A Legend in the Making

By Gunjan Prasad

The newly-opened Mandarin Oriental Dhara Dhevi in Chiang Mai is grand on a scale rarely seen these days, and those with the patience to understand the resort’s raison d’etre will deftly sidestep any misplaced allusion to theme park artificiality.

The word ‘grand’ – particularly when applied to hotels – fills me with trepidation: big suites; big uniforms; big staircases and a big price tag often add up to intimidating ostentation rather than real enjoyment. The 144-villa Mandarin Oriental Dhara Dhevi is grand in all the right ways: the 60-acre setting; the pastoral views; the elegant facilities; and the historic architecture that harks back to a period of Northern Thai history rapidly being erased from the surrounding landscape in favour of faceless concrete construction.

10 kilometres from the airport and just minutes’ drive from the old brick ramparts of the city centre, this small-scale version of an ancient Lanna palace lurks in landscaped grounds planted with over 3,000 trees and rare shrubs. Lanna refers chiefly to the period AD 1259 - 1558 when northern Thailand, in particular Chiang Mai, asserted itself as the centre of arts, culture and religious architecture. The expansive property can be traversed via roughly hewn stone paths or smooth granite lanes; on golf buggies for the less adventurous, a bum-bruising tour by traditional horse carriage – modelled on those used in nearby Lampang – or a more sedate ride on a samlor, a mode of transport that once filled the streets of Chiang Mai. At the resort’s heart are 20-acres of rice paddies tended by indigo-blue-shirted farmers, who at dawn each day lead the resident water buffaloes past the rippling streams and scarecrows, before settling into an impromptu Thai ballad on a mandolin. Their lilting song drifts over the rice to join the chatter of early risers sitting out on the wooden deck of the Rice Terrace, where the vast breakfast spread is almost as dazzling as the nearby purple and pink water lilies. Where Dhara Dhevi sets itself apart is in its non-conformity. Despite its size, there are no tidy lines of tall trees, no pavements; vegetation appears to grow as it would in its natural habitat. Guests are offered a mind-bogglingly wide range of accommodations, from townhouse-sized to one- and two-storey teak houses, some modelled on Tai-Lue hill-tribe homes, others on barrel-shaped rice barns. At the other extreme are the flamboyantly furnished Mandalay Suites, the most opulent of which comes with gilded ceilings, a baby grand piano, private pantries for butlers, elegant dark-tile swimming pools and Jacuzzis, and a delightful outdoor sala for tea or a sunset massage. The décor is at times unashamedly Asian nouveau-riche, an unsubtle blend of The King and I and Barbara Cartland. These contrast overtly with the more subdued, Indo-Chinese elegance of the Colonial Suites, due to open by the end of the year. The layout of the site follows the template for an ancient royal city; at its entry is a huge red lattice gate with enormous filigree gold studs. Beyond lie a series of moats and rivers, a central ceremonial lawn, and a delightful Buddhist prayer hall similar to the petite Lanna Viharn of Wat Lai Hin near Lampang. There is even a reconstructed market street where typical 19th century-style teak shophouses are home to a range of upmarket shops featuring not just the usual ostentatious bling, but Lanna-inspired silks at Vila Cini and rare Laotian textiles at Mai Come. Teak shophouses were once popular throughout Thailand but now most have been destroyed in Chiang Mai’s relentless rush for modernity. Not everything found around the resort necessarily has a function; the scarecrows in the rice fields, the moss-covered Burmese drinking water pots, or the mysterious glow worms that appear as if by magic in an old tree at sunset are all part of a subtle orchestration by the designers to create the right ambience. There are, however, a number of prettily-decorated wells dotting the property that the farmers regularly use for irrigation; and the Suan Pak Villas are in fact a cluster of wooden stilt homes built around a working vegetable garden, from where the chefs pick home-grown cherry tomatoes, scimitar-like wing beans or fresh chillies. As the conceptual designer of the property, 32-year old Rachen Intawong explains: “We were not just building a resort, but rather aiming to create a legend. For me, this is a place where we can create the past, let people touch history.” The resort’s culinary delights are not overshadowed by the impressive architecture and landscaping. A Lanna-styled hall set on a terrace high above the rice fields is fittingly matched by unparalleled cuisine courtesy of Simon Larese, a young German chef coaxed north from the renowned Le Normandie at the resort’s sister property The Oriental, Bangkok.

More coaxing takes place inside the colossal, 3,100-square metre Dheva Spa, hard to miss with its seven-tier carved teak spire. The enormous spa was meticulously recreated in carved wood and marble from the design of an extant Burmese royal palace, now moved near Amarapura, Burma. The spa’s speciality is the Lanna treatments gleaned from local heritage. Individual yoga sessions can be arranged in guests’ own villas, or in the dark wood Yoga Pavilion overlooking the paddies. In time, there will be a fully-fledged Ayurvedic Centre offering individually-planned, long-term healing programmes. The resort also houses two huge pools, and squash and tennis courts. Admittedly, at times, the state-of-the-art ergonomics that travellers now expect of the modern hotel room may have succumbed to the designers’ desire for Lanna authenticity: the ubiquitous stairs do little to attract those with walking disabilities; and in certain seasons the idyllic rustic landscapes are home to a virulent breed of mosquito which try the patience of even the best-behaved voyager. But, at worst, these shortcomings will niggle at the five-star hotel junkie; at best, they will give the seasoned jet setter a sense of exotic adventure. The resort is still young; its shrubs will need a rainy season or two to grow into requisite inter-villa screens, but no-one arriving from a wintry Europe city can deny the joy of seeing any form of lush greenery while their homeland is buried under a veil of fog. What the resort does do is break boundaries, creating a new kind of accommodation – a ‘heritage hotel’ of sorts – but one built from scratch, carefully following designs that have been extant for centuries. For those who recognise these things, the workmanship and the splendour of the completed task make the Dhara Dhevi a landmark, which in time may well become a legend; a tribute to the lost kingdom of Lanna.