive collection of construction; and it appears that visitors will be able to enjoy its rich bank of architecture once more.
The most impressive example of this I have seen so far is the breathtaking Foreign Correspondents’ Club in Siem Reap.
The original FCC in Phnom Penh is a very pleasant place to while away an evening; drinking beer and eating delicious nouveau-Australian influenced food under rotating fans while watching the crowds on their nightly promenade along the banks of the Mekong River.
But it is with their second venture that the owners have excelled themselves, creating something in a different league entirely.
The Siem Reap Foreign Correspondents’ Club is housed in the former French governor’s summer residence. A classic airy colonial structure, the establishment offers all the charm of the Phnom Penh original and then some. But it is the hotel rooms that are the gems of this particular enterprise.
Housed in a long, low, flat-roofed cream building, shaded by a beautiful 100-year-old tree which must have seen some intriguing things in its history, and built around a rectangular black-tiled infinity pool, the rooms seem to capture a not-too-distant age of modernist elegance while connecting firmly with the present.
After a hot day spent wandering through the elaborate ruins of the Angkor complex, the head swims with ornate images and curved carvings. A long dip in the pool to bring the body temperature down, a shower in the golden-lit sandstone bathrooms and an icy evening cocktail among the refreshing clean lines of the FCC is the perfect antidote to the symptoms of temple fatigue.
One of those countries was Brazil. Another was Senegal. And the third was Cambodia.
Long before the word Cambodia became synonymous with mass graves and weird fanatical ‘burn all the books and get back to the land’ movements, the Khmer Kingdom was an oasis of style, civility, chilled white wine and gorgeous buildings. Straight lines and elegantly simple design were things at which French and Cambodian architects excelled.
For years, this precious building heritage went to seed as the Khmers Rouges carried out their well-documented evils.
But now, with prosperity taking root in some parts of the country and a steady upmarket tourist trade, certain groups of people are finding it worthwhile to restore parts of this impressive collection of construction; and it appears that visitors will be able to enjoy its rich bank of architecture once more.
The most impressive example of this I have seen so far is the breathtaking Foreign Correspondents’ Club in Siem Reap.
The original FCC in Phnom Penh is a very pleasant place to while away an evening; drinking beer and eating delicious nouveau-Australian influenced food under rotating fans while watching the crowds on their nightly promenade along the banks of the Mekong River.
But it is with their second venture that the owners have excelled themselves, creating something in a different league entirely.
The Siem Reap Foreign Correspondents’ Club is housed in the former French governor’s summer residence. A classic airy colonial structure, the establishment offers all the charm of the Phnom Penh original and then some. But it is the hotel rooms that are the gems of this particular enterprise.
Housed in a long, low, flat-roofed cream building, shaded by a beautiful 100-year-old tree which must have seen some intriguing things in its history, and built around a rectangular black-tiled infinity pool, the rooms seem to capture a not-too-distant age of modernist elegance while connecting firmly with the present.
After a hot day spent wandering through the elaborate ruins of the Angkor complex, the head swims with ornate images and curved carvings. A long dip in the pool to bring the body temperature down, a shower in the golden-lit sandstone bathrooms and an icy evening cocktail among the refreshing clean lines of the FCC is the perfect antidote to the symptoms of temple fatigue.
Big cat 2.
Thailand has been the missing link in Tiger’s South East Asian empire for quite some time now. Now that the bigwigs in Jurong can fill in the Kingdom in their map of the region, they have before them one solid chunk of territory stretching from Singapore all the way up to Hanoi via Malaysia, Thailand and Cambodia.
The brand has featured in many of my best memories of Asia. Happy hour at the FCC in Phnom Penh, long evenings in the elegant surrounds of The Temple Club in Saigon, and nights round roaring log fires in Malaysia’s chilly Cameron Highlands have all been enhanced by the presence of the beer with the big cat on the label.
The brand has featured in many of my best memories of Asia. Happy hour at the FCC in Phnom Penh, long evenings in the elegant surrounds of The Temple Club in Saigon, and nights round roaring log fires in Malaysia’s chilly Cameron Highlands have all been enhanced by the presence of the beer with the big cat on the label.
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