The Kingdom of the Divine — page 2

THE AMAN MYSTIQUE
Wearing a simple white dress shirt open at the neck and lightweight gray trousers, the 71-year-old Zecha, scion of an Indonesian tea-and-rubber family, carries himself with a dashing, carefully composed informality that seems second nature to international arbiters of style. A former journalist, publishing mogul and ski bum, he took a circuitous route to the hotel business. In 1988, at the age of 54, he opened his first Aman, Amapuri in Phuket, and single-handedly created a new category of travel. The concept—a superexclusive boutique resort that eschews ostentation in favor of intimate luxury and discreet elegance—seems obvious in retrospect, but it was, at the time, a revelation. Now an empire of 15 resorts (all but one of them with fewer than 40 rooms), Amans have become a kind of religion among veteran travelers who value privacy and style above value: rooms typically run $600 to $800 a night but can easily top $2,000 for villas with their own pools. Though each Aman is unique, with a wide variety of settings and radically different architecture, the atmosphere, the "Aman-ness" of every property, is always unmistakable.

The Amankora near the town of Paro, Zecha's first completed property in Bhutan, is a perfect embodiment of this Aman essence. The first thing you notice upon arriving is that there is no registration desk. Instead, you are met in a courtyard at the end of a winding walkway strewn with pine needles by a receiving line of staff who welcome you with what feels like delighted sincerity. While your bags are quietly spirited to your room, someone runs to fetch your drink of choice and someone else leads you to a comfy chair in a living room with a spectacular view. As you chat about the weather, your plane ride and the things that you'd like to do in Bhutan (information that will be used by the staff to craft eerily on-target suggestions for outings and activities for the remainder of your trip—"Hiking? Archery? Fishing?"), you are discreetly handed a small registration sheet, already filled out, which will be the last thing you sign until you leave.

"Yes, yes," Zecha nods. "Those things are not accidents." Guests should feel, he says, as if they are entering a friend's home or their own vacation home.

Much of what makes Amans distinctive is how studiously they avoid most of the signifiers the rest of the hospitality industry employs to trumpet their properties as "high class." The guest rooms at most Amans have no television, let alone on-demand movies or high-speed Internet access. There is almost no signage directing guests to the pool, the restaurant or the spa. The gift shops carry no logo-branded T shirts or beach towels. There are virtually no logos anywhere, except on matchbook covers and stationary. And there are certainly no single-serving plastic bottles of soap, shampoo and hair conditioner in the shower. Zecha literally shudders at the thought. "So tacky," he declares. At Amans, there are full-sized bars of soap, and bath gel, conditioner and moisturizer are put into refillable ceramic or glass vessels.

As with any property, space is the ultimate luxury, so Aman guest rooms are almost obscenely large—50 square meters is the minimum—with plenty of sunlight and unobstructed views. The beds are oversized, and the pillows and sheets are of the highest quality, but almost nothing is a name brand. Building materials are muted, natural and tend to be locally sourced. Here in Bhutan, Australia-born, Singapore-based architect Kerry Hill used compacted-earth walls and corrugated-tin roofs in his designs. "Gold taps and marble floors just don't make much sense for us," he says.

Although the guest rooms are large, the Aman public spaces and dining rooms tend to be far smaller, aiming for a cozy and intimate feel, with fireplaces, armchairs, libraries, board games and communal tables. Service also emphasizes the feeling that you are staying at someone's home (admittedly, someone who is very, very rich). The staff is almost entirely local, and typically outnumbers guests 4 to 1. They are professional without being stiff, ever present without being overbearing and so friendly it's almost suspicious. They will happily chat with you about their own families, their jobs, places they have traveled themselves.

This formula has made Aman a word that can bring a hushed awe to cocktail parties, and the company placed No. 1 in the 2004 Zagat Survey of Top International Hotels, Resorts and Spas, beating out such giants as the Four Seasons, Mandarin Oriental and Ritz-Carlton. "We have more than 100,000 repeat customers," says Zecha. "Now, this is a company with less than 540 rooms—total. Many chains have more rooms in a single hotel. We call the repeat customers Amanjunkies." After a pause, he adds: "I should say that the customers call themselves this as well. It's an honorable word."

Despite Aman's genius at tapping into—and apparently brainwashing—a previously unfulfilled market, the company has been cursed, to a degree, by its own success. After Zecha's first properties opened in tropical getaway havens like Phuket and Bali, it didn't take long for a host of competitors to move in. High-end, stand-alone cottages—complete, of course, with en-suite infinity pools that overlook the ocean—are now de rigueur throughout Southeast Asia. "There are a lot of Amanwannabes," says Zecha.

To stay one step ahead of the voracious demands of travelers, Aman has in recent years been shifting its offerings. New resorts tend to offer not just the guarantee of sumptuous relaxation but the promise of experiences that can't be reproduced. "Bali, Phuket, Bora Bora—these are places of ultimate pleasure," says Zecha. "But Aman-I-Khas is a tented camp in the middle of the Ranthambhore Forest in India. The only reason for going there is if you love wild animals."

In other words, Aman started out selling destinations but is increasingly selling journeys. And, in that vein, expansion into Bhutan, one of the world's most isolated countries, is Aman's boldest gambit yet in the contest to provide the ultrarich with extreme exoticism—without ever sacrificing luxury.

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