For the past 20 years or so, I have had what can only be described as a series of utterly ridiculous jobs – spa reviewer for GQ; the person Condé Nast Traveller turn to when no one else is available; fashion industry hanger-on – which means I have been to all manner of amazing hotels. I’ve stayed at Amangiri and La Mamounia, drunk cocktails on the deck of private lodges deep in the Arabian desert, idled in over-water villas in the Maldives… But if I could click my fingers right now and be instantly transported to one place, it would be the San Luis in the Dolomites.
It’s a pretty simple affair – a dozen or so chalets and treehouses arranged around a lake. Everything is made of what feels like newly hewn wood, the food is heartily South Tyrolean, the views are absurd. It’s a family business in the truest sense of the word: the guy who owns the place carries your bag from your taxi, his mum designed the rooms.
There are ski slopes 20 minutes away by car, but really this is a place to hole up and hide out. If you really have to do something, you could ride a bike along a woodland path or plunge into the water, but simply being there is transformative enough. Go in the spring when the air is so piney and fresh that you feel like you could survive on it alone.
David Annand is editorial director of Secret Trips
