The view from the owner's villa at Delamore Lodge. Photo / Supplied
A luxury getaway where everything you want is to hand including things you didn't know you wanted, writes Greg Bruce
The trip over on the ferry was a bit rough, so it was nice to come off and see someone holding a reassuringly sturdy wooden signboard featuring the words "Delamore Lodge", written in cursive. The sign was so big and heavy I felt a bit sorry for our driver but I liked what it signified: dependability and class. A place that cared enough to have a signboard as nice as that was a place I understood would strive to take care of all my desires, and hopefully also some I didn't yet have. I was not surprised, then, to see an expensive-looking SUV with Delamore insignia emblazoned on the door, parked in the closest possible spot to the terminal. What that told me was that walking more than a few metres at a time was not something Delamore would be expecting from its guests.
The property sits behind remote-controlled gates on a quiet ridgetop road. When we arrived, the car wound through lovely light bush and gardens and we reached the front of the lodge where manager Nathan was waiting to open the car door for us. Our bags disappeared as if they no longer belonged to us. It was being communicated to us, even in these earliest engagements, that the only effort that was required of us was the effort to enjoy ourselves, and if we found that too onerous, somebody could be arranged to do it for us.
Nathan showed us through the lodge, laying out for us our movements over the course of the stay, both confirmed and possible. We were standing on the terrace out the front, staring goggle-eyed at the view over secluded Owhanake Bay, when, in front of us, appeared a staff member with a tray of iced tea featuring a mint leaf. I'm not an iced tea drinker but, in that moment, in that place with that drink I hadn't asked for in my hand, I could think of nothing I wanted more.
The beauty, luxury and comfort of staying at a place like this are only part of the appeal. What you are experiencing from the moment of arrival, and actually long before, is a type of theatre, a carefully orchestrated performance by a skilful masseuse of the emotions, which means that your feelings are not limited to the aesthetic enjoyment of views, food, booze, soothing waters and other provided pleasures. One example: While showing us around, Nathan told us that this is a place to relax, that after people have been here two days, you see the transformation in them, the relaxation settling upon their bodies. People sometimes ask if there's a gym here, he went on, with a light chuckle. No, he tells them, with a kindly shake of his head, there is no gym here. This is a place for relaxation. Even as he spoke, I felt a calmness falling upon me, as if from heaven.
Nathan left us and we settled into the couch by the fireplace, looking out across the water. It had been raining but as the drizzle eased to a light mist, we went outside and stood at the balcony looking out at the view. Before I could think, "Hmmm, a sit-down might be nice", Nathan appeared with couch cushions for the outdoor furniture. The misty conditions were hopelessly romantic, far superior, I thought, to those pompous blue sky Waiheke days with all that sun and resultant influx of Auckland men in shirts unbuttoned to the upper breast.
We were staying in the owner's villa, the path to which wound up a hill through the light bush and garden behind the lodge. The villa was close enough to be convenient but far enough away to be completely private and the hill was steep enough that the view over the lodge to the bay beyond was completely unimpeded. It's a delightful U-shaped building wrapped around a bay-facing courtyard covered by a remote-controlled louvred roof. The building's glass front gives obscenely gorgeous views from the living room, kitchen, dining and both bedrooms - every part of the villa except the bathrooms.
We sat in the courtyard under the roof and marvelled at the view, the tranquility. It was possible and pleasant to imagine a scenario in which we didn't move for the entirety of our stay. I knew a single call to Nathan would have made it happen. But we wanted a swim in the infinity pool above the bay, so we took two of the heavy robes emblazoned with a classy, cursive "D" and two of the supplied beach towels in their elegant basket. As we arrived at the pool, Nathan appeared, as if by magic, and offered us drinks. We didn't want any, but that wasn't the point. We swam to the front of the pool and leaned on the front edge, looking out across the water, allowing our minds and bodies to drink deeply of the awareness nothing was expected of them.
At 6pm, we showered and dressed for cocktails and canapes in the lodge. As we were leaving the villa, we saw it had started raining again. Before we could stop to think of the most logical place for umbrellas, we looked down and saw them next to us.
A few years ago, we went to Man O' War vineyard for a romantic lunch. There, I had fallen in love with their chardonnay - a love I wrote about in this very newspaper. A few months later, as part of another article I was writing, I had lunch with the brilliant chef Sid Sahrawat, who, without discussion or prompting, served me that very wine. I asked Sahrawat if he knew of my love for it and he said no, which is exactly what you'd expect of a hospitality genius. When Nathan offered me a Man O' War chardonnay at cocktail hour, I knew better than to ask.
We took our drinks and sat and talked with a nice young couple who were clearly in the bloom of new love, and we tried and failed not to scare them with stories of how necessary this break away from our three children was for our sanity. After half an hour or so, Nathan arrived to tell us that the car he had arranged to take us to dinner at leading local restaurant Three Seven Two had arrived, but seeing that I still had several mouthfuls of chardonnay remaining, told us to take another five minutes.
Our second day passed in a luxury idyll: a breakfast of heirloom tomatoes on sourdough with an expensive-sounding cheese I'd never heard of, flat whites and pains au chocolat to take back to our room afterwards, reading, swimming, soaking in the spa, loafing, enjoying the view. At lunchtime, we went to nearby Mudbrick for a view in the other direction and a platter of meats and cheeses. "Do you think they have the Man O' War chardonnay?" I asked Zanna.
On the second night, we ate at the lodge: a five-course menu of such attention to detail, such unpretentious but extravagantly flavoured food of such quality that I felt myself taken to a higher plane. Each dish featured huge spikes of pleasure: salmon, caviar, Black Origin wagyu, heirloom tomatoes, umami sauces and a berry semifreddo. Each dish was an escalation on the one preceding it, so that by the end I felt like I'd been on a gustatory narrative journey told by a master of the craft. On the way out, I stopped by the kitchen and told chef Erik Tasker the meal was among the best I'd ever eaten and I believed him to be a genius. As we returned to our villa Zanna took my arm and told me I was obviously drunk and asked me not to fall over and hurt myself. But I wasn't drunk - or, if I was, I was drunk on life, elevated by the pleasures of this place, all it had given me and all it had unburdened me of.
We left the next day at lunchtime. The expensive-looking SUV picked us up from our back door. We hardly had to move.
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