Alila Manggis

Bali is a place that heightens one’s ability to relax. At Alila Manggis, on the island’s unspoiled east coast, shadowed by volcanoes and overlooking the Lombok Strait, the techniques employed to encourage descent into a mellow state are various and include, on check-in, the delightful and ubiquitous cool towel and refreshing ginger drink. Memories of no-frills flights slip away on the offshore breeze and brows smooth.

Entering our room, however, Mr Smith’s expression is momentarily re-vexed. Horribly spoilt when it comes to this hotel-reviewing game, he finds the space more suitcase than suite. Yes, it’s a little on the compact side. A jaunty slump on the bed thickens the regrouping stress clouds, as he exclaims at the Knoop hardness of the mattress (a boon for this other firmness-preferring sleeper). All is forgiven, however, when we venture out to the balcony, take in the palm-fringed beach and pool area, and eye the aircraft-hangar–sized day-bed beckoning invitingly under a mosquito net.

 

With tummies rumbling after the morning’s travel efforts, we decide to hold off reclining and instead head to Seasalt, Alila Manggis’s restaurant. Again, it harbours the relaxation-accelerating effect. There’s something about noshing on simple, incredibly fresh food under a thatched bale to the accompaniment of gently crashing waves that hits the spot. The menu at this particular slice of heaven is a good mix of Balinese fodder with some Western options for the more gustatorilychallenged or those just wanting a little bit of home. For Mr Smith and myself, a nasi goreng, grilled local fish and a couple of bottles of chilly Bintang beer equates to bliss.

 

We then relocate poolside, where our recliners are covered with crisp, white towels by the pool boy and iced water is supplied to stop the Smiths becoming too parched. After languorous reading of the guest directory – an extensive spa menu, as well as information on snorkelling and diving in the beautiful waters off the coast (an underwater hotspot for the aquatic adventurer), trekking Bali’s astounding volcanoes, visits to the local villages, bicycling, shopping trips and a whole cooking school fandango – we opt for that other staple of the Balinese wind-down: a long afternoon snooze. Is it 4pm already? Time for the complimentary tea, coffee and little Balinese delicacies that are served to the guests in the garden. Balinese cake, it transpires, is not so much a cake as a gelatinous ball/slice/mound/lump/polygon of soft, squishy, syrupy, coconuty stuff. As a friend says in moments of heightened food-based enthusiasm: ‘Double yummy!’ Mr Smith was a little texturally challenged, but after some gentle bullying managed to get over it.

 

We then become aware that it is the time of day for small children, at various stages of exhaustion or excitement, to take over the pool. The air is filled with delighted, if slightly discordant, peals and squeals, so we retire to our expansive daybed and its come-hither cushions with the self-righteous air of the childless. As we settle down for a late afternoon read, the room suddenly seems cosy and comforting.

 

The day is complete when we indulge in some delicious local curries – and just a few more Bintangs – back at Seasalt, before taking a torch-lit stroll across the grassed lawns and around the sea wall. Alila Manggis is beginning to get under our skin.

 

As is, it seems, the sun. I wake to a forehead of post-apocalyptic flakiness after what must have been less than adequate and therefore typically English sunscreen application. Get thee to the spa, says Mr Smith, and I don’t demur.

 

We begin with a nice herbal tea – heal from within, as they say – progress to a calming neck and shoulder massage and then my first-ever full-on facial. Never have I been so tenderly cleansed, scrubbed, buffed, toned, masked and moisturised, all for a full 90 minutes. The only downside is Mr Smith – against type strangely opting for a pedicure on the veranda outside the treatment room – answering his mobile phone and babbling on for 10 minutes about boring work-related issues. Note to self: ensure said Smith is nowhere to be heard at next facial. Despite this short-lived irritant, I emerge with a glowing face happily free from catastrophe. A miracle, exclaims the chastised Mr Smith.

 

And so it is that our Balinese relaxation therapy hits warp speed. Blissed out, beached up and calmed down, we spend the rest of the day reading by the pool. The kids have been dragged off on an edifying tour or shopping trip and we have the place to ourselves, save for an lithe German couple who play badminton for hours over a net strung between two palm trees. The only interruption is tea and cakes. Nightfall comes quickly, the understated Deco-ish kampong blocks are romantically lit, and it’s time for our last barbecue and Bintang.

 

Alila Manggis may best suit Smith juniors and their parents, and the rooms may just be rooms, but the overall package is hard to fault. Our two days at this wonderful beachside bolthole have felt like two weeks. This, after all, is Bali, where relaxation is a state best accelerated.