The Accidental Rockstars
It’s been a year since Jo foolishly said she’d put up with me for the rest of her life (or at least until she can be bothered to call a lawyer) so we decided to splash out on a trip to The Banyan Tree. This was on the recommendation of Jane, who had previously been gifted a trip as a respite from the madness of holding Asia together, but who has now returned to enjoy floating on the English Summer.
Off we toddled to the ferry, however, on leaving the house it began to drizzle – London-in-February-style. I understand a great deal of the readers of this will have little sympathy, what with living on the now swampy island we call England. However this was a minor disappointment, given the distinct exclusivity of the venue we had chosen – one has to do what an expatriate can to maintain standards :-).
Jo had been informed a couple of days prior that we were to be upgraded to a private pool villa rather than the bog-standard one we had chosen, however during our extended check-in procedure, we were told by a seemingly quaking front desk manager, this would only be for the second two nights and we’d have to make do with a Jacuzzi villa instead. Life is hard.
I am unaccustomed to the 5-star service, which equates to lots of kneeling, scraping and bringing drinks, but not so much of the actually doing the task you’re sat in reception for. We were even stopped by site security on the way in, just so they could officiously salute and wish us a pleasant stay. Eventually we mounted our plastic wrapped golf buggy and the whine of an electric motor signaled our arrival into luxury.
After a spectacular buffet, and a good nights sleep (and about 250 pages of Harry Potter) we went for a Rainforest Sprinkle Spa treatment – ‘very manly’ you might say, and you’d be right. Laid mostly on a wipe-clean massage table in a wet room we were plied with coconut body scrub, then cleaned and left in the steam room for half an hour covered in crushed avocado, with only a towel to protect your modesty. Ever so slightly surreal.
After having a horizontal shower (the eponymous sprinkle) that resembled a car wash, we were pummeled into submission before going back to the villa for a bit more lying down. Come 4 o’clock we were moved by a team of three friendly chaps on yet another golf buggy. It seems that if you are rich exercise is beneath you and despite the resort only being about 200 yards across, the staff finish every conversation with ‘can I call you a buggy?’ – toward the end we just acquiesced, it was easier than trying to explain why the mental Britishers wanted to use their legs.
Rock Stars
The pool villa. WOW. We spent about 45 minutes laughing hysterically, dancing about and praising the god of administrative errors – for that is who must have been influencing events. The place was massive, had two villas (with a bathroom each) and an interconnecting open-air dining/chilling area where you might imagine Mick and Keith sitting amongst a bevy of bikini-clad models doing copious amounts of things that are illegal in Singapore (I’m not talking about jaywalking).
Having your own pool makes you lazy, and as such we hardly left the villa for the following two days. They brought food and drinks, and if you have sustenance and a pool to skinny-dip in, you can last a long time without going anywhere – particularly if it is still raining on day three.
As part of our ‘compensation’ for missing out on the first night of rockstardom, we were given an ‘intimate moment’ in our villa, which boiled down to three men turning up in the early evening, scattering an entire forest of flowers, leaving behind a bottle of house red and attempting to set fire to your bedroom using tea-lights. Thankfully they don’t hang around to mandate the romantic atmosphere, but they do call halfway through dinner to make sure everything is ok – all in the name of interventionist service.
After two nights of luxury, swimming and children’s books (for me) we rode our golf buggy into the sunset, via another interminable checkout where the nice lady suggested we might next time book a $1250 USD pool villa, instead of the bottom of the range. She clearly had us confused with minor dignitaries. Or billionaires. It was probably my impeccable dress sense that did it.
Some photos (safe for work, despite the private pool).
Andy 30 July 2007
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