Tag Archives: Hotel De La Paix

My Idea of Heaven

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An English Heaven . . .

A Full English Breakfast

A Full English Breakfast

Julian Barnes, a noted English author, has a very clear and a very English notion of heaven. It starts, naturally, with a Full English Breakfast. (An English comedian said once that a Full English was one of the two things that a woman can do which would comfort any man.) Julian’s heavenly grapefruit is perfectly formed; its segments do not cling, and float away from the fruit on the tip of the oval grapefruit spoon. It had a mélange of flavors coalescing like fine wine, ‘a sort of awaking sharpness followed quickly by a wash of sweetness’.

 Then followed ‘crispy [bacon whose] fat glow[ed] like fire’, eggs which ‘trail[ed] off into filigree gold braid’ and, the tour de force, the grilled tomato. Julian rhapsodized over his grilled tomato: this tomato actually does ‘ – yes, this is the thing I remember – tast[e] of tomato’. The toast and jam is beyond his powers of description but I reckon it was Five Grain Wholemeal bread from Publix, toasted just enough to crisp the toast surfaces but only warm the interior, generously buttered with Kerry butter, and lavished with Bonne Maman Peach Preserve.

Roekelseskar by Nina Aldin Thune

Roekelseskar by Nina Aldin Thune

The main event, though, is tea. Not so much the delicate aromas of the tea itself, rather the receptacle it came in. Of my teapots over the years I am especially fond of a Brown Bessie and one which looked like a painter’s work table,both now alas dearly departed, but of Barnes’s teapot we know little. He is taken with the ‘strainer . . . attached to its spout by three silver chains’ somewhat like a demi-thurible, ‘the insignia of some chic Parisian café’, ‘a little gadget which seems to me almost a definition of luxury’.

 He finds his wardrobe full of his most comfortable, totally wabi-sabi, retired-now-magically-new clothes, and settles down for two more breakfasts.

Next day he goes shopping. A relation of his had said, “When I die, I don’t want to go to Heaven, I want to go shopping in America”. This was Publix/Whole Foods/Central Market double plus good. The range and quality was unparalleled even for those magnificent stores, including, as it did, ‘Terrine de Kangarou’, Garibaldi biscuits with a 50:50 ratio of currents to pastry, and a libation called ‘Stinko-Paralytiko (made in Yugoslavia)’.

Red Teapot by Jorge Garcia

Red Teapot by Jorge Garcia

The following day, at breakfast, he read in the newspaper that ‘No kidding, Leicester City had bloody well won the FA Cup!’

He took up golf on a course which had ‘bits of seaside links like in Scotland, patches of flowering dogwood and azalea from Augusta, beechwood, pine, bracken and gorse.’, and scored a respectable 67. That evening, his carer, Brigitta, artfully declined sex but sex was to be had as he found ‘two long red hairs’ on his pillow in the morning. It is kind of interesting, and very English, that he can make more of your Full English than a good f$%k.

Then, ‘Guess what happened next? [He] started worrying.’ Looking for reassurance, he asked ‘Look, this is heaven, isn’t it?’, to which the reply was ‘Oh yes’ And so his heavenly ‘life continued, and [his] golf improved no end.’ After a while and a cruise or two, he starts to worry again, this time about religion. His case manager asks him what he does on Sundays.‘ “On Sundays”, I said, “as far as I can work out, because I don’t follow the days too closely any more, I play golf, go shopping, eat dinner, have sex and don’t feel bad.”

supermarket from above by Bunny Hero

supermarket from above by Bunny Hero

She replies, ‘Isn’t that perfect?’

It was of course but that was not his point nor the point. Apparently, the heaven of psalms and hallelujahs, ‘Old Heaven’, had ‘sort of closed down.’ because ‘after the new Heavens were built, … there was . . . little call for it.’ The inhabitants, the ‘Old Heaveners . . . gave up speaking to anyone but other Old Heaveners. Then they began to die off.’ New Heaveners also had ‘the option to die off if they want to’. In Mr. Barnes’s heaven, people can’t stand being happy all the time and like a medieval king die of a surfeit.

An Intellectual’s Heaven . . .

Frazier, too, is equally unfit for a life of perpetual bliss. In ‘Door Jam’ he and Niles lust after an oh-so-discreet spa, which proves to be very heaven, UNTIL they found that they had had the mere Silver service, and there was the oh-so-exclusive Gold service. Their quest for heaven results in their discovery of the garbage area, and they exit pursued by bees.

The Matrix

Perhaps it is as Agent Smith says in that one good Matrix film:

Agent Smith: Did you know that the first Matrix was designed to be a perfect human world? Where none suffered, where everyone would be happy. It was a disaster. No one would accept the program. Entire crops were lost. Some believed we lacked the programming language to describe your perfect world. But I believe that, as a species, human beings define their reality through suffering and misery. The perfect world was a dream that your primitive cerebrum kept trying to wake up from. Which is why the Matrix was redesigned to this: the peak of your civilization.

The problem of pain

Relief from Persepolis by Paul

Relief from Persepolis by Paul

Barnes quoted Flaubert – the quote I cannot find – that to someone in chronic pain that pain is forever new, forever worthy of attention, but to those who care for the invalid and witness a lifetime of agony, it becomes over time duller, more of an obstacle to be negotiated, an annoyance, even a self-indulgence. Flaubert forgets that love never tires of caring and never become inured to the problems of the beloved.

Paradiso

A good candidate for heaven would be Fiorenza (Florence, Italy), until you see the fortress town houses and learn of the terrible practical jokes the creatives would play on one another. In the science museum there, there is one of Galileo’s telescopes. When I wax lyrical about this little black tube and mention the Starry Messenger , the book he wrote about what he saw through such a little thing; a book which describes an imperfect sun pockmarked by sunspots, the Medicean Stars flocking around Jupiter, that for each of the multitude of stars we can see without a telescope there is a multitude more, and that the face of the Moon “is not robed in a smooth and polished surface but is in fact rough and uneven, covered everywhere, just like the earth’s surface, with huge prominences, deep valleys, and chasms.”, I usually get a slightly pained look and ‘Oh, really’.

Firenze Duomo by Franek N

Firenze Duomo by Franek N

There I was able to wander in the footsteps of the great Tuscan poet Dante Alighieri. His Divine Comedy actually has three parts although Hell is by far and away the best known, regurgitated endlessly in horrible films and derivative TV drama. Dante, the supreme poet working in a language of angels and Mafiosi, did so much better describing the damned and their torments than the dubious pleasures of heaven. His profound of hell is a sea of ice where Satan is rooted waist deep, chewing forever on Judas, Brutus, and Cassius. He should have a dozen or more mouths for the wicked of subsequent centuries. They are far more deserving of the worst that Hell can dish up.

(I like the idea of putting the shades of Hitler and his stooges in the front row of every Broadway performance of ‘The Producers’. As the reaction of Pyongyang to the advanced publicity to Seth Rogen and James Franco’s film ‘The Interview’ shows, nasty tyrants have no sense of humor. I hope the Seth/James film will be a runaway success.)

Unfortunately, when it comes to heaven the best that Dante – the daddy of them all –  can come up with is the thought of a white rose and an old man’s opiate blissing,

In forma dunque di candida rosa, . . .
ma l’altra, che volando vede e canta
la gloria di colui che la ’nnamora
e la bontà che la fece cotanta,
sì come schiera d’ape che s’infiora
una fïata e una si ritorna
là dove suo laboro s’insapora,
nel gran fior discendeva che s’addorna
di tante foglie, e quindi risaliva
là dove ’l süo amor sempre soggiorna.
Le facce tutte avean di fiamma viva
e l’ali d’oro, e l’altro tanto bianco,
che nulla neve a quel termine arriva.

Fiorenza is great and should be on your bucket list, but, for me, the number one, tippy-toppy experience was an open-topped bus trip out past the Belvedere, made so famous in Silence of the Lambs, and into the sumptuous summer Tuscan countryside.

Doctor Lecter and Agent Starling

Clarice Starling: Did you do all these drawings, Doctor?
Hannibal Lecter: Ah. That is the Duomo seen from the Belvedere. Do you know Florence?
Clarice Starling: All that detail just from memory, sir?
Hannibal Lecter: Memory, Agent Starling, is what I have instead of a view.

Persian Palaces

 

Hasht Behesht Palace Musicians

Hasht Behesht Palace Musicians

Just after finishing university, I took a journey through Iran, Turkey and Greece. The first leg of the plan was to head south from Tehran to Shiraz, and visit the summer palace of Xerxes the Great known to the West by its Greek name, Persepolis. Had those ancient Greeks not been so parochial, and had they not wrecked it, the awesome complex would have made an eighth Wonder of the World. For a journey like this, I was not exactly prepared. I compounded the hazards by taking with me a cute teen girl. We survived more or less intact, due to the goodwill of the many generous, kind folk along the way. I’ll write up these adventures sometime, but now I would like to tell of the Palace of Oranges.

Shiraz is called the City of the Oranges and is the home and burial place of Hafez, the Persian Dante. For breakfast we had fresh baked bread, olives and tea and then walked into town and the delightful jewel of a tea house, to which we had been taken on our first day in the City. After a wonderful glass of Sherbot (Iranian lemonade) we set out for the palace. It did not look promising. We walked down narrow, dusty medieval streets penned in by high ocher walls. The entrance was a low unadorned door, which opened into a gloomy, dusty, medieval vestibule. We walked around a corner and the garden exploded at us.

Al Hambra by Tania & Artur

Al Hambra by Tania & Artur

Gardens like this are long and narrow, and shaded by high walls. Down the middle was a pool lined with blue and white tiles. Between the walls and pool was row upon row of orange trees. At the far end of the garden was the summer house into which was inset a Moorish alcove, lined with mirrors. How lovely it must have been to sit in that alcove on cushions with friends on a balmy night savoring the scent of orange blossom.

Ta Prohm in Siem Reap by Daniel Mennerich

Ta Prohm in Siem Reap by Daniel Mennerich

 

In the Quran, heaven is liken to a garden and in Islamic countries there are many gardens. Two such gardens are in the Taj Mahal, Agra, Uttar Pradesh, and the Alhambra, Cordova, Andalusia. Both are UNESCO World Heritage Sites aka Wonders of the World and there are many more than seven. I have been to the Taj which is as beautiful in real life as it is on the picture postcards. I hope to see the Alhambra someday. I know that Jacob Bronowski loved it.

Hotel de la Paix

So what would be my idea of heaven?
I’m glad you asked me that.

It is in Siem Reap, Cambodia and was called Hotel de la Paix (Hotel of Peace). It has an undistinguished outside, hidden like the Palace of Oranges, something like a white washed Art Deco cinema in small town America. On the street side is the glass windows of the hotel’s café and a porte-cochère, into which our taxi pulled late on a July evening in 2009. The revolving doors let into a cool minimalist atrium centered on a Brancusi take on the figure forms of Angkor Wat. Above the figure floated  the tiered balconies  of the upper floors.

The Foyer Goddess by Reico

The Foyer Goddess by Reico

Behind the figure was the reception and the concierge. There we were asked one of the best questions any traveler can be asked: Would you like an upgrade?  We gladly accepted a suite for the price of a double room. Apparently, the bankers who had just broken the American credit system had also confined most of the hotel customers in other countries, so the hotel’s best rooms were vacant. So next time there is a glitch in the economy pack your bags because there will be some really good deals to be had to things normally way beyond your budget. Like this suite.

It was split level. Downstairs, the main room was divided by an enormous swivelable flat screen TV into the sleeping area with a comfy king size, bedside tables lights and so on, and sitting area with a comfy sofa, a desk and view of the central garden veiled by gauzy white curtains. The upper level was a balcony with two massage tables – les massages privés, bien sûr, and french windows which let out  on to a private sunning terrace and a huge marble plunge pool. The levels were joined by wrought-iron spiral stairs. From the sleeping area a short passage led to a huge sculpted washbasin around which were piles of wash clothes, bottles of water and what appeared to be old fashioned cruets but could be split open to reveal a unguents and oils.

Figure at Angkor Wat

Figure at Angkor Wat

To the left were your walk-in closet, a stack of teak draws and the safe, and to the right was the wonderful shower room. I think it is the best shower I have ever seen. The floor and walls and ceiling were varieties of brown biscuit in color, dimpled tiles on the floor and veined marble for walls and ceiling. The shower system was worthy of German engineering. System A was a split cylinder of shower heads to give the all-round shower, with a handheld hanging from a copper hook for those hard-to-reach nooks and crannies. System B was a huge – perhaps 20 centimeters wide – flat copper doucher capable of an excellent emulation of a tropical downpour.

Next: the pool. The pool was on the 2nd floor. To call the pool a pool gives the impression of a public building laced by a superabundance of chlorine, a pool of milky water there in, cavernous echoes, slightly scummy grout, and monstrous temperature differences which are best left to Walruses. This pool is more like a garden. To reach it, one takes the lift and then walks down the minimalist corridor, along which were niches presenting backlit Kymer reliefs, which led out into the explosion of tropical sunshine.

pool at Hotel de la Paix

pool at Hotel de la Paix

The doorway lets into an area dominated by a little canal running across left and right. You have arrived at the bit where the rooms which let out onto their own small sun decks, all of which have loungers and the like. The canal continues under the building, each side lined with alcoves with benches and cushions for quiet reading, and ending with an infinity. To reach the rest of the garden there is a little wooden bridge over the canal. There among the beds of succulents and palms are more loungers and more of the industrial sized showers. Some have stone frogs sitting around them. They reminded me of the Gorf who created the heaven called Calf Island described in Salman Rushdie’s 1st book, Grimus.

The rest of the pool had a checkerboard of water inset with small square islands sprouting fronds and palms.  Away from the loungers, several hot tubs bubbled. Another little bridge lead to the spa and the gym. The cool lavender scented spa has plush massage couches, the most expert masseurs, and all the while quietly Khmer chimes tinkle. As it was late, we opted for an early night and – of course – watched Tomb Raider.

Hôtel de la Paix by Reico

Hôtel de la Paix by Reico

Breakfast, on the morrow, was served in the restaurant. The inside of the restaurant is dark teak, its tables covered with stiff fin-de-siècle tablecloths. You are welcomed by courteous, handsome staff. The al fresco part of the restaurant lines two sides of a courtyard centered around a spreading deciduous tree and pools and flag stones. In the evening, it is candle lit. The side nearest the restaurant has conventional tables and chairs of a colonial style, the other side has five or so suspended bowers, on which you would sit or lie propped up by triangular pillows, little button shaped pillows, and shapeless pillows as soft as clouds; and supplies of comestibles furnished on teak trays on little legs. These were much to the delight of the children.

Breakfast, itself, was a vast array of breads, fruits, juices, meats, and cheeses. Tea was bought in a white porcelain Brown Bessie. On that first day I treated myself to an Eggs Benedict which I’m delighted to say was made with fresh Hollandaise.

Showers at Hotel de la Paix by Reico

Showers at Hotel de la Paix by Reico

On the opposite side of courtyard was the spacious bar about the size of decent dance hall, discretely lit with pools of blue light, huge divans and modern Khmer art. The bar itself was biscuit stone inscribed with a homage to the reliefs of Angkor, lit in blue and white. They even did a decent vodka-martini.

The last part of fine dining was the café. We had most of our lunches there. They did very well with fresh handmade ice cream, and wonderful ham and cheese croissants. The servers were handsome, efficient and courteous. I recall one in particular: a beautiful girl with long, long shimmering hair.

Outside was the Khmer capital dominated by the World Heritage Angkor Wat. Its very nice but we preferred the brooding magnificence of Beng Mealea and Ta Prohm, still claimed by the forest by the lava-like flows of Tetrameles nudiflora trees.

和平飯店 by chloe Q

和平飯店 by chloe Q

 I had a massage every day of our visit. Tough, hun? I did have lobster and I did pay more than a dollar. I bought a lovely silver bangle decorated with elephants for the wife, who added silver elephant earrings and a pendant. We sat in the night market and had our toes nibbled by minnows while drinking beer and accosting strangers to come and join us. It was undoubtedly a good trip. Could the hotel bear improvement; everything can. The massages were great but the very tippy-top best is to be had at the Le Meridien, New Delhi.

I like this hotel and I’m far from being alone. Although the name has changed, I do hope its spirit lives on.

 

Palm

Palm