High-altitude hideaways with unforgettable views and menus deeply rooted in their surroundings
Heading west from Colombo, the road steadily winds up and away from the capital’s lively tangle of outlets, overpasses and tourists into an undulating landscape painted in dragonfly greens. The district of Kegalle lies between Sri Lanka’s western and central provinces: between restless coastline and pinched mountains that tiptoe up to 2,524m – the island’s highest point. As such, Kegalle’s Kandyan foothills are carpeted in sloping plantations of rubber, tea, coffee and spices.
The entrance to Rosyth Estate emerges from a track road flanked by towering grasses, cinnamon and toddy palms, some two-hours’ drive from the capital. Everything about the estate, which was built in 1926, is as subtle as its gateway: the original colonial bungalow is hidden amid an explosion of dripping greenery, only its blue pool bright in the hush.
The 62-acre working rubber and tea plantation is owned by Farzana Marikkar Dobbs and her husband Neil Dobbs: it has been in Farzana’s family for generations. Despite its high-end intimacy and newer, valley-view Rock Villa, it retains a familial feel in its considerate, child-friendly approach: activities range from treasure hunts to yoga; rubber-tapping to mountain biking.
It’s the food experience that lingers beyond all, though, with Farzana being a true acolyte to brilliant food. Local produce is threaded into your stay, with visits to neighbouring rice paddies, artisanal tea factory tours and Sri Lankan cooking classes. Peppers, cloves, mangoes, coconuts and baby jackfruit grow abundantly on the estate, and there’s also an organic garden, where resident chefs harvest the produce alongside pilfering langur monkeys. Daily and tasting menus take guests through local and national cuisine – terracotta bowls of viscid curries and piquant sambals with dip-ready string hoppers; a caramelly wattalapam to finish. The culinary magic takes place in a dark-wood, glass-sided dining room, bringing diners up into the foothills’ lush and lively canopy. rosyth.lk
Looking up towards the Greater Caucasus from the time capsuled townlet of Stepantsminda, the long stretch of Rooms Kazbegi isn’t immediately obvious. The building’s gently curved brick and glass front is largely hidden from view behind lines of graceful birch trees, their changing foliage blending into the colossal background as the seasons pass.
From Rooms Kazbegi, though, Stepantsminda and its valley unfold: a smattered mosaic of roofs dwarfed by relentless peaks and the dominant spike of Mt Kazbegi (5,054m). At night, the town glows below as the crow-black sky ignites with stars.
There are few places more awe-inspiring or beautiful than this corner of the Greater Caucasus, just a few miles from Georgia’s northern border with Russia. Rooms Kazbegi was once a Soviet sanatorium, now redesigned into a hip, chalet-like stay with warm reclaimed woods, worn brick and unbeatable balconies. The views continue from the indoor pool, which faces out on to the mountains behind.
The larger region of Mtskheta-Mtianeti is renowned for food, but Stepantsminda is known particularly for its khinkali: pinched and twisted dumplings filled with spiced meat or vegetables. The ones here are the simpler, original mokhevuri ‘mountain’ version, made with plain meat – equally moreish. You can even try making them yourself under the watchful eye of local villagers. There’s also regional pkhlovana khachapuri, a bread filled with cheese, beet leaves and spinach, and khachoerbo, an oozing, heart-breaking ghee-cheese fondue.
Though the town has plentiful bars and cafés, Rooms Kazbegi is brilliant for cuisine. The chefs collaborate with local suppliers to learn about regional, inherited dishes so they may pass them on to their lucky guests. The experience is topped off with an excellent menu of Georgian wines – this being one of the oldest wine-producing countries in the world – which includes the ancient qvevri amphorae wine. roomshotels.com
Wherever you go, Guguan seems to rustle and rush: if it’s not the sound of the Dajia river carving its way over silvery pebbles, it’s the swish of leaves from the encroaching forest or the gurgle of hot spring foot baths. Guguan sits in Taiwan’s central Xueshan mountains – an emerald valley sliced through with thin, circuitous roads and hard-at-work retaining walls.
These hot springs were discovered by the indigenous Tayal people, who have lived in Taiwan for millennia. Though less than an hour-and-a-half’s drive from west-coast Taichung City, the springs weren’t found until 1907, during the Japanese occupation. With its onsen qualities and native cherry trees, it’s hardly surprising that the area became popular with Japanese visitors; it was even rumoured that the Emperor Meiji impregnated his wife after visiting the springs.
The link between Japan and Guguan remains, in the form of Hoshinoya. Renowned in Japan for its creative, hyperlocal adaptations, it weaves the cuisine, culture and architecture of the area into its elegant hotels. Choosing Guguan for its foray into Taiwan surprised many, but the quiet region’s rich indigenous, Japanese colonial and natural history proved ideal.
Set on a ridge of pines and bamboo above the Dajia valley and the town, Hoshinoya Guguan offers activities with Tayal people, hot springs brought right into your bedroom, and endless mountain views that bleach into mist. The star of the meticulous show, however, is so often the food. Here, local Taiwanese ingredients – juicy caviar from Guguan’s sturgeon and trout, foraged mushrooms that hum and squeak with the flavours of the surrounding forest – are served using Japanese techniques and kaiseki-style dining. Guests should also head into town to try native Heping district products such as apples, peaches, honey and fresh fish, tuck into rich sturgeon stew and slurp a deliciously herbal bai long pine ice lolly, one of Guguan’s most refreshing specialities. hoshinoresorts.com
Strolling the volcanic sands at Playa Ranquil, you’d be forgiven for believing yourself on the Chilean coast, watching the far-off horizon between ocean and sky bleed into a single, shimmering blue. But the lapping waters are actually part of Lago Ranco, Chile’s fourth largest lake at 170sq miles, and part of its renowned Lake District. The Lakes sit in the toes of the Andean foothills, the Precordillera – an area of intense geothermal activity in southern Chile, in the north of Patagonia. Glacial in origin, Lago Ranco sits in the midst of the Lake District, which is dotted with some 25 islets. Its south-east shores give way to meadows enveloped by a serrated jaw of dark, forested hills – home to the private Parque Futangue reserve and its beautiful Futangue Hotel & Spa. In the distance, snow-capped peaks linger like pale sentinels, and the air carries that rare, electric freshness found only in places where forest meets fjord.
The reserve conserves and reforests its 34,000 acres of Valdivian rainforest, with its rushing glacial rivers and waterfalls. As well as 70 miles of trails and nature walks, the forest also provides for the hotel’s restaurant. Here, artful, earthenware plates arrive filled with native flavours foraged from the surrounding woods: the aromatic bittersweet tang of Chilean myrtle, the pungent pepper made from the ‘winter’s bark’ tree, earthy wild mushrooms, and even sweet ulmo honey – known as ‘nature’s most powerful’. Each meal feels like an edible map of the landscape itself; a way to taste the shifting seasons, from the bloom of the rainforest to the cool lake waters. Local producers contribute native potatoes and vegetables, while the nearby Pacific coast provides shellfish in abundance via a network of fishermen. Guests can add to the table themselves, as the hotel runs guided excursions to fly-fishing spots within the park. At Lagunas Pichi, Los Coipos and Negra, anglers can cast off in search of rainbow and brown trout, whose meat is mild and tender. parquefutangue.com
The troughs and peaks of Whanganui wrinkle through the south-west corner of New Zealand’s North Island like crumpled paper. This national park’s vast swathe of lime, pine and myrtle green slips between great volcanoes – a concertina caught between the lonely cone of Mt Taranaki in the west and the majestic central peaks of Tongariro. Nestled among Whanganui’s wild flora, misty mountains and dripping, rushing caverns is Blue Duck Station – a humble-meets-high-end set of lodges dedicated to adventure and conservation. Named after the region’s endangered blue duck, the station exists to protect at-risk wildlife and preserve local history.
Owner Dan Steele and his family are equally serious about New Zealand’s food. The lodge has its own café, serving up fresh country fare, but Blue Duck has a far greater gastronomic secret: come afternoon, a flank of ATVs lines up, ready to take lodge guests through the muddy back country, past wild pigs and waterfalls, to The Chef’s Table. This ten-seat, ten-course fine-dining experience is set on one of the highest points in the station – a mountaintop spot known by staff as ‘the top of the world’. Chef Jack Cashmore is at the helm, his daily-changing haute cuisine predominantly foraged or farmed on the station. There’s ruby-oozing venison, white truffle, whole leeks grilled into sweetly charred submission, nasturtium leaves topped with garden petals, radish, tomatoes and lemon verbena. There’s a horseradish custard served with a dashi and parsley oil broth and high-country salmon roe. And of course, there’s the view: be-socked diners (Jack wanted a homely feel) look out over a vast panorama which fades into starlight as the meal builds.
Blue Duck’s projects reap culinary rewards. The pretty manuka tree is one of the first native shrubs to return when farmland is allowed to regenerate, and the Steeles have taken sweet advantage, working with two companies who make manuka honey from their 1,500 beehives. blueduckstation.co.nz
The Atlas Mountains are relentless in their splendour and surprise. Driving round each gnarled ridge and sharp canyon brings some new scenic marvel: plummeting valleys, nestled Berber settlements and snow-flecked pinnacles. For the many tourists travelling from Marrakech to the Sahara for a brief bedouin camp experience, this breathtaking hurdle between the two feels like a bolt from a copper-coloured blue.
The Atlas range stretches some 1,600 miles from Morocco to Tunisia, but its crescendo is Mt Toubkal (4,167m), some 37 miles away from the foothill souks of Marrakech. It is in Toubkal’s shadow that the eponymous hotel, Kasbah du Toubkal, resides – standing tall above the small village of Imlil in a remote valley oasis. A former local chief’s palace, the kasbah is built in the classic Amazigh (Berber) style, with rust coloured, rammed earth walls that merge into the landscape.
Though Kasbah du Toubkal has every boutique comfort, including a hammam, swimming pool and rooftop terrace with 360-degree views, it was never imagined as a luxury hotel. Instead, owner Mike McHugo wanted it to give back to the local community through sustainable tourism. As well as employing over 30 staff from nearby Imlil, McHugo donated the fee from Martin Scorsese, who used the kasbah as a film location, to the villagers for development initiatives such as Education for All.
This dedication to the Atlas mountain community also shines in the Kasbah’s cuisine. Local chefs prepare authentic Amazigh dishes: classic hearty lamb tagines, simple soups made with seasonal local ingredients, zesty lemon chicken, plentiful kebabs and mounds of fluffy couscous, washed down with heady mint tea. At breakfast, there’s fresh bread and homemade yoghurt, nuts, fruits, cereals and baghrir pancakes. Guests can dine sunk into sumptuous cushions around low tables set with glittering candles, or out on the spacious terrace – the dramatic Atlas mountains always in eyesight. kasbahdutoubkal.com
The road to Cottage in the Wood is not an idle one. It twists and steepens as it climbs through Whinlatter, England’s only true mountain forest, where pines close in, moss creeps across stone walls, and the light shifts with every bend. By the time the 17th-century whitewashed inn comes into view – perched more than 300m above the valley floor – the sense of being cocooned in the Cumbrian landscape is complete. From the glass-walled dining room, the view unfurls towards the behemoth that is Skiddaw, its peak often shrouded in cloud.
It’s a setting that almost dictates the menu – remote, elemental, and one that forces the kitchen to look close to home. Head chef Jack Bond has embraced that challenge with gusto since taking over with his wife Beth last year. Herdwick hogget from the high fells, venison and game from surrounding estates, and freshwater trout are staples, alongside singular flavours that make Cumbria’s larder so compelling: the nutty, slow-matured cheeses of Thornby Moor Dairy; rich milk and cream from Winter Tarn; and the botanicals distilled into artisan gins and whiskies by the Lakes Distillery. Foraged herbs, berries and mushrooms from the forest floor thread through dishes, underlining the inn’s rootedness in its surroundings.
Eight bedrooms offer cottage-style comfort. Muted linens, handmade ceramics and soft wool throws echo the tones of the forest outside, while slate, oak and stone lend quiet weight. The effect is one of refined rusticity, with the design never distracting from the drama beyond the windows. Down the steep garden, a stream runs through a patch where pheasants, red squirrels and deer appear in the dusk. But it is at the table where Jack’s exacting cooking meets the passion of local producers, and where the Cottage in the Wood asserts itself as one of the Lake District’s most distinctive stays – a restaurant with-rooms inseparable from the landscape that feeds it. It’s wild, yes, yet also warmly human. thecottageinthewood.co.uk
