The Ungasan Clifftop Resort

We landed in Bali as honeymooners – straight off the back of our wedding and 24 hours of travel. To say we weren’t feeling daisy fresh is an understatement. It meant we were relieved to bypass the clubs and bars of Kuta and Seminyak, instead heading towards the village of Ungasan near the southern tip of the island. This area of Bali is known as the ‘Bukit’, and we soon discovered (warning: dad joke imminent) why it deserves a place on everyone’s list.
 
Nestling close to the edge of a limestone rock jutting out over the ocean, Ungasan Clifftop Resort calls to mind Tracey Island or a Bond villain’s lair. Instead of identikit hotel rooms, the Ungasan is a series of seven individually-designed villas, which means you have a whole luxurious home in which to stretch out.
 
On arrival, our butler (all villas are attended by your own personal Jeeves) threw open the carved wooden double doors to reveal multiple levels of fountains, decking and a long, curving infinity pool jutting out over the crashing ocean. It’s exactly the kind of pinch-me moment you hope for when you check into a hotel, and it was swiftly and shamelessly followed by me whipping my phone out and Instagramming it from every angle (much to Mr Smith’s dismay).
 
We were in Chintamani, one of the largest shared villas; large enough to sleep ten. It almost felt like a resort within a resort, with its lounge area and a bar, countless day-beds and that statement-making pool. If you were staying here with friends or family in tow you could imagine how fun it would be to have the run of the place. But even if you’re a deux, as we were, each room has its own private plunge pool, and we barely crossed paths with our fellow villa-mates. Well, that was until a troop of monkeys showed up to stake a claim on our day-bed.

The spacious bedroom felt very modern, with billowing white drapes and a stone-and-black colour scheme, but plenty of cushions and touches like rattan lampshades and stone frescoes lent it some local character. The bathroom gave the bedroom a run for its money in the size stakes, and featured a tub you could get lost in, lots of polished concrete, orchids and – the key to any happy relationship – two huge sinks on opposite sides of the room. We were still wandering around in jet-lagged awe when our butler rang the bell to ask if we would like an ‘afternoon temptation’, which Mr Smith took as code for something naughty, but in fact is actually tea, home-made hummus and delicious pink macarons, served on our terrace. Be careful not to leave crumbs – we foolishly left the remnants out only to discover more monkeys helping themselves to an al fresco feast. Who knew macaques were partial to macarons?
 
It would be easy not to leave your villa for your entire stay. But we moseyed over to the resort proper to take the funicular down to the beach. If there’s a more entertaining way to travel than a funicular I’d like to hear about it (dad joke #2: the clue’s in the name). The hotel’s Sundays Beach Club is a destination in its own right, meaning the exclusivity of the villas doesn’t extend to Ungasan’s main pool and beach area. Brace yourself for splashing families and selfie-ing squads of twenty-somethings. But who can blame them when Sundays has a white-ish sand beach (not a given in Bali), comfy loungers by day and beanbags around a bonfire at night.
 
The beachside restaurant at Sundays has a seriously on-trend menu featuring poke bowls, activated grain salads and a juice bar. But why would you go green when there’s the kind of cocktail list which would make any London barman weep into his Angostura bitters? I order a Rosemary Gimlet (gin, kaffir lime and rosemary syrup) and Mr Smith opts for a Sun Burn (gin, campari, triple sec and burnt orange, if you must know) and we lie back and watch the paddleboarders. They probably had an activated grain salad, I think as I head up to the small and homely Vela Spa where they serve me a tiny glass of chilled hibiscus tea and then knead my aching bones with a rhythmic Balinese massage.
 
If you wanted to hit up the beach parties, bars and clubs that Bali is famous for, then you’re only a 40-minute taxi ride away. However, we were feeling so lazy that we barely managed to stagger down to the resort’s restaurant: Selatan. Our fellow guests were apparently feeling similarly soporific, having opted to dine in their villas or down at the beach – we were the only guests there. This made it slightly lacking in vibe despite the candles flickering in the sea breeze. But tuna sashimi and a garlicky spaghetti vongole, beautifully presented in glazed ceramic tableware, more than made up for it.
 
The next morning (disclaimer: I actually mean afternoon, because breakfast is served on the beach until 12.30pm), over poached eggs and sourdough, we discussed our plans for the day. There’s a lot to see around these parts: an ancient Hindu temple and world-famous surfing breaks, but we couldn’t seem to tear ourselves away from our own blissfully private infinity pool. After all, it’d be time for ‘afternoon temptation’ in a few hours.