Zannier Bai San Ho

The timing of ‘Heaven Is A Place On Earth’ blasting out of the taxi radio just as Mr & Mrs Smith rounded a jungly headland and clapped eyes on Zannier Bai San Ho smacked of divine providence. 

Here, nestled in south-central Vietnam, is a bona fide slice of paradise: a shining hotel-spa on a hill from which a green carpet of lush rainforest rolls down to a glittering private bay. It’s almost a wrench to share its secrets. 

The fact that Bai San Ho (the name means ‘Bay of Corals’) is a little off the beaten track only adds to its charms. Sensible types fly to local Phu Cat airport and arrange for a car to meet them there with the hotel’s helpful front desk, but Mr & Mrs Smith were feeling adventurous, months into our extended honeymoon, and we instead took a delightful two-hour train trip on the Reunification Express that clattered through rolling green rice paddy fields from Da Nang to Dieu Tri, before hopping into a taxi. 

The effect was slow-release wonderment. Pristine Phu Yen province is well off the tourist trail, and we travelled a pleasant coastline of sleepy fishing villages and golden beaches for 40 minutes with great curiosity before arriving. Seas sparkled. Songbirds sang. Shorelines smiled. 

We were welcomed at reception by the lovely Khoa, who pressed a fermented bamboo leaf tea into our grateful hands while we ogled the bay, marinating in its majesty.

And just like that, we were in love all over again – with each other, sure, but largely with the serene sweep of this coastal idyll. It’s luxury tranquillity. 

Khoa whizzed us nimbly down in a golf buggy through lush forest holloways to our villa, a ‘beach hut’ (in name only since it’s bigger than our South London flat) only a seashell’s throw from gentle waves. 

Thrilled, we ran out to the beach and tumbled into the surf, spooking a fist-sized crab who scuttled huffily back into the water. How could we not fall head over heels? ‘Meeting your needs is our top priority,’ read a little wooden block by our bedside. Boy, were they well met. 

For starters, Bai San Ho has perfected the art of breakfast, serving up steaming bowls of pho bo (beef noodle soup) and plates of my personal favourite, bo ne (sizzling beef, fried egg, pork sausage, shredded cabbage and peppercorn sauce accompanied by melt-in-your-mouth bread), or a slap-up Western breakfast if you’re that way inclined, all served on a shaded veranda overlooking the bay.

Dragonflies and butterflies skittered over the adjacent infinity pool. The special coffees – iced pick-me-ups punched up with a creamy hit of condensed milk – are to die for, especially if that means spending an eternity here. 

Downstairs, Hoa Sen spa revives the weariest travellers. Tasteful 1930s teak coffee-house furniture bedecks the central courtyard. A bar beckons invitingly. 

Frankly, though, we holed up happily in the villa for hours without stirring. It is certainly where I would choose to spend Armageddon. Our home from home had every mod con that even the most immodest honeymooner could desire: state-of-the-art air con, one pool, two showers (one indoor, one out), one bath, two basins, plus a nifty flatscreen TV tastefully tucked into the wall. But its style is simple and soulful: traditional wooden floors and bamboo ceilings, billowing white sheets, water, water everywhere. 

There are 73 villas at Bai San Ho, and oodles of privacy to go around, since it has 98 hectares of land to parcel out. In other words: you get your own sports stadium's worth of personal space, and then some. 

The design of each villa, Khoa told us, is profoundly influenced by the country’s diverse history, from Cham clay pots to Viet rattan weaves to the very architecture of the buildings. I found this fascinating. Vietnam proudly recognises 54 ethnic groups, and Zannier carefully weaves in intricate legacies of homebuilding stretching back generations, telling a story in style. 

The different suites – some by the beach, some in the rice paddies, some in the surrounding hills with jaw-dropping views over the coast – all have something special to offer (yes, we did some snooping), but ultimately achieve the same end: total bliss. 

We did leave our nest. The hotel’s stable of handsome turquoise bicycles allowed us to roll off to the lagoon’s pretty fishing village, where locals wove bamboo lobster pots and served delectable and cheap crab rolls. 

Mrs Smith hired a snorkel to go scouting for puffer fish. We played a furious game of padel (tennis but smaller) on Bai San Ho’s secluded court, among beautiful long grasses and floodlit by night. 

We watched the sky turn pink, then lilac, and cycled (golf buggies were available) to the brightly-lit beach restaurant, watching the local fishing fleet twinkle in the twilight as we devoured the catch of the day beneath swinging lobster pots converted into light fittings. 

Special orders – oysters, lobster – need to be placed at least six hours in advance, but I was far too taken with banh xeo, crispy Vietnamese crêpes served with hulking great tiger prawns, to care. They say in heaven love comes first, but Bai San Ho, a place on Earth, ticks all the celestial boxes. We were smitten.