|
Grand-Hotel du Cap-Ferrat, France
Hidden away on the tip of the lush secluded peninsula, the Grand-Hôtel du Cap-Ferrat exudes grandeur galore with modern luxuries.
By: Mary Gostelow
To show that anti-ageing is working, the 101-year old palace, a member of Leading Small Hotels of the World, is now as youthful as a prima ballerina.
|
  |
Gustave Eiffel, who designed its rotunda, would be as delighted with it as with his other icon, the eponymous Paris tower. The black Mercedes S-500 purred along the winding coast road, east from Nice airport, and after 35 minutes we quietly turned into the 17.5-acre estate, in front of ten manicured laurel trees rising from white cyclamen, into a semi-discreet driveway in what can only be described as a classy area – you cannot see security, but you know the area is brimming with it. As you turn in, ahead left is the 1908 palace, in classical cream, all straight lines. Now, ahead right, is the 2009 sibling, a three-floor earth-colored snail-shape, that, thanks to local architect Luc Svetchine, houses all the 21st century additions. Both buildings' interiors are Pierre-Yves Rochon.
I knew this would be luxury, throughout – Rochon always provides that. Apparently here has had a hand in everything, including china design and, I guess, two-by-two feet eau-de-nil real-linen napkins with drawn-thread edging. Taking into account fabric, labor and maintenance costs, napkins like that signal real luxury. But first, to ‘normal’ check in. I went into the historical building, to a theater of palest cream-beige. The floor is polished Calcutta Cream, and beige Persian marble. Ahead and all around are columns, walls, conciergerie …cream-beige. Almost above me hangs a single chandelier, a silvery metal bird cage holding six crystal doves, by the Paris company Tisserant Art & Style, from an original in Versailles: immediately below are four white-covered arm chairs, around one of the many stunning all-white floral arrangements by an MOF for flowers, based in Nice. Ahead is Eiffel’s famous half-rotunda, a sitting area with off-white everything apart from art works, and four pale celadon table lamps that are high enough to make the area seem un-empty when empty, never crowded when full. I long to look more closely at one of the heavy books there, Demeures Contemporaines en Provence & Côte d’Azur, Wim Pauwels for Beta-Plus. Now, turning left, I find two sit-down reception desks, manned by chic young women in pure wool beige pure wool clothing by Philness, from Paris. I am offered fresh juice in a tall stemmed glass. A Lady in Beige does the details. I am escorted up in an intimate wrought iron and glass elevator (eight persons max, or 630 kg, would the marble-floored cabine support so much?). The elevator is squeezed in the surrounding arm of the 1908 staircase. At the third floor, we exit, to go along a corridor that lights as we approach. Here the beige carpet is paired with beige-brown patterned paper.
At suite 306, a pressure pad actives the door. The keypad shows part of the new-look logo: designer Yaffa Assouline has simplified the hotel’s former logo, which was a crowned pair of dolphins, a reminder that you often see dolphins off-shore here, spring and summer. Inside, I gasp at the space. I am in a foyer, stretching six feet in front of me and 12 feet from the walk-in closet on my left, across to the salon to the right. Floors throughout are ten inch wide palest oak. I dance to my salon, where moulded walls and ceiling are all palest mushroom, as are linen drapes and a 1950s-look rounded cabinet that is the minibar (Deutz is the champagne, here). The table-desk, jutting from one wall, is glass-topped mushroom alligator skin, like a big box holding stationery, like the leather-covered guide to services, and the leather-covered triangular wastepaper basket. Being me, I sit down straightaway, and could use either the cord provided, or wireless, to access complimentary internet. I turn to look through my French windows, to the eight foot-deep balcony, with comfortable white fabric seating and the near-unique views, steeply down to the sea some 100 feet below. Back in the salon, I note the white-edged wall-set Loewe plasma screen, and a Picasso sketch, what could be a Braque and other sensual wall art. Five green-tinged white rose heads swim in a glass bowl. Color comes from a pale blue-upholstered Louis XVI chair and pouffe, two palest blue glass bowls, and pink, yellow and orange macaroons on a little tray • Next, I explore the closet, a room big enough to house several prima ballerinas’ wardrobes; the safe is large enough for all their tiaras. Drawers glide on a mere touch. The bedroom is dominated by a four-post bed with, falling from the linen upper tester, two layers of easy-pull curtains (cream inner, linen outer that match the main windows’ drapes): pull these around you and you are truly cocooned from the world. The bed is a fluff of white Frette. Color comes from three blue stripes on a white painting, and pale blue china bedside lights. From the bed I can look ahead to the bathroom, all white marble flecked with gray, hygiene epitomised. I have a rectangular infinity tub, a pair of oval basins in a marble surround, and frosted-glass toilet and shower (overhead and wallset units). I love the way all tap shafts have white china sleeves with silver patterns on them. A glass table has an artistic display of bath-linens, and Soehnle glass scales sit beneath. There are no-label white towel robes and slippers, both white-embroidered with the hotel’s logo, and lots of Bulgari White Tea toiletries.
No wonder Michel Galopin, General Manager and Director of this gorgeous 73-room establishment, is so delighted with everything that has been done. I go across to the 8,000 sq ft spa, which you can enter via a subterranean passage, that, as it curves gracefully, is an experience all in itself, for here are signed photos of former aficionados, in alphabetical order Churchill, with Somerset Maugham; Jean Cocteau; Carole Lombard; David Niven; Onassis; Frank Sinatra; Elizabeth Taylor; Elie Wiesel, and so on. I, however, prefer to approach the new three-floor building, brown and as curvilinear as the original building is pale gray and angular, from outside, to see better that it is like a giant snail that has risen up out of the gardens. I enter at the middle level, take a circular elevator down to the spa. Like the
|
main building, here, too, Rochon is all off-white. Relief comes from sculptures that are simply extraordinary, Lord Of The Rings-like roots of olive trees, 300 years old at least. Lovely young ladies in off-white and putty show me around. The women’s locker room is identified by a black and white photo of a 1950s bathing beauty, complete with white rubber swimcap. I head for the Technogym, which has one of each of the necessary items, including a Kinesis machine, plus two runners, and sleek gray Pilates balls. Next comes three steps down for a quick swim in the bijou pool, probably better for aqua exercises unless you want to brag about how quickly you have done your laps – but it is a pretty experience, as the water reflects blue, and the wall one side has two yard-across circular windows to the corridor behind, and the other side of the pool has white-towel relax chairs. At one end there is a circular Jacuzzi, hidden by a curved glass wall. Finally, it is treatment time, in one of the six cabines, with integral changing rooms and all white but memorable for an inset window of looks-living bamboo with a painted-bamboo wall behind. They offer Carita and Comfort Zone here, and your choice of music, and after Sylvie does about four things to my face (first product smells of lemon, the next is a comforting hint of Bovril) I am almost spaced out. I recover in a room with six towel-covered beds or chairs, and Sylvie brings me tea, which here means a narrow white china tray holding floral-edged Bernardaud cup, saucer and teapot, in which there is a green tea bag infusing – Mariage Frères. Come here in summer, and there is a Spa Garden for further relaxation, and you can even have your treatment in one of five outdoor pavilions. Above the spa are an additional 24 rooms, including eight awesome pool suites. Each is 850 sq ft, which includes 300 sq ft of absolutely-private outside terrace with a curvilinear pool, the smallest of which is 300 sq ft, the largest 700 sq ft. Swim, looking out into the tops of Aleppo pines, no-one can see you. The architect had cleverly installed infra-red beams across the terrace so that if someone inadvertently falls into their pool, all hell is let loose. But, it seems, you cannot overcome nature. Big birds fly down to the terraces in the night, to swim or have a drink, and they set off those alarms… Inside, the suites are all-white, like my beloved 306, but they have additional wow in the form of a glass wall between bathroom and closet.
Dinner, hosted by the eternally-gracious Michel Galopin and his wife Michelle, was a formal affair, with speeches, with the guest of honor the head of the French branch of the European Hotel Managers Association. We were in the fan-shaped Le Cap fine dining restaurant, an intimate area, with extremely comfortable ice-green tweed armchairs. Chef Didier Anies MOF started us off with a Haviland espresso cup of pumpkin soup, took us on to mushroom risotto and seabream, followed by a chocolate and kumquat dessert artwork: after Deutz to start, we went on to Ch la Font du Broc Blanc 2008 Côtes de Provence, and Ch Clarke 1995 Listrac. Afterwards sommelier Joël Rolland showed off the adjacent Collection wine cellar. This includes the $1.5 million vertical tasting of Ch d’Yquem bought in 2006 from The Antique Wine Company, London: here is, for example, every year from 1854-2003 (the nine no-production years are represented by empty bottles, still signed by owner Pierre Lurton), and here too are 33 bottles of Ch Lafite Rothschild, 1799-2003. I walked back home, up 86 carpeted stairs. I found a box of homemade macaroons by my bed, and bottles of Voss water, and a card with tomorrow’s weather (sun) and could not turn all the lights off so slept, in full theatrical glare.
In the morning, I woke before the songbirds, and ventured out just before daybreak. Fortunately, presumably because of the aforementioned security, even the tiniest street is well lit (plus immaculately clean, well done, township of Cap-Ferrat). I could have run down the steep slope to the ocean, and the outdoor pool – there is a funicular to take guests all the way down there. I preferred, this time, to run up up up, straight up a tiny lane leading to five-foot wide steps and on up, yet further: I finally emerged on the barren Riviera landscape with ruins atop. Oh what a site from which to watch the bright orange and blue striped dawn emerge far over the horizon (it reminded me of a similar view from the top of Mont-Royal above Montreal).
Breakfast was delightful, in the new La Veranda restaurant, which consists of an interior bar connected to a curved, enclosed, terrace. Here you have finely tessellated flooring, dark wood tables and cream tweed and rattan chairs, an emerald Murano chandelier overhead and a view into yet more pine trees. My table was set with a cream linen mat and that eau-de-nil napkin, Orfevrerie de France cutlery and Raynaud porcelain designed by Rochon, the big cups with an eau-de-nil pattern. It is all à la carte, and Thierry and his colleagues (in cream, natch) brought me exactly what I wanted, a no-nonsense tumbler of outstanding juice, a plain yogurt, a platter of mango and, to go with the L’Ancienne jams, a basket containing mini baguettes and paper twists of Les Conviettes butter, no-salt and semi-salt. I look at the lunchtime menu, which has such diet options as minced chicken with aubergine cream, and full afternoon teas with cakes and champagne. The sun is now shining, and I dance out to the waiting car.
Grand-Hotel du Cap-Ferrat, Côte d'Azur, France
See other hotels in Côte d'Azur (20)
Sign up for Confidential Newsletter
Send this article to a friend
View other Away Nights Articles
|
| |   | | The Heavenly HazeltonIsn't the Hazelton Hotel perfect purred a well-known Italian hotelier, who had better remain nameless. more
By: Mary Gostelow |
| |  | | Meadowood Napa ValleyTo reach Meadowood, east of St Helena in California's Napa Valley, you turn off the Silverado Trail, through vineyards to the resort's 250 wooded acre... more
By: Mary Gostelow |
| | |
|
| | | | Sign up for the Free WOW Confidential Newsletter |  |
Advertisement | |
BACK
