It's official. From this point forward, all hotel entries on this blog will be compared against a new model of perfection. It is the Constance Prince Maurice on Mauritius' east coast, and it can claim most of the superlatives I have to offer. Best service. Best view from the room. Most remarkable bathroom. You get the idea. Honeymoon is supposed to be the holiday of your life, of course, and I can confirm that this hotel made for a blockbuster start.
One story captures the levels of care and attention that go into making the guests happy. One morning we were sitting on the wide deck beside the pool, eating our breakfast and gazing out over the beach and lagoon towards the line of surf where the Indian Ocean broke over the reef. I saw six snorkelers close to shore, kicking their way from the boat dock towards the large, D-shaped area of water roped off for swimming. Once inside of it, they started snorkeling back and forth in a regular line. What were they doing? Cleaning the sandy bottom to ensure that nothing disturbed a guest's tender feet.
These are the kinds of things you can do with what we were told was a 4-to-1 staff-to-guest ratio. That's not the first thing you notice, however. Upon introduction, all you can really grasp is just how beautiful the place is.
Mauritiu
s offers no impressive architecture on the way from the airport. It's neither traditionally tropical, nor charming, but modern, functional and very basic. All of which makes the luxury of the Prince Maurice even more striking. On the main road just past a ramshackle village, you find a plinth of volcanic stones with the hotel's logo set in a metal plaque. Turn in, and follow the road for about a mile through sugar cane, tea and potato fields. At last, you'll come to a sturdy gatehouse flanking elaborate iron gates, staffed by guards in smart uniforms derived from the 19th century age of empire. Nobody without a reservation, or employment on site, gets through. It's another half mile of driving now, but here the agricultural fields have slipped away and we're into tropical gardens, with palms and piles of volcanic tufa screening the village of apartments of live-in staff to the right. Finally, the main building comes into view.It's a large, open-sided thatched pavilion with towering peaked roofs. Staff in pristine white uniforms know who we are already (thanks to those efficient guards), welcome us warmly with cool towels presented on a silver tray, whisk our luggage away and escort us into the main pavilion. We walk up the stairs of the formal entry, over a short wooden bridge that spans the moat-like reflecting pool, and onto the glistening marble floors of the reception area. It's so quiet the only thing you notice is the gurgle of the fountains in the middle of the room (cream marble enlivened by yellow and red hibiscus floating in the water) and the call of birds. Ahead of us, the far edge of the pavilion frames a view of the infinity pool, bordered by other thatched buildings, and beyond that the lagoon, a far tropical shore, the reef and the ocean. Yet another staff member, this one a beautiful young woman who could easily pass as a southeast Asian princess, sits us down on a wicker couch to enjoy the view while a waiter turns up with fresh fruit juice. I am, officially, in heaven.
The first five minutes set the pattern for the whole place. Architecture: Thatched pavilions with open sides to let the breezes and the birds pass through. Decor: Colonial chic with lots of wicker, teak, Asian art and fresh flowers. Staff: Constantly attentive without being intrusive. Mood: Quiet tranquility.
In fact, one of the marvels of the place is how they create the mood. This isn't a small place; there are more than 70 rooms. Given the staff-t0-guest ratio, even if only half of them are "front of house", this means that with good occupancy rates there are easily 300 to 400 people wandering around. And yet, aside from meal times, we often felt we were some of only a handful of people there. Both the price and the honeymoon nature of the place contribute to this mood, of course. Almost everyone here is in couples, and interested in a quiet, romantic time with each other, alone. There are no loud packs of friends on holiday together, and almost no children. We did spot two families with progeny, amazingly. Who spends almost 300 euro a night on kids? (Honeymooners get a 40% discount.) The staff, highly aware that a loud child could destroy the whole ambiance of the place with the force of a tsunami, circled around them like a private entertainment detail, managing to shut them up the moment they uttered much more than a gurgle of happiness.
The standard rooms are billed as junior suites and are 70 square meters. The polished wooden floors, high ceilings and glass on three sides at the front (screened by wooden blinds for privacy), with french doors leading out to a large loggia with table, chairs, couch and gorgeous view, mimic the open air feel of the public spaces. Inside, in addition to the king sized bed, there's a sofa, coffee table (laid with champagne and sweets on our arrival), a desk and a large, flat-screen TV with internet access. (There's free wi-fi throughout the resort as well.) The view towards the lagoon and the mountains was the best part of our room, closely followed by the enormous and luxurious bathroom.
That had double sinks, his and her closets stocked with two dressing gowns per person (terry cloth for after bathing, cotton for relaxing), a large dressing area, separate rooms for shower and toilet, an enormous built-for-two tub complete with pillow for lounging and pot of lavender bath salts, and an oversized ottoman in the centre on which someone could sit to converse with the bather. We were delighted to spend many hours in our suite, and afternoon naps within it featured largely in our schedule. In fact,
we were so immediately attached to the place that we ordered breakfast in the room on the first morning, which came with two waiters who brought not only food, but enough linen, china and silver to dress the table on our balcony as if we were in a top restaurant. Then they quietly disappeared, leaving us to enjoy our food and the view, swaddled in those cozy robes.We didn't want to spend all our time indoors, of course. The beach called. The hotel features a long, completely private stretch of it. At the centre of things, overlooked by the pool and the main buildings, it's unoccupied except for a few dining tables in the sand. Want to have a formally served meal but not leave the beach? No problem. Relax under the umbrella and the staff will take care of you. On either side of this, stretching in front of the pavilions housing the accommodation, are large teak sun loungers with thick mattresses, arranged in pairs underneath big market umbrellas. Choose one, and a member of staff is there quickly with towels and bottles of cold water to help you make it your own. Lounge here long enough, and they may pop by with some ice cream or an offer to clean your sunglasses for you.
On one side of the pool are two restaurant pavilions and a bar, on the other side another
bar. The latter had a small stage for entertainment, generally mellow jazz, plugged into a sound system that carried it around all the public areas. Further back, so to not squander the sea views, were several shops, the Air Mauritius office, the spa, a pitch and put green and a children's play area.If you followed a raised walkway past our room for about a quarter mile, you walked into the lagoon, through mangrove swamps and to the hotel's floating restaurant. Four pavilions on pontoons, reached by bridges and lit by swaying lanterns, bobbed gently on the water as leaping fish added to the soundtrack of the night. We ate dinner here twice, and spent the rest of our time in the main restaurants.
A discussion of food, however, signals a transition to another entry. Mauritian dining, and our fabulous local cooking class, comes next.
No comments:
Post a Comment