From Almost Cancelled to Champagne at 30,000 Feet
I confess, I nearly didn’t go.
There was something magnetic about staying home, so many exquisite things happening around me, invitations arriving like confetti, that stepping away felt almost disloyal. But then the email arrived: an invitation to ILTM in Singapore, the most sophisticated gathering of luxury travel minds in the world. A nudge from the universe, perhaps. And just like that, my curiosity won.
I chose Vietnam Airlines for the journey, not without hesitation. But I had heard quiet rumblings in the industry that their Business Class was, in a word, impeccable. The rumblings were right. The A350 cabin was serene, the service polished without pretense, and the seat folded into a bed that almost made me forget I was thirty thousand feet above the Pacific. The cuisine was clearly crafted with care, though I quietly noted the lack of elegant Western alternatives. Still, the hospitality was generous, and the experience was effortless.
That, to me, is real luxury: when you forget you’re in transit at all.
What Happens When Your Luggage Has Other Plans?
Travel, when done well, begins the moment you land. It doesn’t start with a marble lobby or a scented towel. It begins with how the unexpected is handled. In my case, Vietnam introduced itself with a small test of my patience. My carry-on was packed with the essentials of modern life: chargers, cables, and my ever-faithful iPad. Unfortunately, it decided to remain in Ho Chi Minh, while I continued on to Danang.
The resort’s welcome was seamless. My driver met me with quiet precision. By the time I arrived, my butler had already taken charge of the situation. There was no panic and no apologies. Just calm, discreet action that turned a minor inconvenience into something barely worth remembering. My bag was already being located and prepared for return.
What impressed me most was not just the efficiency. It was the way everything was handled, as if the luggage was simply in the next room. The delay felt like a gentle pause in an otherwise perfectly tuned experience.
Inside my villa, a charcuterie board had been carefully arranged, and a bottle of red wine was waiting. I hadn’t requested them. They were simply there, as if someone had quietly anticipated exactly what I needed. A soft landing in every sense.
A few hours later, my bag was returned.
True luxury is not the absence of problems. It is the quiet confidence with which they are resolved, so gracefully that they hardly feel like problems at all.
Sanctuary Found: My Stay at a Riverfront Pool Villa
The resort was hidden slightly upriver from Hoi An’s bustling centre, a detail that, before arriving, made me wonder if I’d miss being in the heart of it all. I didn’t.
What I found instead was a villa built for wowing guests, escaping the hustle of life (restoring my patience). The moment I entered, I understood the intent: honey-toned timber ceilings in curved half-moons, linen in muted creams, textures so soft they asked to be touched. The Vietnamese mastery of carpentry was present in every joint, every surface. My villa’s infinity pool overlooked a slow-moving river framed by tropical greenery and twinkling garden lights.
Inside, a sunken granite bath perfectly flush with the floor beckoned with bath salts tailored to your scent preference. Every detail invited stillness.
This wasn’t just a hotel room. It was a space designed for those who understand that luxury isn’t about extravagance, it’s about feeling completely at ease.
Culinary Elegance, Vietnamese Style
Hoi An has a quiet reputation among the gastronomically inclined as one of those places whispered about at dinner parties by those in the know. I can confirm: it deserves the whispers.
Breakfasts were a delightful fusion of East and West, warm, flaky croissants beside bowls of steaming pho, and cappuccinos brewed with a kind of reverence rare even in Paris. I tasted history in the bread: the French legacy lingers here, in the best possible way.
One evening, I followed the General Manager’s recommendation to Mango Rooms, a local treasure where the duck, served with the thinnest rice pancakes and an array of perfectly balanced sides, rivalled anything I’ve tasted in Europe. The interplay of mango, coriander, avocado, and pickled vegetables was not only inspired but unforgettable. And the price? A gentle reminder that excellence need not be exorbitant.
The Reluctant Convert
Let me be candid: I don’t ‘do’ massages. My schedule is too demanding, my mind too wired, and my patience for gentle music in dark rooms is minimal.
And yet this was included, daily. The masseuse said nothing when my phone rang twice during the first ten minutes. She simply smiled, waited, and then began again. Her hands were small but impossibly strong, and as she worked, I felt something I hadn’t in weeks: surrender.
By the end of the session, I had not only stopped answering emails, I had stopped thinking entirely. Facial reflexology came next. I still don’t know precisely what it does, but I left glowing, both literally and emotionally.
Luxury, I’ve learned, sometimes means doing the thing you think you have no time for and letting it change you.
Hoi An: Culture on Two Wheels
Each villa comes with bicycles, a thoughtful touch that at first feels charming but unnecessary. That is, until you find yourself pedalling just after sunrise, with the air cool and still and the light golden across the beautiful rice fields. The path winds through quiet hamlets and past beautiful scenery. The breeze carries the faint scent of wood smoke and wet soil.
Within ten minutes, I arrived in the ancient heart of Hoi An, a town that feels held in place by memory. The ochre-painted buildings are softened by time, their shutters worn and beautiful, their edges gently crumbling. Silk lanterns drift above narrow lanes like delicate punctuation in a story that is still being written. The pace is slow. The beauty, unforced. Here, nothing demands my attention, yet everything rewards it.
Tucked down a side street, I stepped into a quiet gallery showcasing the work of a French photographer known for his portraits of Vietnamese life. Black-and-white images filled the space. Faces of farmers, street vendors, children, and elders looked back at me with honesty and presence. There was no need for titles or descriptions. The expressions said everything. I lingered without meaning to, drawn in by the stillness they offered.
Afterwards, I visited a local tailor, one of the many Hoi An is famous for. She studied me briefly, selected a fabric without hesitation, and promised a suit by the following afternoon. True to her word, it was waiting when I returned, perfectly cut and effortlessly elegant.
As night fell, I sat by the river at a small café. Lanterns swayed gently in the warm breeze, casting soft reflections on the water. A local quartet played traditional music that seemed older than the street itself. I didn’t recognise the tune, but it felt like it belonged to the place, and I was lucky just to hear it.
Hoi An does not perform. It welcomes. It does not dazzle with spectacle. It reveals its beauty quietly, for those who are willing to look and linger.
Bill Bensley: The amazing Capella Hanoi
The flight from Danang to Hanoi was unremarkable…intentionally so, I think, as if the universe knew I’d need a quiet moment before stepping into Capella Hanoi, a hotel that doesn’t just accommodate but performs. Bill Bensley, the irreverent genius of hospitality design, has transformed this place into a living opera. There’s no neutral palette here, no anonymous minimalism. Instead, I was ushered into the La Traviata suite, a velvet-draped reverie of deep pinks, gilded trims, and framed sheet music that seemed to hum if you looked at it long enough. Concert posters whispered of glamour, a velvet chaise invited dramatic lounging, and the prettiest, most unapologetically narrow balcony offered a romantic glimpse of Hanoi’s French colonial rooftops, crumbling, ornate, and full of stories. Even the bathrobes, plush and blushing in dusty rose, felt like costume pieces waiting for their curtain call.
This isn’t a place for people who travel lightly, emotionally or otherwise. It’s a hotel for dreamers, nostalgics, and lovers of beauty for beauty’s sake. And outside, the enchantment continued. Just steps away, the Hanoi Opera House rose like a grand old dowager in pearls, presiding over a wide, circular boulevard that could easily pass for the Place de l’Opéra in Paris. I wandered down Trang Tien Road, where high fashion rubs shoulders with colonial history; Prada, Burberry, and Boss are housed in buildings with flaking shutters and elegant bones. At the end, Hoan Kiem Lake shimmered like a secret, its path lined with old banyan trees and families enjoying the golden hour. The lake is Hanoi’s living room: lovers holding hands, elders practicing tai chi, teenagers sharing bubble tea and laughter. I stood quietly among them, one more character in a city that refuses to be rushed and rewards those who linger.
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The Gift of Going
I almost stayed home. I almost said no.
But what I found – in the calm of a river-facing villa, in a bowl of duck fragrant with five spice, in the silent strength of a massage – was a reminder: sometimes, the world doesn’t wait. And nor should we.
This wasn’t a holiday. It was a gentle course correction. A rediscovery. A whispered promise that beauty is still out there – waiting, quietly, for those who say yes.