Shinta Mani Angkor

Never had I been so thankful to a tuk-tuk driver as when we finally pulled up outside the hotel after a 4am start and a long day spent scrambling around up on Phnom (mount) Kulen in search of pre-Angkorian temples. Plastered in red earth from riding pillion on a motorbike all day, kitted out in bright hippie tourist trousers from the Siem Reap Night Market and clumpy hiking boots, and it was with some reluctance that I handed my equally grimy rucksack over to the bellboys. Still they greeted us with warm smiles – I was overcome by the urge to hug them both at once. At first unsure of whether we were staying at the newly opened Shinta Mani Resort or the more exclusive Shinta Mani Angkor, our doubts vanished as we entered the sleek and refreshingly cool lobby. Lofty corridors led to a contemporary temple-like interior – not a child in sight bomb-diving in the pool.

‘Bill Bensley, who’s actually based in Bangkok, just came up to our owner one day and said: “How can I help you?” It was a project he was keen to work on,’ our host explained after Mr Smith asked about the bold design. Strikingly contemporary, the shelved grey walls and thick square columns reminded us of some of the 802 AD temples we’d been scouring the mountains for that day – only brand new, very urban and super sleek. Had the past kings of Cambodia wanted to build a hotel in this century, the concept from the American interiors talent would have enchanted them.

After a revivifying welcome drink – a mocktail of freshly squeezed orange and carrot juice with a twist of lemongrass – we felt reenergised just long enough to be led to our room. Stepping onto the cool immaculate marble in my dusty hiking boots, I was afraid of leaving red footprints – we had already made enough of an impression at reception in our dishevelled Indiana-Jones-meets-Krusty-the-Clown attire. Reaching the turquoise slice of pool we noticed the narrow opening to the cobalt blue sky allowed in little sunlight onto the surrounding deck chairs –  this was much to the relief of a sunburnt Mr Smith.

After draining a can of local Angkor beer from the (free) minibar, I was impatient to jump in the shower and make attempts at looking respectable again. I wasn’t disappointed when I laid eyes on the bathroom – and more importantly the large walk-in shower that was tiled like a Parisian Métro station. Once out of the shower, for what could have been an hour, I lay on the bed: this was my first mistake. It felt like I’d sunk into a soft snug nest. I drifted off instantly – much to Mr Smith’s disappointment, who soon followed suit. One of the most comfortable beds we’ve ever tried in our long hotel history, complete with featherdown duvets that aren’t chokingly hot for Cambodia’s tropical pre-monsoon temperatures and fluffy pillows that moulded perfectly around my head. Before it was too late to have dinner at the restaurant, we were awoken by an angry flock of mosquitoes and we thanked our lucky stars for malaria pills – our room didn’t have a mosquito net; in its place on the ceiling was a slightly garish black-and-white digital image of a Ta Prohm temple in Angkor. The contemporary paintings of Khmer dancers and mock cave painting décor of the walk-in wardrobe were more to our taste.

Earlier we’d have killed for sub-zero temperatures while up on the mountain where the sun scorched earth, wind and water, but we weren’t prepared for it at the restaurant. Before the starter arrived, I rushed up to the room for a sweater. The giant swing-bed dining tables for two out on the terrace, looked fun, but were all taken. Our waitress Chodra’s kind and helpful manner was a delight, but our expectations when it came to how the menu was interpreted was less so. We agreed after that an underwhelming salmon plate that we should have gone for the chef’s dinner, the Khmer option on the menu.

While the restaurant wasn’t the hotel’s strong point for us, we weren’t disappointed by the spa the next day – especially with Sophea (pronounced Sop-hea)’s cheerful welcome. After teaching us a few words in Khmer such as aw-koon ch'ran (thank you very much), two elegant white-clad Cambodian therapists led us to a large white room, black curtains drawn, and motioned for us to lie down on the two beds. As soon as the massage began, our tired muscles soon unwound and we both fell into a deep slumber. I woke up an hour later to find Sitha, one of the therapists, adroitly painting my toe nails a fresh shade of scarlet, and feeling like a million dollars. After a warm goodbye (and many aw-koon ch'rans) I was looking forward to slipping into that super comfy Shinta Mani bed for the second time.

The night was too short and I woke up deeply regretting not being able to slip my share of the bed into my rucksack, Mary Poppins style. At check-out we met the general manager, a dandy Dutchman wearing a crisp white shirt, his trousers held up by braces and we ended up sitting in the lobby for an hour hearing all about the hotel’s ‘Open Doors, Open Hearts’ foundation.

‘I’m not sure the next place we’re staying has anything like this,’ said a somewhat stirred Mr Smith. We cancelled our booking and got down to seriously rethinking the long wish list of hotels we’d spent years carefully compiling. Temple tours by tuk-tuk or air-con car are all very well, but the chance to visit the on-site charity projects that put the heart into this compassionate haven is really special.