The Errant Æsthete

 

Circa 1951. Ivy League meets Field and Stream or in today’s equivalent GQ knuckle bumps Garden and Gun. The venerable Dartmouth college, like all institutions of their day, recruited the finest young men of their generation with the promise of more than studious pursuits. The Dartmouth man, after all, was a rugged individualist reared for more manly men activities like hiking, hunting, canoeing, skiing, skating, mountaineering, word chopping, fly-fishing and, did I mention, girls? Hundreds of them, consorting at the annual social event of the season and biggest party of the year, the fabled Dartmouth Winter Carnival.

For a jaunty little stroll down memory line, long before spandex, crash helmets and clip-on ski boots, treat yourself to plaid flannel shirts, loose-fitting khakis, saddle shoes and the coolest car on campus — a woody. (Not a tattoo to be seen). Peer into the world of 1950′s Ivy League privilege in this quaintest of remnants. Pure Norman Rockwell.

 

VIEW

 

Posted in Classics
Tags: Dartmouth, FILM, nostalgia, recruiting

His work has been called a “caress to the eyes.” A visionary who has worked with Richard Avedon and Irving Penn in rendering exquisite interpretations of female beauty.

Discover or re-discover the vision of Serge Lutens, French, photographer, film maker, perfume art director, hair stylist, fashion designer and creator of the “Les Salons du Palais Royal”, a house of perfume.

Perfume
is a form of writing,
An ink,
A choice
made in the first person,
The dot on the I,
A weapon,
A courteous gesture,
Pat of the instant,
A consequence.

Books:
Serge Lutens
L’Esprit Serge Lutens: The Spirit of Beauty

Website

Shiseido Paris

Posted in FASHION, Photography, Style & Savior Faire
Tags: perfume, Photography, sergelutens, shiseido

Miss Austen
understood
the smallness of life
to perfection.
She was
a great artist
equal in her small sphere
to Shakespeare…”

Alfred Lord Tennyson

I cannot imagine a lovelier way to spend a winter’s day than at the enthralling exhibition at the Morgan library currently featuring the life, work, and legacy of Jane Austen (1775–1817), one of the most widely read and most beloved writers in English literature. Offering a close-up portrait of the iconic British author, whose popularity has surged over the last two decades with numerous motion picture and television adaptations of her work, the show provides tangible intimacy with Austen through the presentation of more than 100 works, including her manuscripts, personal letters, and related materials, many of which the Morgan has not exhibited in over a quarter century.

Austen wrote perhaps 3,000 letters over the course of her 41 years, most to her sister, Cassandra, who burned many and expurgated others that she believed reflected badly on Jane or other family members. Only 160 survive; the Morgan holds 51, more than any other institution. This exhibition offers a healthy sampling, some with pieces cut out in Cassandra’s quest for decorum.

Here, in the trace of Austen’s hand, can be seen her vibrancy, fluency and discipline; the script is careful, clean, yet fast. In some letters, you can feel an almost ecstatic volubility. And the famous Austin wit is unmistakable.

In one of the crosshatched letters to Cassandra, Jane confides that she must have drunk too much at a ball the night before; she danced 9 of the 12 dances, she said, and “was merely prevented from dancing the rest by the want of a partner.”

Think of that physical energy modified and controlled to conform with social propriety, adhering to the manners that she both celebrates and mocks in her fiction. That energy erupts, again and again, almost mischievously.

“Mr Waller is dead, I see,” she announces. “ I cannot grieve about it, nor perhaps can his Widow very much.”

Because paper was expensive, Austen typically used a single sheet, folded in half to make four pages. But when she had more to say, she would fill all usable space, then (as was sometimes the custom) turn the sheet sideways and write perpendicularly over her own script. She completed one letter here by turning it upside down and writing between the lines. One must marvel at the unfathomable dedication required in the simple act of writing in the 18th century.

A Woman’s Wit: Jane Austen’s Life and Legacy also includes first and early illustrated editions of Austen’s novels as well as drawings and prints depicting people, places, and events of biographical significance. A highlight of the exhibition is a specially commissioned film by the noted Italian director Francesco Carrozzini, featuring interviews with artists and scholars that is rich, thoughtful and, dare I say, refreshingly, articulate.

“A Woman’s Wit: Jane Austen’s Life and Legacy” runs through March 14 at the Morgan Library & Museum, 225 Madison Avenue,

The Divine Jane: Reflections on Austen from The Morgan Library & Museum
NYTimes: Exhibition Review

Image (top): Drawing by Isabel Bishop of a scene from “Pride and Prejudice.”

Posted in Arts & Letters, Exhibits, Notable Aesthetes
Tags: exhibit, janeaustin, Literature

“Making pictures of people
in all sorts of situations,
I learned that every feeling
waits upon its gesture,
and I had to be prepared
to recognize this moment
when I saw it.

These were things
a story writer
needed to know.”

“The camera was a hand-held auxiliary
of wanting-to-know.”

“While I was very well positioned
for taking these pictures,
I was rather oddly equipped
for doing it.”

Eudora Welty in New York: Photographs of the Early 1930s

Now on view at the Museum of the City of New York, through Feb. 16, mcny.org, featuring the privations of the Depression and patterns in the New York City streetscape.

Smithsonian: Eudora Welty as Photographer

Art Review: Portraits Taken by the Writer as a Young Woman (in Hard Times)

Excerpts: One Writer’s Beginnings, Eudora Welty

While the Pulitzer-Prize-winning author, Eudora Welty, possessed observational skills with both words and images, it is her gift as a human being, a gracious and charming Southern woman, that she is most remembered for. In a wonderful tribute: “A Shrine to Southern Literature, Slightly Frayed.” NY Times, May 4, 2006, former anchorman, journalist and friend, Roger Mudd, tells of an evening he and his wife spent with Eudora and a friend as dinner guests at her home in Jackson, Mississippi, the house her father built in 1925, where she lived until her death in 2001.

“The evening E. J. and I came for supper, we learned that nothing gets started at 1119 Pinehurst without a sip or two or three of bourbon. It was Maker’s Mark and Eudora poured. With us was Charlotte Capers, Eudora’s best buddy and then the director of the Mississippi Department of Archives and History.

On the coffee table was a plate of sun-dried tomatoes and crackers. The conversation was rich, funny and very Southern. After another round of bourbon, Eudora excused herself to put dinner on. I asked if I could help. Charlotte, in that rumbly, throaty voice of hers, said: “Don’t go near the kitchen. It is strictly off limits.” Eudora felt that she and not her guests should be the host. But truth be told, her kitchen was not only too small for two but also in a state of permanent disarray.

So I stayed seated, sipping, munching and applying the sun-dried tomatoes to the crackers. Then from the kitchen came a sharp crash. Without missing a beat, Charlotte said, “Well, there goes dinner.” I went to the kitchen, despite Charlotte’s warning. On the floor lay our dinner — a shattered Pyrex baking dish and Eudora’s crab casserole. I grabbed a broom, a mop and a dustpan and cleaned up the best I could, as Eudora repeated embarrassed apologies.

We went ahead with dinner on the walnut dining room table, clear of books and manuscripts and set for four. The menu consisted of more bourbon, sun-dried tomatoes, crackers and a salvaged side of string beans. We laughed through the entire meal.

Two weeks later I received in the mail a recipe for “Eudora’s Crab Dish,” written in her spidery hand.

“Combine ingredients,” it read, “place in buttered Pyrex dish. Top with cracker crumbs & paprika. Bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes. Remove from oven, immediately invert dish and allow to reach kitchen floor. Test to see if thoroughly shattered. If Roger Mudd is dinner guest, he will quickly appear and take care of everything.”

The kitchen is now tidied up, of course, but in my mind there will always be Eudora’s casserole on the floor.”

Posted in Arts & Letters, Notable Aesthetes, Photography
Tags: anecdote, eudorawelty, Photography, rogermudd

On January 2, 2010, a reader noted:

“I have the impression you are a gay male.
However, notwithstanding that …”

 

This, following on the heels of another comment two weeks earlier:

“I had no idea you weren’t male,
or even gay (like myself).”

 

These two most recent comments are certainly not the first to be voiced on the Errant Aesthete, yet after learning that cases of mistaken identity abound on the internet as evidenced by friend and fellow blogger, Little Augury [Ladies and Gentlemen] I thought, perhaps, a bit of clarification is in order.

Like LA, my avatar, too, is female which I mistakenly thought would settle the matter of gender once and for all. If it should even matter, which au fond it does not. Yet, it would appear that the lithe and lovely form of my female chanteuse is being perceived as a decidedly attractive man — dressed in drag. (Or, perhaps, it is my queenly writing style that is leaving readers mystified).

For the digital record, I am a heterosexual of the female persuasion, who is just the least bit flattered by the confusion, since I openly admit to an obsession for trousers and ties on me and on men (hetero and otherwise). It is my hope that this revelation, which has been in some doubt, will not offend, alienate, torment or anguish any and all.

When dealing with stifling matters, it is recommended to end on a charming note. Hence, a bit of amusement from Daphne Fielding, Marchioness of Bath:

It doesn’t matter

what you do

in the bedroom

as long as you

don’t do it in the street

and frighten the horses.

Photo: Milton Montenegro

Posted in Errant Aesthete
Tags: confusion, errantaesthete, gender, littleaugury

While most posts of New Year’s Eve will feature popping champagne corks, streams of colored confetti, throngs of revelers, clinking glasses, foil-fringed party horns, dropping balls and rising plumes of stars cascading across the night skies, the Errant Aesthete, in true contrarian fashion, has chosen a somewhat quieter image to pay tribute. While this night view of one of the oldest bridges in the United States, the Brooklyn Bridge, was captured within the first hours of a newly fallen snow, it is its simple and sparse loveliness that holds special appeal to me. I could not have known that it would prove to be symbolic and seminal in ways unimagined.

For one, its history tells of a dire series of events that very nearly squelched the bridge’s existence were it not for Emily Warren Roebling, the wife of the chief engineer, Washington Roebling, who spent eleven years dispensing guidance and critically essential design instructions to the on-site crews after her husband suffered a paralyzing injury. Hence, while bridges are often glorified as passageways uniting the old with the new, or the familiar to the unknown, there is something in their majesty and bearing that always softens and soothes.

Perhaps it comes from the nostalgia for the places they evoke; in this instance, the place of my birth, affectionately christened “The City of Bridges,” Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, or maybe it’s nothing more than the secret little thrill that terrifies and excites each time you cross over water, canyons, or death-defying precipices like the unfamiliar.

So this year, this bridge, at least for the Errant Aesthete, has come to mean not only the ending and beginning of things, but the continuum engendered, despite obstacles, failings, and thunderous doubt. Having crossed, I feel what can only be likened to a crush of sentimentality, fellowship, warmth and gratitude over the bonds created, the connections forged, and the ideas shared over incalculable miles with readers from places that beckon in their intrigue and humble in their enormity at what an insignificant little journal of bits and bytes can elicit.

I spoke earlier in a post entitled ‘Reflections 2009′ of EA being very small and mostly unnoticed since its inception in mid 2007. Yet, the obscurity suddenly, almost miraculously, changed through the notice and unfailing support of others, prompting flight, or what I deemed, “a small excursion … but one of significance to its creator.”

As one of my dear blogging acquaintances, Arti from Ripple Effects, noted: “Amidst the ever increasing chaos and turmoil in our world, it’s all the more essential that we carve out a niche for beauty and contemplation. Herein lies the effect of your site.”

Her eloquence goes to the heart of my intent. My thought in creating EA was to do little more than send a bit of grace into a world hell bent on doing its damnedest to diminish and blunt. The idea of establishing a sanctuary, a refuge of words and images, where friends gathered and a genuine love of aesthetics (not to mention an expertly made cocktail or two) thrived, where something as inconspicuous as a bridge, for example, could take on new meaning or, as another reader observed, “lull and lift,” leading from the lamentable misery of what surrounds us day to day to a more secluded spot untroubled by the woes of the weary. I remember reading some time ago of an idea that has stayed with me: that one is rarely, if ever, catapulted into failure, but instead, quietly and senselessly, nudged into it.

Might that idea be reversed? I can’t pretend to know, but I had a bit of time to try. EA was, and is, that effort. To any of you it has reached, whether through — a piece of whimsy, a glimpse of art, a story of redemption, a whiff of indescribable beauty, a sampling of impeccable style, a breeding long since lost, and a semblance of a class only vaguely remembered; or a quip, a photo, a sonata, a perfectly turned out phrase, or the constellation of a perfectly-ordered room along with the imperfect plan that created it; an experience shared, a memory revived, a piece well placed, a meal well served and an unnatural aching for a bridge long since traveled — it has all resonated from here and I am the richer for it.

Where the bridge leads? I know not; although it is understood that it is more in the traveling than the arrival. As to the destination? I draw inspiration from Herman Melville:

 

It is not down in any map;

true places never are.

 

Photo: Michael Magill, 1995

Posted in Errant Aesthete
Tags: yearend2009

Winter in Kiev, 2002

“One should sympathize
with the joy,
the beauty,
the color of life.
The less said
about life’s sores
the better.”

It seems as though Lord Illingworth’s words in Oscar Wilde’s fin-de-siècle drama A Woman of No Importance had traveled through time to manifest themselves in the work of Karen Kilimnik. For the dandy Oscar Wilde, beauty was synonymous with genius. For the artist Karen Kilimnik, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

The Snow Queen’s sleigh, 2007

Her art conjures up associations of nostalgia and decadence. In her works, she creates idealized images of bygone times, only to then dismantle them just as quickly.

In an exhibition at Sprüth Magers in Cologne, Kilimnik for example, she showcased the Snow Queen’s Sleigh: a photographic work depicting a winter forest with a glittering sleigh piled high with presents.

To complement this magical setting, the artist, in a moment of inspiration, constructed a perfectly landscaped snowy birch forest in the adjoining gallery rooms to give visitors the impression of being in a winter wonderland.

A hint of dolce far niente imbued another of Kilimnik’s exhibition at the London Gallery Sprüth Magers in the summer of 2007, when she hung her paintings on pink striped walls that startlingly recalled the dressing tents on the beaches of the Lido during the turn of the 19th century. Again, one could almost smell the salt air.

Sugarplume Fairyland

Kilimnik is recognized for paintings that combine art historical tradition, modish topicality, and an awkward intimacy and fragility. The works also draw on literary traditions of gothic mystery and fairy tales, presenting narratives that unfold over the course of a series of related paintings.

Snow White, 2004

The artist has said of her work:

“Being so inspired by fairy tales, mysteries, books, TV shows and ballets etc. I like to make up characters myself as if I’m a playwright and these are characters and scenes I invented or observed… So I’ll see a picture of someone or something in a photo or a painting and cast them in my so-called play as a character I’ve made up or sometimes borrowed.”

Prince Charming, 1998

Small oil paintings of pop culture figures such as Snow White and Leonardo DiCaprio, are swirled into classical settings and displayed salon-style in a parlor room constructed in the gallery complete with damask wallpaper and a settee.

Planning the Attack of Malta, the Mastermind, 2001

Kilimnik’s voluptuous, sometimes almost kitschy images could easily be misunderstood as being reactionary, a flight into a pre-modern, presumably better time.

The Castle Great Staircase, Scotland (2007)

She paints sumptuous country estates in lush parks, a carriage decorated with violet feathers that rattles down London’s magnificent boulevard The Mall, or 5 o’clock tea in the very respectable atmosphere of a British hotel.

The Royal Little Red Riding Hood, 2007

During the romantic era, artists created wonderfully dramatic works from precisely this flight impulse.

Ragley Hall-Tour of England , 2000

Perhaps the theme that best conveys Kilimnik’s art is that of longing. Her paintings remind one of the famous statement of Henry James, who once declared that for him "summer" and "afternoon" were the two most beautiful words in the English language.

The Perch, 2003

It's as though the artist were pining after a distinguished and decadent life feeling of an upper class that today is becoming more and more forgotten.

 

For more on Karen Kilimnik’s work: db artmag

Posted in Art & Architecture, Exhibits
Tags: artist, Karen Kilimnik

“The golden moments
in the stream of life
rush past us
and we see nothing
but sand.

The angels
come to visit us,
and we only know them
when they are gone.”

-George Elliot

 

The year I created The Errant Aesthete, I christened the first salon “Reflections”. It seemed apt at the time as the end of 2007 was nearing, making way for 2008. A little of what I said then:

Welcome to the errant aesthete’s first salon.

A forum if you will, but ever so much more fun than if you were slumming on another blog of diminished style and sensibility. William Wordsworth once remarked that you should “Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart,” and I hope you’ll feel these salons the perfect place to do that. In lieu of paper — so passé mon cherie — I offer you the limitless outreaches of cyberspace.

With the end of the year fast approaching … what will you remember as the high and low points for the year? What will you consider gained and/or lost?

You can read the full text here. Sadly, this little forum went silent in 2008 when EA was still very small and mostly unnoticed, but this past year, the Errant Aesthete has taken flight, a small excursion to be sure, but one of significance to its creator.

I have been profoundly moved by many of the thoughts readers have posted throughout the year and I would think it an honor to have you pen your own reflections in this space. While I will be writing a reflection or two of my own in the coming days, I invite you to share in this year-end tradition with me. You can find the “Reflections” salon on the SIDEBAR to the right. It can be said in words or in art since many are more comfortable with the latter. And, of course, it can always be shielded anonymously. Something, of which, I know a bit about as evidenced in the recent purging of my own hesitant soul: “Noticed.”

While EA may be a singular odyssey, its richness and appeal, to my mind, is in the friendships and contributions of each one of you. When a comment comes in from somewhere half way across the globe or just down the street, I marvel at this experience that unites us. This wondrous little conclave of aesthetes, errant and otherwise, who fill these pages with insight and inspiration. My heartfelt thanks.

 

Artwork: An Hoang

Posted in Arts & Letters, Excerpts
Tags: anhoang, georgeelliot, quote

VIEW

Simply too delightful to be missed or to go unnoticed. The holidays continue to be in full swoon, so please consider this a late, but wonderfully blooming entry.

 

 

Posted in Idle Chatter, Music
Tags: Christmas, Music, silentmonks

I’m dreamin’ tonight of a place I love
Even more then I usually do
And although I know it’s a long road back
I promise you

I’ll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light beams
I’ll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

 

The image is sparse and simple, evocative. The soothing sounds of the sleigh gliding through a blinding blanket of white pulled along with care and confidence by that most magnificent of creatures, what one would suppose is called a “warmblood”, a cross between hot bloods and cold bloods in the language and lore of horses. The majesty of the animal’s bearing is a thing to behold. And how unnaturally quiet and otherworldly that ride must have been.

Maybe the lyrics are a bit trite or cloyingly sentimental, but even the hardened of hearts find comfort in nostalgia every now and again. So if gruff and grump (soul mates of bah humbug) and a huge dose of reality are denying you a well deserved trip to a far off exotic destination this Christmas, or if responsibility and/or other matters of a pressing nature (pressing being the operative word here) are keeping you away and apart from those you love this year, settle for the simple enchantment of your own little sanctuary, where retreat, reflection and the simplest of joys can be found — blissfully free of disturbance and 2010 debt.

The kitchen is always the soul of the home so the wise will know that the hearth not only provides warmth, but sustenance. Decadent sustenance.

GUINNESS GINGERBREAD

Ingredients:

2/3 cup Guinness stout
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tbs best-quality unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
2 1/4 teaspoons ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 large eggs
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar
2/3 cup molasses
3/4 cup vegetable or canola oil

Position a rack in the center of the oven. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly butter and flour a 9 x 9 x 2 square cake pan.

1. In a medium saucepan, bring the beer to a simmer and remove from heat.

2. Sift together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, ginger, white pepper, and cinnamon into a medium bowl.

3. In a large bowl, whisk the eggs, granulated sugar, brown sugar, and molasses until smooth. Whisk in the oil to combine. Whisk in the dry ingredients in three batches, alternating with the beer. (Dry, beer, dry, beer, dry.) Mix until just combined. Do not over mix.

4. Pour the batter into the prepared cake pan. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes, or until a wooden skewer inserted into the center comes out clean. Remove to a wire rack to cool. The gingerbread is best at room temperature with freshly whipped cream.

Now what to pair this lovely bread of ginger with? How about a bit of eggnog. There’s a well known and enthusiastically practiced tradition for hard-core eggnog fanatics, who make it a year in advance, swearing it is the finest elixir to ever cross one’s lips. I’ve no doubt of the authenticity of this claim, yet for one encumbered with a general resistance to plans of any sort, there is a second option. Three weeks! Better to be sure. And finally, gratefully, there’s the version of eggnog for those of us who tend to live on one speed — the fly.

CHRISTMAS EGGNOG

Ingredients:

* 12 large eggs
* 2 cups granulated sugar
* 1 cup heavy cream
* 1 quart (4 cups) whole milk
* 1 liter (about 4 cups) bourbon, such as Jim Beam
* 1/2 cup Myers’s dark rum
* 1/2 to 1 cup good Cognac or other brandy
* Pinch kosher salt
* 1 whole nutmeg

To serve (optional):

* 10 egg whites
* 1 1/2 cups heavy cream

For the specifics.

With warm gingerbread in hand, and eggnog in cup, savor the spirit of Christmas in one of the season’s finest cinematic tributes. Christmas in Connecticut.

Think of it like this: With the entire month of December, oftentimes, feeling like one long screwball comedy: lots of running back and forth, too much to do and not enough time to do it, inhaling excessive amounts of holiday cheer with people you’d best do to avoid, let alone get stiff with, it’s good to know that before the screwball era was over, Hollywood remembered to give us a Christmas comedy that’s still worth watching today.

A wonderful review by flickfilosopher here.

And lastly, the quintessential book of sugared delights vital for a season customized to order around the seven deadly (or is it heavenly) sins. (Sloth, greed, and gluttony immediately come to mind).

Merry Christmas!

Photograph (top): Hans Klaus Techt/EPA

Posted in Epicurean Epiphanies
Tags: christmas2009, christmasinconnecticut, eggnog, guinnessgingerbread, Recipes

What? Is she mad, touting adventures on a short work week (for those of you still working), or a mere four days before Christmas and cheekily calling it Christmas Getaways? Hard times often require bigger imaginations, loftier goals, out-of-this-world aspirations. Everything begins with the slightest of thoughts, the faintest of wishes. A few adult fantasies to carry you into the new year and, perhaps, land you right into the middle of something you hardly thought possible. Just in time for next Christmas. You can dream, can’t you?

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While this may not appeal to the seekers of sun and warmth, the idea of watching the legendary Northern Lights (Aurora borealis) while curled up in bed as a twosome basking in the glow is certainly an enticement worth considering. The Hotel Kakslauttanen is the home of the Igloo Village, famed for its unique Glass and Snow Igloos. This winter wonderland also boasts the World’s Largest Snow Restaurant completely furnished in elaborately carved ice sculptures illuminated in celestial light. The Northern Lights are visible from late August to late April and are reputed to be as breathtaking as described.

Kakslauttanen Hotel & Igloo Village
Saariselka Lapland
99830 Saariselka

For those of you who gush over Madame Bovary (“Moi? ” she exclaimed in feigned surprise) and dream of rambling through magnificent French chateaus in the countryside, the Mirais House is most decidedly your rose petaled cup of tea. The 16th-century five-story townhouse resides on the oldest street in the Marais and is a museum of character, brandishing a 15th-century vaulted cellar and stone floor. If this sounds wonderfully “Harry Potter” to you, consider that its neighboring house was built by the very chemist who inspired J.K. Rowling’s precocious wizard.

This is a bed and breakfast meant for holiday romps overflowing with wine. Where do I sign? Owner Yann-Gabriel Hentschke is a gifted storyteller, using as his tools gorgeous silks, antiques, wrought iron banisters, stone fireplaces and 16th-century terra cotta tiles while crowning the five bedrooms with clunky wooden canopys and mahogany-paneled bathrooms. Rent a room, or rent the entire building, as the famed and fabulous are wont to do.

Marais House
Rue De Turenne
75003 Paris
T: +33616133990

Who of us, particularly those of us, with a penchant for the far flung lust-driven affair has not entertained the possibility of an old-world romance? Just once. Imagine strolling arm and arm through the vineyards of the Valpolicella region just outside Romeo and Juliet’s hometown of Verona, with plans to spend the coming days and nights in a hypnotic Venetian-style villa infused with a whacky blend of contemporaneous uber-stylish-arty-luxe rooms?

Welcome to the fabled Byblos Art Hotel, just 7 kilometers away from the noble, operatic and romantic city of Verona. It is no wonder that the Italians seem to have perfected the nuances of love, no? Everything is considered. Dining in the Restaurant Atelier with local and international dishes that make every meal a culinary sensation, or spending unusually prolonged moments of lost time in a refined atmosphere of cocktails, aperitifs and delicately prepared h’orderves in a place as unpretentious as its name: Peter’s Bar. Or sampling one of the 1400 selections of wine housed in what is fittingly described as a fourteenth century wine cellar furnished with classical pieces coordinated with works of contemporary art. Romeo and Juliet never had it so good.

Byblos Art Hotel Villa Amista
Via Cedrare, 78,
Corrubbio Di San Pietro In Cariano
(Verona)
37020 Italy
T: +39-045-685-5555

I have no way of knowing who reads these pages, but I would suspect that a few of you share my yearning for the unconventional, which is why a sojourn to Adrere Amellal is so suitably in order. Located at the foot of the White Mountain in Egypt’s Siwa Oasis, this is not a spot for the meek, the spoiled or the entitled. For example, do you expect your hotel to be made out of bricks and mortar? Does living without 24-hour room service bring you out in a rash? Is air conditioning essential, or even, is electricity itself essential? If you answer yes to any of the above, you may wish to click your browser’s “back” button, as the Adrere Amellal will feel like a step into another world.

Because it is. A step into another world, which is exactly what you’re looking for. Right? Adrere Amellal is a serious eco-lodge built using all local design, manpower and materials. Moreover, everything that is eaten, (carnivores beware as the menu is primarily vegetarian) is grown in the gardens. The 34 rooms and suites are simply furnished, but quality is of a high standard, so the thought of a palm-frond door shouldn’t put you off. Despite the lack of electricity, hot water is available thanks to a gas heating system, and lighting at night is from lanterns and candles. Included in the price of a stay at the Adrere Amellal are a variety of excursions including a trip to Cleopatra’s Bath and visits to the picturesque village of Siwa.

Just to reiterate; there is no reception, air-conditioning or electricity. What there is is a pool, and less tangibly a feeling of total seclusion and peace. If you crave insight into what it feels like to be a Berber living in the Sahara, or if you ever dreamed of escaping the world as it is, and who hasn’t, Adrere Amellal is there. Truly there. Not a mirage, but a certifiable once-in-a-lifetime destination. Change you can believe in as the saying goes.

Adrere Amellal
18 Mansour Mohamed Street
Zamalek, Siwa,
11212 Egypt
T: +202.2738.1327

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You may be wondering what’s left for those of us blighted with debt, responsibility, near impoverishment and not one plan for anything special this Christmas. Fear not. I’ll get to you tomorrow.

Posted in Uncategorized
Tags: christmasgetaways, destinations, Egypt, Italy, Lapland, Paris, sojourns

“I like to have my morning newspaper ironed before I read it. I like to have my shoes boned before they are polished. I like to sit in the back of the car and be driven. I like beds to be made, dish to be washed, grass to be cut, drinks to be served, telephones to be answered, and common tasks to be dealt with invisibly and efficiently so that I can devote my time to major decisions like the choice of wines for dinner…”

 

One of the pleasures of memory is, I think, rediscovery. You stumble across a poem you memorized once in high school, you find a book title in a bin, a book you once savored and seemingly misplaced, or happen upon a passage like the one above from Acquired Tastes by Peter Mayle (author of the wonderfully consumable A Year in Provence).

For the unfamiliar, Mayle wrote the individual pieces that comprise the book when on assignment for GQ some years ago, where he was given the arduous task of sallying forth to sample the little luxuries of the richest and the best that life is reputed to offer.

As the review attests, “With unabashed gusto [Mayle] praises good cigars, grand hotels, Parisian bistros, second homes, antiques and fresh truffles. With swank savvy he reviews the advantages and drawbacks of servants, the pleasures and costs of mistresses. His excursions comprise an informal buyer’s guide to single-malt whiskies, pure Mongolian cashmere, deluxe shirts and hand-made London shoes.”

For ballast, he presents curmudgeonly diatribes on lawyers, tipping, New Year’s resolutions, writers’ gripes, Christmas (“the universal expensive habit”) and Manhattan’s giddy spending opportunities. Those were the days! You might remember them.

Having rediscovered this delightful celebration of the little (and not-so-little) extravagances that make life worth living, I thought it worthy of reprise. Hence, for the coming year, (the slump and pinch of the recession be damned!), EA will feature excerpts of Mayle’s trenchant observations, written with his signature wit and brio, on the best and the second-rate that life has to offer. It matters, after all, not what your finances dictate, but what your inner connoisseur deems appropriate. Taste is, as they say, acquired, so best to follow in the step of a highbrow of exceptional erudition and visual acumen. Wouldn’t you say?

 

PRIMER

I. “Not Quite Right” (January 29, 2010)

Posted in Arts & Letters, CooL Covets, Excerpts, Style & Savior Faire
Tags: acquiredtastes, ayearinprovence, bestof, luxuries, petermayle