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( February 8th, 2011 )
Posada Lamar
We landed in Cancun, easy charters from just about anywhere, and escaped the hustle as fast as we could. Tulúm is located an hour and a half south, and still remains what Cancun (or Playa del Carmen) used to be. On what may be one of the most beautiful sandy stretches of beach on the planet, change is very slow in coming. It’s retained the atmosphere of Goa and Ibiza, those mythic destinations of the 60’s immortalized in Barbet Schroeder’s More or James Michener’s The Drifters — no big hotels or resorts, no jet skis, no beach vendors, no timeshares, only an attractive and engaging mismatch of cabañas, huts, driftwood cabins, yoga retreats and palapas. Posada Lamar is a small authentic place that doesn’t pretend to be what it’s not, eight rustic habitationes owned by a wonderful Mexican family. It symbolizes the spirit of Tulúm. Simple life on the beach. Posada Lamar is all laughter, singing, warmth and gentleness. Immaculate sheets and towels provided daily, the staff always laughing and singing, delicious breakfasts and wireless connection. What else do you need? The kitchen is small, so there’s no restaurant onsite. For us, lunch was often next door at Kin Ha, avocado and tuna mix con Pacifico or Dos Equis, and dinner a few steps away in one of the delicious and more sophisticated recent beach restaurants such as Margherita’s or Hemingway’s. Hammocks, cenotes, massages and dogs. The golden retriever labs have now established the territorial dominance of their tribe. During our stay the owners, Mario and Felicia, came to visit with their children, so we improvised an impromptu photo shoot on the beach.
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( July 22nd, 2010 )
236 Hurumzi
The Indian Ocean calmed, lightened to turquoise. The ferry glided past dhows, their ragged sails shaped like shark fins, past nefarious rusting vessels, and into port, stopping in front of a wall of centuries-old buildings, squeezed together and set behind long stretches of powdery-white sand.
“Welcome to Zanzibar. Do you have Typhoid?” The immigration officer asked.
“No.”
“Yellow Fever?”
“Not yet. Which way to the 236 Hurumzi?” I inquired after being admitted.
He pointed at the wall of coral stone buildings.
I walked towards where he pointed, into the heart of Stone Town, the ancient soul of Zanzibar, and was immediately lost in a labyrinth of narrow alleyways lined with curio shops, spice vendors and mosques calling the faithful to prayer. It would be three days before I could navigate this maze without assistance.
After a long day of travel, the 236 Hurumzi, once I did find it, invited me to fall into the island’s languid pace. I dropped my bags, collapsed onto a bed fit for a harem and let the ceiling fan cool me. The three story Hurumzi dates back to the early 1800s and was once the home to a prominent figure in the Swahili Empire. Its 16 private rooms are spacious, and its elegant Indian, Persian and Arab antique furnishings allow you to escape back to the early 18th century when the Omani Sultanate ruled the island. Up a steep set of well-worn and creaking stairs, as if on a pirate ship, was my room’s private, open-air tea room replete with a swing and opium-den cushions, overlooking the rooftops of Stone Town, and the placid Zanzibar Straight beyond.
A few locals and I spent evenings here drinking, cooling off from the day’s oppressive humidity, listening to the town settling in for the night.
“Try and leave”, one girl said to me on one of these evenings. “Try and leave Zanzibar willingly… It won’t be easy.”
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( February 10th, 2010 )
Ace Hotel, New York
When you live in Vancouver one of the best escapes entails driving south to Seattle to go see a show, and, inevitably, spending the night at the first Ace Hotel in the heart of Belltown. When the Ace in Portland opened three years ago it gave us a great excuse to push the trips by a few hours, rediscover Oregon, and smuggle Stumptown coffee beans back across the border. Rather recently, Alex Calderwood (along with Wade Weigle, Jack Baron and Doug Herrick) opened the Ace Hotel & Swim Club in Palm Springs and the Ace Hotel in New York at 29th and Broadway. Each place is different, and, come to think of it, quite evocative of their environments. This Ace was designed by the New York firm Roman and Williams and includes The Breslin Restaurant (the name of the original SRO hotel) which is owned by Ken Friedman and chef April Bloomfield of Greenwich Village’s treasured Spotted Pig. I love the Ace because it’s simple and comfortable. There’s an Ivy League reading room table, deep couches, Stumptown coffee in the morning, Hendrick’s Gin in the morning, and terrine boards… Feels like home and anyone from the Pacific Northwest might feel esoterically proud when drinking or staying here.
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