Browsing: Hotels

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“We began our experience with Vaamika by way of a SunRay speedboat – a sexy, cream and tan leather beast that motored us out to the island from the mainland just as the sun was waning…”

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“We had been travelling on India’s train network for nearly 20 hours, finally landing at New Jalpaiguri – the last major train station before the ascent into the West Bengal mountains…”

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Welcome to Casa Morada, a boutique hotel tucked away in Islamorada in the Florida Keys, where a feeling of absolute ‘get away from it all’ reigns supreme…

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As memorable dining experiences go, sitting inside a giant red Christmas tree bauble under a crystal chandelier – a jazzed up version of Jingle Bells trumpeting away in the background – has permanent place in the brain bank…

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The Old Bookworm was in the grip of yet another of his wearying fits of nostalgia. I can always tell. The condition is usually accompanied by a misty-eyed stare into the middle distance…

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“When I recall hotels I’ve visited in the past, it’s the ones that made an extra effort on the design front that I’ve particularly loved.”

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“A heavy summer’s rain has meant the nation’s unique and exquisite flora and fauna has erupted in an intoxicating and riotous display: sweet jasmine, lilies and honeysuckle, all dazzle the senses once you make the slow drive up the gradual slopes of the Cape Peninsula National Park where the Mount Nelson is ensconced.”

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If I didn’t know better, I could’ve sworn I’d wound up in a Brothers Grimm fairy tale. Tallinn’s Old Town hardly seems of this world, let alone this century…

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“Taking its name from the London hotel in which Oscar Wilde was famously arrested, the charming shutter-fronted Cape Dutch building dates from the early 19th century…”

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“Located on the banks of the Crocodile River, Lethabo offers spectacular views of the surrounding blue Magaliesberg foothills in the Cradle of Humankind…”

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Bed and Breakfasts; they ain’t what they used to be. The image of matronly landladies with all the charm and hospitality of a Stalag guard setting nine o’clock curfews is gone…

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‘You see, my dear, it’s all about the little grey cells,’ I say smugly, tapping my head with a wise forefinger and reaching to twirl my moustache…Nick Hammond arouses his inner Poirot on a visit to Knightsbridge newcomer, The Wellesley.

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