Rasa Sayang Resort & Spa Shangri-La

This iconic resort, on the island of Penang off the coast of Malaysia, reopened on September 28 after a much-needed 21-month rehab after 33 years in business.

I wanted to check out the ‘love for life and its pleasures’ that Rasa Sayang stands for, but the usual one night stand had to take longer as I arrived at 10pm and left at 6:30. When my car pulled up after the 45 minute drive from the airport, I was greeted by an absolutely delightful group of employees and shown to room 2522 on the 5th floor. Can we take your photo? God, what would this look like, after such a long day.

Left alone, I quickly ordered room service, unpacked, and voila, dinner arrived. For a simple order of salad and pasta, I got a rolling table with white china and crisp white linens, highlighted by an antique gold ikat rug that matched orchids. The napkin was elegantly folded through a striped shell napkin holder. The plates were covered metal hats that could have been designed by Philippe Starck, and the al dente penne, generously topped with what looked like a zero-calorie “cream” soy sauce with bits of baby asparagus, was totally delicious. The designer bathrooms, hinting at the elixir of youth and well-being, are free, and a special of rose petals and pink French clay had been drawn on the marble bathtub that was sexy on my balcony. I slid into it, hoping there weren’t any voyeurs around, rolled wonderfully, and collapsed on the bed.

In the morning I took a good look at my room, a 680-square-foot Premier category in the Rasa wing, the super-luxury category of what is now a 304-room resort. The space flows from the marble foyer to the marble bathroom, with a (louvered) glass wall facing the bed portion of the master suite, which is divided by a ten-foot work desk with many electrical outlets and high-speed cable broadband. it is wireless in public areas, including gardens. The bed is like a mass of white clouds, the head of the bed is a wall of silk panels in the colors of the room, namely gold, khaki, light brown. The mini bar comes with a blue martini shaker, the wall flat screen is from Philips, the safe has a small jewelery box and the note paper has my name on it. The light switches are all labeled (someone has a lot of common sense, here).

Through the glass wall that opened onto the terrace, she could now see how fabulous the gardens are. Nine of the trees on the 30-acre property are protected rainforest species, apparently more than a century old. Newly landscaped pathways and immaculate gardens include a circular wedding arena. The wing has its own curvaceous saltwater pool: On an S-shaped wall, you can swim past 27 small horizontal water jets to a bulge of water (like the protruding part of a puzzle piece) that’s a vitality pool. Beyond are shady lawns with easy chairs and wooden tables. Beach concierges bring you discreet wireless doorbells: it rings and someone comes running, or maybe on a bike, to take your order. Beyond is the sandy beach, which from the end of this month will have a full dive center.

My rush to wake up took me past all of this, and the executive (ie bijou) golf course, and a couple of tennis courts, and the neighboring, more casual garden wing of the hotel. I looked again at the roofs of the Rasa wing, each of which is built in typical Minangkabau style, like two large open books, spine up, all sprayed with dark brown paint. I admired the clever layout of the balconies, which means no one can see anyone bathing in the open air.

The theatre-style breakfast buffet at Spice Market was bountiful, with fabulous juices made to order, and homemade Greek-style yogurt and exotic drinks.

fruits. There’s hot Malay if you like, or Chinese, English, Japanese or whatever – every gas station is decorated with giant, brightly colored sculptures of spices from a local trader. There’s a good gym, but most guests, who were favorably European during my stay, prefer to spend the day outdoors, being energetic but lounging in a private area somewhere on the grounds. This is a resort to get lost in, if you want. Rasa’s guests can also rest in its lobby, which serves courtesy throughout the day and night. There are 550 employees for the entire resort, and everyone seems to know every guest’s name: perhaps the arrival photos are used as memories.

I was lucky enough to have a reservation at CHI, The Spa at Shangri-La, which seems to be doing thriving business with both genders. Even getting there is an experience. You barely notice a metre-wide winding walkway, protected by tall bamboo walls, that wraps around that curvaceous pool. After 60 steps I found myself in a ten-sided Tibetan house, topped by a giant bell. I was taken to Namshe, one of 11 ‘houses’ in the adjacent ‘spa town’. Inside, a hallway led to the full bathroom on one side and the treatment room on the other. Beyond, protected by an eight-foot stone wall and more bamboo, was an outdoor tub for two. They washed my feet, treated my face, massaged my feet while putting on the mask. I was woken up by delicate bells (a treat is a great place for a quick sleep).

Back in my room, Syed the butler had returned my dirty clothes, in a large brown leather box, with interior compartments, each laundered item individually wrapped in crisp tissue paper. The bowl of whole fruit, under a gauze cap, had been replenished. It was dinner time at the Feringgi Grill, where seemingly anonymous couples during the day have transformed into smart-casual shirts for him and mostly long sleeveless dresses and lots of (hers) jewelry. Here the walls are old brick, the cranberry-colored carpet, the white linens. Add chandeliers with three twisted gold candles and speckled green display mats produced by a local glassblower, and view the night garden or, looking in, through the kitchen. There is plenty of tableside service, with true flambés performed in theatrical style. Regulars head straight for beef, mostly Australian. 60% opt for Kobe-style wagyu, which costs three times the price of eating just grain. Rasa Sayang appeals to the value-seeking connoisseur rather than the quality-less cheapskate.

My bed was open and my photo, taken the night before, was in a souvenir leather frame with the name of the hotel on it. Intelligent. No wonder there are so many repeat guests here. The night was too short, room service breakfast arrived with enough yogurt to keep centenarians alive for many more decades. Downstairs, even before dawn, waited General Manager Arbind Shrestha, surely the only Nepalese-American general manager in the ultra-luxury hotel industry. Well, he said he, I’m a hotelier. This is my job, and my passion. Butler Syed was there too and walked me all the way back to the airport.