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A splendid journey to Cappadocia

A dive into the Med Let's talk: Jacques Garcia


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editor’s letter

Say It with Flowers The Italian poet Cesare Pavese once remarked, “We do not remember days, we remember moments.” A moment, however fleeting, is palpable; it permeates our lives and remains isolated, as if it were carved out of the passage of time. Our magazine, MyMoments, looks at those “sculpted” moments of travel to extraordinary places that alter, in an unexpectedly joyous way, our destiny. It explores art, literature, fashion and the emotions that one feels lingering before the deep blue Mediterranean on a summer’s eve or in a dive into its crystal clear waters that refreshes your thoughts. I love the Mediterranean because it has accompanied me throughout my life. I love culture and nature;  I love interacting with people because sometimes  the real journey is touching their hearts  in far-off lands, as I experienced with the Maasai  in Tanzania. It’s the same with the people working for Mytha Hotel Anthology. They are genuinely warm and welcoming. A noted author once said that kindness lightens a heavy heart, and at the hotels of the anthology, the etymology of which refers to a collection of flowers, a collection of stories, one encounters a heartfelt welcome from those who are sincerely happy to receive us. From Capri to Rome, from Dubrovnik to Madrid, from Cappadocia to Bodrum and the Datça Peninsula, where I spent time as a child, the focus is on the delightful Mediterranean approach to caring for guests.  The flow of time is soft and gentle. In these 84 pages, I present you with a contemplative trip through the Mytha Hotel Anthology universe and beyond, knowing that all of our team members will join me to help ensure that your time with us results in unforgettable moments and priceless memories.

Şebnem Denktaş M Y MOME N T S 5

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the magazine


Giacomo Bretzel

Jacques Garcia

The Italian photographer, based in Paris, shoots for a long list of top publications that includes the US edition of Vanity Fair and Madame Figaro. He does advertising campaigns for leading luxury brands and works with old school analog cameras, likening “images on film to cinema whereas digital snaps are more like television.” He says: “I like to capture the moment, empathize with people and reveal their soul.” For us, he shot the portfolio on Cappadocia and the Mediterranean.

One of the most prominent interior designers in the world, Garcia is known for his Parisian creations such as the Hôtel Costes and Royal Monceau. He sits down for an exclusive interview to offer insight into his work, his interests and where we might soon see him in Rome.

Andrea Migliaccio Antonia Mattarese Half Abruzzese, half Apulian, Matarrese, who is now undeniably Roman, was a lead writer at Italian weekly L'Espresso. A self-described “street reporter,” she is also an archaeologist and professor of fashion management at LUISS Business School. She uses a notebook and pen “because the best ideas and most interesting characters come out when you least expect it: at the bus stop, at the market stalls. We mustn’t let them get away.” For us, she’s written a piece on the Roman food scene and interviewed actress Giulia Bevilacqua.

“Putting ingredients back at the center of things” is the ingenious idea behind Andrea Migliaccio’s kitchen. The 37-year-old executive chef at Capri Palace oversees the restaurant L'Olivo (two Michelin stars) and Il Riccio (one star), the latter next to the famous Blue Grotto and now a truly global dining concept. Mediterranean cuisine and the creative touch of a great chef are found in his dishes featured in the article “Good Taste.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald


Giulia Bevilacqua In addition to being beautiful, Italian actress Bevilacqua is a rising star in Italy. A Roman native or, as they say in the capital, “de’Roma,” we’ve asked her to tell us about the best-kept secrets and unusual spots of her hometown.

For our bedtime story, we took an extract from Tender Is the Night, the novel by the famed American author who was part of the Lost Generation. Although not a runaway success when it was first published in 1934 in New York, it remains one of his most fascinating works. The story opens in a hotel between Marseille – Fitzgerald lived in France for a few years with his wife Zelda – and the Italian border.


Editor’s letter: Say It with Flowers


Magical Cappadocia: Heating Up

22 Art Review: The Artist, Mimmo Paladino 28

Mediterranean Mystique: The Big Blue


The Yummy Side: Good Taste


Design Room: The Shapes of Design


Secret Spots: My Rome, Giulia Bevilacqua's Little Black Book


Back to the Future: Gusto in the Eternal City


Things to Know: Viva España, Madrid


Dress Local: Hello Señorita, Madrid


Dress Local: Italian Island Style, Capri


Beauty Gurus: The Makeover Magicians


Adventures on the Road: Bentley


Jeweler Extraordinaire: Lord of the Rings, Sevan Bıçakçı


Travel Diary: Africa Mon Amour


Bedtime Story: Tender Is the Night


Let's Talk: The Grand Maestro of Interiors, Jacques Garcia


Room with a View: Dubrovnik

C OV E R Photo: Robert Holden Location: Capri MyMoments is a biannual publication, printed in Italy, on Fedrigoni X-Per uncoated Paper, 120 gr. December 2017 C O N T AC T U S Mytha Hotel Anthology Head Office: + 39 06 3208041 C O N C E P T, PR O D U C T I O N A N D EXECU TION BY Holden Creative PR I N T E D B Y Faenza Group


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Formed by volcanic eruptions eons ago, soft tufa stone, also known as "fairy chimneys", finds new life in decorative fireplaces at argos in Cappadocia. Carved designs in the rock are inspired by Hittite motifs. Right, a sunrise balloon flight over the region reveals an otherworldly terrain.


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Turkey’s Cappadocia region seduces travelers with its raw natural beauty. Its surreal landscape is steeped in history, from the Hittites to the Ottomans. Now one hotel looks to honor the rich heritage of this ancient and enchanting land: argos in Cappadocia




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FE AST FOR THE EYES Friendly faces – and scrumptious treats – greet newcomers. A warm welcome at argos in Cappadocia includes a delightful lunch spread laid out on a table of local Kepez stone. M Y MOME N T S 11


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Uçhisar and its unique castle (pictured at left) has stunning views of the local scenery. Soak up the dramatic landscape from the privacy of the hotel’s rockhewn infinity pool.


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argos in Cappadocia founder Gök in Ilıcalı has unearthed ruins in Uçhisar to create a oneof-a-kind hotel. Opposite, the tasting room in the hotel’s wine cellar – the largest in Turkey – was once a chapel part of a Byzantineera monastery.




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Beneath the semi-arid landscape lies fertile volcanic soil. Thanks to the able hands of Rasim Özkılıç, who grows a bounty of herbs and vegetables in his garden, the kitchen at argos in Cappadocia works with the freshest ingredients. After a restoration process, the hotel is regarded as one of the largest transformation projects in private sector with unique scale and characteristics in the world.


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For centuries, gifted artisans have forged the region’s identity. In Göreme, a Unesco World Heritage site of rock-face sanctuaries, hand-painted frescoes enrich the 11th-century Karanlık Kilise Church. Today, carpenter Ali Güne fashions exquisite furniture out of wood.






Cappadocia’s signature “fairy chimneys,” magnificent towering masses of weathered volcanic rock that once housed homes and places of worship inside them.

magical c a ppa d o c i a


he breathtaking topography of Cappadocia enthralls new arrivals and ensures visitors return to explore its magical terrain. The region is home to fertile valleys and canyons made from soft tufa rock, derived from volcanic ash that blanketed the area millions of years ago after a series of eruptions and which has formed into hypnotic layers of red, pink, yellow and white stone. Since antiquity, mankind has sought sanctuary across its surreal landscape, building homes and houses of worship in caves carved out of the porous rock. To best understand this enchanting land, one hotel has emerged to provide travelers with an authentic experience: argos in Cappadocia. Built into a hillside in the village of Uçhisar, the 51-room luxury property emerges from unearthed ruins, caves and underground passageways once part of a settlement home to a monastery and lodgings for Silk Road caravans that has been lovingly restored. This modern rustic retreat pays respect to the region’s unique architectural past and offers a privileged perch from where guests may admire sweeping vistas of Cappadocia’s unspoiled beauty. Tiago Fonseca M Y MOME N T S 21

art review

Mimmo Paladino was born in Paduli (near Benevento) in the south of Italy. In the 1970s, he was part of the Transavanguardia art movement coined by critic Achille Bonito Oliva. He has exhibited numerous times at the Venice Biennale and his artwork is part of the permanent collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.


Mimmo Paladino

The Artist From London’s Tate Modern to New York’s Museum of Modern Art, the Italian creative has earned international acclaim for his sculpture, painting and prints BY TIAGO FONSECA PHOTOS GIACOMO BRETZEL


Above: a typical work of Transavanguardia art. Opposite page: Paladino’s atelier in Campo dei Merli, near Benevento; the iconic Elmo (helmet), once at the Castel dell’Ovo in Naples, now at the entrance of the Capri Palace, one of the Mytha Hotel Anthology properties.


Italy’s impressive past, from the art and architecture of the Etruscans and Romans to the creative riches that arose out of the Renaissance in Florence, continues to inspire people today. Perhaps no one knows this better than Mimmo Paladino. The 68-year-old Italian artist has mined the country’s cultural heritage while blazing an impressive path through today’s world of contemporary art. Recognized as one of Italy’s most prolific and imaginative contemporary artists, Paladino wears many creative hats: sculptor, painter, filmmaker, and stage designer. Born in Paduli, a town in the Campania region in the south of the Bel Paese, Paladino developed an early interest in art primarily through the influence of an uncle 24 M Y MO MEN T S

who was a painter. He enrolled at his local art school, graduating in 1968 and in that same year saw two gallery exhibitions of his work in Portici and Caserta. His focus at the time was on drawing and photography as routes into exploring the ancient Mediterranean world of Etruscan, Egyptian, classical and religious imagery. Little by little, his own rich eclectic language of images formed and while throughout his life Paladino has remained open to new impressions and ideas his personal iconography is evident in every piece of art he produces. Such is the case that if you view a modern Italian drawing or sculpture that includes a masklike helmet, a sword or horse, or a figure studded with birds, Paladino will come to mind. In addition, his sculptures often have worked surfaces that suggest the effects of aging, inviting the viewer to invest them with a sacred, mythic or antique quality. At the start of the 1970s Paladino began

art review


art review

“Art is neither a superficial thing, nor a poetic storm,” says Paladino. “Art is a process around a language of signs.”

to concentrate on drawing, introducing mythological subject matter that would later be of major importance to his work. Between 1978 and 1980, he created monochromatic, primary color paintings to which he attached geometric elements and found objects, such as twigs and masks. Soon after he was attached sculptural forms, usually in carved wood, to his canvases. In the early 1980s he began to recreate his archaic figures in bronze with colored patinas, and to carve in wood and stone, creating totemic objects and masks as well as truncated animals and human figures. His work, in its proliferation of techniques and sources, can be seen to blur distinctions between sculpture and painting and to set up a dialogue between both traditional and minimal modes of representation. “Art is neither a superficial thing, nor a poetic storm,” says Paladino. “Art is a process around a language of signs.” 26 M Y MO MEN T S

Indeed, his iconic statues, with their often ancient, geometric masks, seem to be an alphabet of signs that return cyclically. Well aware that art is rooted in history, Paladino sees sculpture as the only visual language to compete with the expansive scale of contemporary architecture within today’s urban landscape. In fact, he has gained attention for his large-scale public installations such as his Montagna di Sale (Salt Mountain), a vast hill of Sicilian salt sealed with resin in which charred wooden horses emerge that has been displayed in the past in Piazza del Plebiscito in Naples as well as in the square in front of Milan’s Duomo. Asked why the four-legged creature has become a favorite protagonist in his oeuvre, Paladino admitted: “Because it is a pure, fast and, above all, free animal. It has an archaic shape and a precise geometric structure. It’s pure thought. Art has an intrinsic power of seduction if you have the ability to understand it.” Yet another memorable event in his artistic curriculum was a sprawling exhibition at the Belvedere Fort in Florence where he arranged some 100 works of painting and sculpture, including

austere statues that echoed at once Romanesque forms and Brancusi. Again, it often appears that his sculptural work recalls archaeological finds or in the artist’s words, “fragments of thoughts, memories that materialize as dreams.” Critics argue that Paladino’s unique style can be seen as a combination of the rigidity of conceptual 1970s art, a period when he was just emerging onto the scene, and the end of the avant-garde utopia of the early 20th century. In fact, there’s nothing dogmatic about his pieces, there are no rules to them. The Italian artist, often pictured with a cigarette in hand and in a relaxed pose, lets a mix of styles coexist next to each other. One particularly intriguing piece in his portfolio is the gigantic bronze helmet Elmo that the artist created that today sits at the entrance of the Capri Palace Hotel. Here again he delves into history, paying tribute to warriors from an ancient Italic tribe that once roamed the plains along the Adriatic coast. His ability to link past and present was again executed brilliantly when he was called to create a sprawling work for the Museum of the Ara Pacis in Rome. Working with English composer and

musician Brian Eno, who provided an appropriate ambient soundtrack for the exhibit, Paladino devised an installation made up of hundreds of old wooden shoe lasts with small bronze birds attached to them. The visitor was slowly led along a corridor-like space until they found themselves before his Treno artwork, an assemblage of terracotta elements on steel racking placed diagonally across the width of the space. The individual elements of Treno are made from terracotta, a medium Paladino frequently uses since it appeals to him for its elemental and transformative properties. While not considered a noble sculptural material like bronze, it is intimately connected with life. In some ancient creation myths of god-like figures, he models human beings from the earth itself. More importantly, since the dawn of human history it is the material most widely used to build shelters and vessels. Here, Paladino juxtaposed domestic utensils and roof tiles with human figures curled up in the fetal position to create a crypt-like space that evoked the terracotta tombs of the Etruscans. Once more, Paladino showed his amazing ability to bridge antiquity and modernity in the service of art.

In Campo dei Merli, near Benevento, Paladino has three ateliers, one for painting, one for sculpture and one for his prints. The garden is an openair art installation.



Big Blue

From its dazzling azure waters to its sun-kissed scenery, travelers have found the allure of the Mediterranean impossible to resist


mediterranean mystique


SILENT PL E A S U R E S Because of its beauty, the ancient Greeks believed the Datça Peninsula was created by Zeus himself. Among its stunning beaches is Silence Beach, one of five at D Maris Bay. It’s perfect for those wanting to contemplate in absolute peace the place where the Aegean meets the Mediterranean.

Mare Nostrum. The Middle Sea. The Great Sea. Over the centuries the Mediterranean has had many names. Seafarers, traders and the curious have all fallen under its spell, setting down roots in the lands that border this stunning expanse of water where the echoes of history are ever present. It has seen the rise of great civilizations that have handed down a rich culture and cuisine – today, the Mediterranean diet has no rival – that are an unstoppable magnet, attracting visitors seduced by the region’s natural beauty and relaxed pace of life. Its enviable climate places an emphasis on the outdoors, with sun-drenched landscapes home to rustic olive groves, golden waves of grain and picturesque vineyards never far from its shores. Simplicity is central to every aspect of Mediterranean life, be it food, leisure or decor. Here, it is the little details that matter. The properties of the Mytha Hotel Anthology are imbued with the same timeless spirit of the Mediterranean that has beckoned travelers since antiquity. Tiago Fonseca M Y MOME N T S 29


mediterranean mystique



Capri’s beauty seduced Winston Churchill and Le Corbusier. The view from the town of Anacapri, the island’s highest point (589 meters), is awe-inspiring. Opposite, two boys dressed up as monks at the procession for Saint Anthony, Anacapri’s patron saint.



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One of the 10 Capri Touch guest rooms at Il Riccio Beach House. The design is characterzied by stone, ceramics and Mediterranean colors. Opposite, the pool and bar (when hunger calls) is set above the beach, one of 15 in Bodrum. To orient oneself, we are four kilmeters from the village of Göltürkbükü.




Nearly all of the 47 rooms at Villa Dubrovnik, which counts six suites and two villas, offer a view of the sea and Dubrovnik’s Old Town, whose historic center is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The Croatian town is a filming location for hit TV series Game of Thrones.


mediterranean mystique


mediterranean mystique



Children are happiest at Villa Magna. In the room, they can pitch a tent and play Cowboys and Indians or have popcorn with their movies. Opposite, a detail of the 290-sqm Real Suite, the largest hotel suite in the city.




the yummy side



A trip is also a journey of flavors. We have “sampled” the different destinations. This is what must not be missed



At Il Riccio, the seaside restaurant of Capri Palace set next to the Blue Grotto, you can round off a delicious meal prepared with super-fresh fish with a simple dessert or you can happily hole up in the temptation room. This magical place is set off by Caprese ceramics and tasty babbà with rum cakes, almond biscotti, tarts and sfogliatelle. The concept is so fabulous (and gourmand) that its format is going global. we find it in il Riccio Anacapri, Bodrum, at D-Maris Bay and soon Dubai.



the yummy side

Try the traditional Sporki Makaruli dish, a typical recipe from Croatia of pasta and meat done by chef Giuseppe Somma at the Al Fresco Bar Giardino restaurant at Villa Dubrovnik.




J A PA N E S E W ITH A T WIST Chu-toro Aburi Maki is one of the most delicious dishes at the famous Zuma at D Maris Bay. It's a semi fatty tuna aburi with truffle, yuzu, spicy mayonnaise.


the yummy side

The ultimate tortilla espaĂąola with tender onions made by egg guru Jheyson Cardenas at the Villa Magna restaurant in Madrid.




FROM T HE SE A In Bodrum, the Karisik Deniz Mahsulleri Salatasi at the Il Riccio Beach House restaurant is a fresh and yummy seafood salad of octopus, prawns, cuttlefish, calamari, mussels and crunchy vegetables.


the yummy side



An unforgettable breakfast at argos in Cappadocia with a view of Pigeon Valley. Ask for fried eggs with pastrami and Turkish


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S O PH I S T I C A T E D S U PPE R The two starred Michelin restaurant L’Olivo in Anacapri has a not-to-be-missed smoked paccheri pasta with scampi zucchini and toasted almonds.


design room

The Shapes of Design


Modern art, the sea and craftsmanship: Fabrizia Frezza’s approach to interiors is an invitation to unwind as if floating on a cloud

or me, it’s important that guest feels, first and foremost, welcome. The architect’s ego should not get in the way.” Architect Fabrizia Frezza lays out clearly her thinking on the subject of hotel design. Frezza has created interiors for properties such as the Capri Palace in Anacapri, with its Capri Touch room concept, and the public spaces at Villa Dubrovnik in Croatia. Growing up, she lived and breathed hotels – her family owns the Hotel Cicolella in Foggia. She never expected to have hospitality clients but she is happy with the results. Fabrizia’s forms are always generous: there’s a healthy use of stone as well as lots of sparkling white and bright blue sea colors, and the ceramics of the Amalfi Coast. We see sandy hues in tiles that have been individually worked by hand in the hall of Capri Palace, a work of art almost like the metal grille from the 14th-century monastery cloister that separates check-in from the offices. Craftsmanship, modern art and Mediterranean elements are also found in Dubrovnik, where Frezza made common areas one with the sea. The glittering reception is positioned to the side to leave the view of the sea intact. There’s a sun deck that feels like stepping onto a cloud. “I wanted to create a lightness and elegance like I did with the Capri Touch concept.” Art, too, plays a role, with sophisticated sculptures and paintings by international names on display from Liquid Art System, a gallery network based in Capri, Positano, London and Istanbul that pursues a global approach to promote contemporary art around the world. 46 M Y MO MEN T S

Clockwise from right: detail of the reception area, the beach and The Library Lounge at Villa Dubrovnik; artwork from Liquid Art System, a network of international galleries. Opposite page: a Capri Touch room and a detail of Capri Palace in Anacapri; sculpture by Arnaldo Pomodoro in the hotel’s lobby.

FA B R I Z I A FREZZA Born in Foggia, Frezza has spent all her life in Rome. Her architectural practice specializes in hotels. Among her most important projects is Capri Palace in Anacapri, where she has been able to combine modern art and the Mediterranean to create a sunny and refined mood.


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secret spots

Giulia Bevilacqua’s little black book

My Rome



native of Rome, Bevilacqua grew up in the Prati neighborhood, which she characterizes as “strategic, safe and full of shops near the banks of the Tiber, a symbol of life." The actress is now gearing up to return to TV in January with the second season of È arrivata la felicità on RAI1. Breakfast: Caffè Fiorini, Villa Pamphili 31. It’s in old Monteverde, an area where I lived for a few years. To start the day off right, there’s excellent coffee, fresh-out-of-the-oven whole-wheat croissants with cream or raisins, and maritozzi full of whipped cream. Lunch break and work appointments: Settembrini (Via Luigi Settembrini 21, offers quick service and an abundant list of wines and cocktails. It’s a stone’s throw from the RAI TV studios. Club: Live Alcazar (Via Cardinale Merry del Val 14, It was a historic cinema in Trastevere recently reopened and transformed into a multi-cultural space with a big screen. There’s nothing Italian about it. It feels like being in the US. I can choose from movies, concerts, Roman bands and DJ sets. Dinner: Imago-Hotel Hassler (Piazza Trinità dei Monti 6, imagorestaurant. com). From the rooftop restaurant, there is a breathtaking view of the city. There, I can appreciate the dishes of Chef Francesco Apreda, a Neapolitan who cut his teeth working in Japan and India. The dishes synthesize various gastronomic cultures in recipes such as cold tuna broth, double malt and seven spices, or Neapolitan sfogliatella with red fruit and green tea. Dance: Haus Garten (Piazza Monte Grappa 1/b). By day it’s a bagel bar by the river with a large garden, in the evening it turns into a dance floor. Don’t miss Tuesday nights organized by DJ Daniele Greco with his sophisticated rhythms that mix pop, R&B and Italian hits. Theater: Ambra Jovinelli (Via Guglielmo Pepe 43). It is an Art Nouveaustyle building in the Esquilino neighborhood. I’m particularly fond of this theater because I debuted on this stage two years ago in Cristina Comencini’s play Due partite. Cinema: Eden (Piazza Cola di Rienzo 74/76). I choose this cinema for its quality programming and because it’s not far from home. If I want to see movies in their original language, I head over to Nuovo Olimpia (Via in Lucina 16/G) in the city center. Shopping: As for clothing and accessories, I love vintage outfits and I scour the shops on Via del Governo Vecchio. Homeware: For items, I go to Officina Mobile (Viale Carlo Felice 65/67) which offers modern antiques. My last purchase was a ’60s showcase window for the living room. Markets: For flowers, Campo de’ Fiori is unquestionably the best; for groceries, the Mercato Trionfale in Via Andrea Doria is where I buy local fruits and vegetables directly from the farmers of Lazio as well as fresh fish, especially that which we use for family dinners on Christmas Eve. Wellness: Kami Spa (Via degli Avignonesi 12, You can unwind even when going as a couple and it feels like a little corner of Asia in the heart of Rome. My favorite treatment is the Thai massage, it balances and increases my energy level while reducing muscle tensions and stress.

THE ETERNAL CIT Y Brimming with culture and piled high with layers of history, Rome is a vivacious and ever-changing city. The Italian capital has reimagined and reinvented itself for millennia so there’s always something new to discover. M Y MOME N T S 49

back to the future

Gusto in the Eternal City In Rome, food is always a matter of time: from the classical trattoria to contemporary Japanese cuisine BY ANTONIA MATARRESE


ORIENTAL & CLASSICAL TASTE Above, the deluxe dessert platter with exotic fruits and ice cream at Zuma ( and the famous restaurant Alfredo alla Scrofa ( Beside, a spicy Amatriciana at Taverna Trilussa, an iconic food destination in Trastevere (

n the beginning there were fettuccine. Those made by Alfredo Di Lelio in his restaurant in Via della Scrofa have satiated the stars from both Hollywood and Rome: from Anna Magnani to Audrey Hepburn, Federico Fellini to Tony Curtis, who would casually steal the waiters’ jackets and serve the tables himself. What’s more, Alfredo’s fettuccine, cooked to a creamy consistency in butter and grated Parmigiano cheese, have paved the way for Roman cuisine throughout the world. As Mario Mozzetti, who today runs the restaurant together with Veronica Salvatori, tells us: “Thanks to a mix of simplicity and love for our work, we’ve managed to bring the aroma of fettuccine abroad. And when they arrive in Rome, the Americans, Brazilians and Swedes rush to taste Alfredo’s fettuccine, accompanied by a glass of Italian sparkling wine or Frascati.” They even dedicated a book titled Una vera storia d’amore (A True Love Story) to the myth of fettuccine. Written by Clementina Pipola, it includes photos, anecdotes and curiosities, and will soon be translated into English. But how have the tastes of Romans and tourists visiting the Eternal City really changed? “In general, the clientele has become much more demanding and knowledgeable. They have learned to recognize the ingredients, and even foreigners understand if someone has recklessly added cream to a preparation of carbonara,” says Max Mariola, a Roman chef from the Garbatella neighborhood with 25 years of experience under his belt in bigger hotels and “next-generation” osterias. “We can say that in the third millennium, Roman trattorias have become product selectors, which then put things together and spread them around. They pay attention to the raw ingredients and their narratives. Some examples? Typical Roman chicory or dandelion and the abbacchio (suckling lamb) that have been included on the Protected Geographical Indications (IGP in Italian) list.” Some ingredients come from far away, like the red prawns of Mazara del Vallo or the Japanese wagyu beef that melts in your mouth when cooked by the executive chef of Zuma Restaurant, Massimiliano Blasone. Less than two years after the restaurant’s opening in Rome, they achieved the aim of educating the public’s palate with something new – namely, the spirit of sharing. “Zuma’s proposal is contemporary Japanese izakaya cuisine, in which dishes are prepared in three separate kitchens: the main kitchen, the sushi counter and the robata grill,” says General Manager Alex Bellafronte. “The menu varies from €31 for a simple lunch to €100 on average for dinner, drinks excluded. The staff is trained to ensure careful but quick service, which will meet the demands of table reservations.” Zuma’s terrace, overlooking the heart of the city’s shopping district, is the barometer by which to gauge what’s being drunk today in the capital. “In our cocktails we always include ingredients in line with recipes, based on yuzu, ginger, or spices linked to Japanese tradition,” explains Michele Brando, a beverage manager. “The champagne menu is rich, with over 70 labels. But little-known wines are also popular in Italy, such as the New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, which is very popular in New York.” And the tastes of Romans and nonRomans are well described by the talented drink mixer Massimo D’Addezio, who has been tending bars for as long as he can remember. Today, he manages the Chorus Cafe in the Auditorium della Conciliazione, as well as being creator of Co.So, a tiny cocktail & watering hole in the Pigneto neighborhood, where he makes a Roman iteration of the Vodka Sour: he calls it the Carbonara Sour. Flavored with eggs, guanciale (pork jowls) and black pepper, it is sipped through a bucatino (a hollow spaghetti). “Rome is experiencing a golden age because the number of big spenders is growing and they are eager to try the latest things. Think of the challenge of mixing drinks with grappa from Gra’it di Bonollo, consisting of seven single-varietals; or the return of the bitter, not only the classic Negroni and Campari, but above all the special reserves of Martini & Rossi, the Rinomato di Mancino, the Bitter Valentini, the Marendry di Fabbri and the Aperitivo di Galliano. All produced in Italy.” All are served, naturally, with a traditional American club sandwich.


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things to know


Viva España Addresses, movies, books, art. Take notes so you can feel like a local in the Spanish capital.

CINEMA Released in 1988, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown was Pedro Almodòvar’s first hit film. Nominated for Best Foreign Film at the Oscars, the story is a crazy comical romp of emotional drama with female leads. If you want to visit an iconic film address, go to 7 Calle Montalbán in Salamanca barrio, where Carmen Maura (Pepa) had her penthouse in the movie. GIACOMO BRETZEL

THE BOOK The book by Spanish movie-maker Alex de la Iglesia, Recuerdame que te odie, is a detective story "filmed" in Madrid.

I N T H E GA R D E N A walk in the Retiro Park is a classic pastime of Madrileños. The city’s green lung extends for 125 hectares, with 15,000 trees. It is nice to rent a boat and ride in the artificial pond in the heart of the garden. The park includes the Jardines del Arquitecto Herrero Palacios, the Rosaleda, with a collection of over 4,000 roses, and the Parterre Francés with its bald cypress, the oldest tree in the city that is said to be 400 years old.

DINNER OUT The place to book (in advance) is called Amazónico. It’s the most popular restaurant in the Salamanca neighborhood. There’s Brazilian cuisine, cocktails served in sculpted glasses, exotic and tasty dishes such as frogs’ legs and all the ceviche you can eat. Owners Marta Seco and Sandro Silva, who happen to be a couple, have revolutionized the city’s tastes and dining culture.

THE MUSEUM The Reina Sofia is home to artwork from the 20th century up to today. Be sure not to miss Guernica, perhaps the most famous work by Pablo Picasso, and paintings by Salvador Dalí, Joan Miró and Antoni Tàpies. There are also pieces by Le Corbusier, Francis Bacon, Lucio Fontana, Nam June Paik and Mark Rothko. The new extension to the museum, designed by French architect Jean Nouvel over a decade ago, is worth a visit in itself.

SPORT Real Madrid is one of the world’s elite football clubs and its Santiago Bernabéu Stadium has become a destination in its own right. The massive stadium, a monument to the game, holds 81,044 spectators and is the seventh biggest in Europe. Going to see Real Madrid play is one of the greatest spectacles in all of sports. M Y MOME N T S 51

dress local


Hello Señorita

Wardrobe cues from Madrid-born actress Rocío Muñoz Morales for a daytime outing in the Spanish capital

SHINING PI N K A next generation lip gloss combining incredible shine and intense color from Clarins.

BLUE & S T R I PE TIMELESS SHIRT Western denim from Saint Laurent sports heart studded pins on the collar, a nod to the rock 'n' roll spirit of the brand.

Mid rise midi skirt with elastic waistband ruffled hem and plush fabric from Zara.

C AT E YES Sunglasses crafted from acetate from Marc Jacobs Eyewear with cat eye frames and tinted lenses.

GLITTER DETAIL Black sequin and cotton embellished All-Star sneakers from Converse.

Dionysus medium top handle bag from Gucci. Made by Italian artisans in sky blue leather with embroidered dragonfly and rose appliqués.




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dress local


Italian Island Style Follow the lead of fashion blogger Chiara Ferragni (soon mum-to-be) and pack for a perfect weekend getaway to Capri

M I N I B AG The petite proportions of the Marcie bag by Chloé make it ideal for the weekend. It’s crafted from small grain calfskin with golden detailing.

R E D PA S S I O N This gel-effect nail polish from Dior features an advanced formula that provides a glass-like shine and extended wear.

U N E V E N B E AU T Y Necklace in pink gold, red coral and white diamonds from the Enchanté collection by Chantecler. (

F L OW E R P OW E R Cut from cotton-poplin, this printed dress by Dolce & Gabbana is punctuated with oversized mother-of-pearl buttons on the straps.


TOUCH OF GOLD Gold-tone aviator sunglasses by Ray-Ban with graduated blue lenses and acetate tips at the arms.

BLUE ICON Leather jeweled sandals by Capritouch adorned with Swarovski stones and 1-cm heel. Customize the handmade sandals by engraving your initials on them at Mariorita ( mariorita).


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beauty gurus

The Makeover Magicians Want to know who excels at making us look and feel good? Here are the experts who help us to get slim and trim, who take care of our skin and hair to make us that much more glamorous

James Duigan

Sarah Chapman

Henri Chenot

The 43-year-old Duigan may have been dubbed a “wellness warrior” by Condé Nast Traveler but the Australian relies on a relaxed approach to sculpt the physiques of his famous clients, among them Sienna Miller, Rita Ora, Liv Tyler and Lara Stone. Some say he is the only one who can truly make your stomach flat, using a mix of workouts that don’t overdo it (yes to Pilates and yoga) and which he integrates with healthy eating and supplements created by himself.

She looks after clients at her skincare clinic in London’s Chelsea and at hotel spas that use her approach. Chapman develops a bespoke treatment for each person’s face. Her Sarah Chapman Skinesis facial, for which she is famous, combines cleansing, peeling, massage, muscle stimulation, manual lymph drainage, iontophoresis, sonophoresis and LED light therapy. It’s followed up with creams and self-massage techniques to do at home.

Since opening Espace Chenot in Merano, Italy in the early 1980s, which followed one he had in Cannes, Henri Chenot has helped celebrities and politicians to detox. Born in Catalonia but raised in France, Chenot has developed treatments and a nutritional program for losing weight, anti-aging and anti-stress. After a five-star stay, one’s waistline is thinner and the mind sharper thanks to a diet of whole-grain rice, water and lemon along with the occasional fasting.

John Nollet

Megan Larsen

Christophe Robin

Based mainly in Paris, with a spot in Courchevel and soon another in Saint Barth, Nollet cuts the hair of well-known celebrities such as Vanessa Paradis, Monica Bellucci and Marion Cotillard. He created Audrey Tautou's pageboy cut for Jean-Pierre Jeunet's Oscar-nominated Amélie (2001) and Johnny Depp's dreadlocks in Pirates of the Caribbean. When styling hair, Nollet studies the volumes and architecture – the final result is always extraordinary.

Founder of beauty brand Sodashi, which in Sanskrit signifies fullness, purity and radiance, New Zealand-born Larsen has created a holistic skincare method with all-natural cosmetics (every ingredient is clearly labeled on the packaging). Her collection, which rejuvenates both skin and soul, is present in exclusive spas in 25 countries around the world. When not globetrotting for work, you’ll find her in Perth, Australia where Sodashi is headquartered.

The go-to hair colorist that French actresses, not to mention others, swear by, Robin’s salon is where one bumps into practically everyone, from his regulars like Catherine Deneuve to Tilda Swinton and Kylie Minogue. He mixes colors together unlike anyone else and his famous shades have become part of the at-home hair color line for L'Oréal Paris. His lemon cleansing mask shampoo is legendary, while his blonde color tone is one of the most natural ever seen.


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B O U T I Q U E I S TA N B U L IstinyePark AVM • Tel: 0090 212 3455665

Big Bang Unico Magic Sapphire. Scratch-resistant sapphire case. In-house chronograph UNICO movement. Limited edition of 500 pieces.

adventures on the road

Behind the Wheel of a Bentley BY GIANNA GIANNI


he Mulsanne Speed is a car without limits. It is the most powerful four-door in the world. When I drove it down the roads of Tuscany, there truly were no limits. To drive it is to sit down in a very elegant lounge, but with a powerful engine under one’s seat. When the engine revs up, under the hood there is a 6.75-liter twin turbo V8, the 537 horses begin to gallop and neigh, taking it from 0 to 100 km/h in 4.9 seconds – now that’s what I call dedication! On a dirt road, the Mulsanne Speed moves with the ease of a four-by-four. The exceptional ride and handling is thanks to a computer that monitors the suspension 50 times per second and adjusts it accordingly. The result is like traveling on a high-speed train track. The bespoke interiors are offered in a range of 100 colors, with 11 veneers and a steering wheel that is hand-sewn by the marque’s artisans. You can customize the wheel rims and much more. It’s ideal for driving with a chaffeur or if one wants to let it fly. After all, the engine is revving and the Mulsanne is ready to roar.”


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jeweler extr aordinaire

ISTANBUL INFLUENCE S Sevan Bıçakçı’s signature dome-shaped rings are inspired by Istanbul’s Hagia Sophia.


Sevan Bıçakçı

Lord of the Rings The master Turkish jeweler invites us into his Istanbul atelier to talk about what inspires his imaginative bejeweled masterpieces BY ŞEBNEM DENKTAŞ


jeweler extr aordinaire

“I believe in jewelry that functions like attributes of the ancient Greek gods.�


TURKISH DELIGHT Bıçakçı is known for his colorful collection of apple-shaped rings in gold and sterling silver.


jeweler extr aordinaire


Since you were 12 years old, Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar has been central to your life. What kind of relationship do you have with this place so steeped in history? It acts as my time machine to keep my mind busy with all sorts of ghosts: its founder, the reasons behind its construction, the architects, the builders, the daily life in its labyrinth of streets, the vibrant trade and talented craftsmen working in 62 M Y MO MEN T S

and around it, the Silk Road merchants of bygone days who visited it, the bargaining, the ways in which shopkeepers entertained their guests. There were the possibly made-up stories, the life in the surrounding caravans. Life in the Grand Bazaar has prepared me to let my imagination run wild. You started as an apprentice at a very early age. What sparked your passion for jewelry? It started out of desperation. Seeing the challenges I had at school, given I was a hyperactive kid, my father decided to ask his close friend Hovsep Çatak, who was a neighbor living in our apartment building, to give me an internship in his jewelry workshop. It turned out to be the perfect place for me to learn a craft by watching and doing. I discovered my passion to become a jewelry designer much later when I was already on my own as a struggling model maker. I was creating molds or wax models based on other people’s designs and I quickly grew bored with it. Lots of these commissions were, in fact, inspired by other designers’ work. Being a cog in this mass production kept disturbing me. “If I were a designer” thus became the opening lyric of my favorite song. Istanbul, Topkapı Palace, Hagia Sophia and their Byzantine and Ottoman heritage. These are your most powerful inspirations. In a way, you recreate them in your jewelry. What strikes you most about these places? The level of interaction among all the layers of past cultures simply amazes me. The Hagia Sophia, which was originally a church, has inspired some of the most beautiful mosques of the Ottomans. I believe this is how cultures should compete with each other. Do you feel yourself lucky to have been born in Turkey? How does this country inspire you? I would say that I have been blessed. Everything about this country, its mix of people, their customs, the food, every tangible thing here is like the latest loop of a wondrous evolutionary chain. You cannot hold yourself back from imagining all the layers in between. You challenged the rules of jewelry iconography by playing with form, size and volume. How did you come up with the idea? Instead of being plain, decorative accessories, I believe in jewelry that functions like attributes of the ancient Greek gods. If you look at Hermes’ winged sandals, there is no need to see Hermes himself as you already feel his presence and power. Likewise, if one wears one bold piece with whatever embedded symbolism there is on it, it can be an accurate representation of their character. Bold volumes have something to do with this idea. As for signature shapes, from the very beginning I have been inspired by the Hagia Sophia’s voluptuous, curved forms. After all, I wanted to create a jewelry style that would, first and foremost, reflect the spirit of Istanbul. What makes your collections unique in the industry? What role does the reverse intaglio

ARCHIT ECT UR AL GEM When crafting rings, Bıçakçı often draws on Ottoman and Byzantine architecture to fuel his imagination.


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carving technique play in this? The amount of time we devote to each single piece and the extreme attention to detail. I don’t care about competing with other designers. Instead, it’s about taking our skills and techniques to the next level in order to tell even more elaborate stories. Reverse intaglio carving is just one of our complex techniques and it typically requires a significant sacrifice of time and gemstones since many pieces don’t end up being used. If time is money, in our case it is the other way around: the more time needed, the better the value. You use different artisanal skills and techniques to decorate your jewels. Describe the process that takes you from idea to finished product. Storytelling, sketching, detailed drawings, carving, if necessary, with improvisations. What’s one of the toughest things about the act of creation? I don’t really think of such aspects, but cracking a nice emerald or ruby during the intaglio carving process is certainly not easy to digest. These are usually big stones, i.e. major investments. What is the biggest risk you ever took with a design? Having the two cherubs on the Sarcophagus of the Dancing Cherubs of Istanbul’s Archeological Museum carved into a 150-carat Colombian emerald. Luckily, the execution worked out and the result looks beautiful at the cost of taking half of the stone’s weight away. The emerald dealers who have seen the piece think I am the craziest man in the universe. What type of person wears your jewelry? Self-esteem is a common trait among wearers. They do not follow others when it comes to making choices. 64 M Y MO MEN T S

People call you the Lord of the Rings. What is the importance of rings in your personal and professional life? Why do you mostly work with rings? Rings are more or less crowns. They were objects of kings that defeated rulers had to kiss. In a way, they were as much subjects as kings or queens themselves. I believe there is no better medium. Which piece of jewelry is your favorite and what makes it so special? All the things I have created are equally important. Each piece fills an important step within my collection’s evolution. What inspired your signature dome-shaped rings? The Hagia Sophia. How many collections have you created so far and what are you working on now? Any new designs you can hint at? Essentially, there is one that consists of all the unique pieces that take a long time to realize. There are specific pieces we add from time to time such as the 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. It relates to aquatic themes while featuring oversized South Sea pearls. Likewise, there is the Mount Ida family embracing figures inspired by Greek mythology. We keep adding individual designs instead of concentrating on seasonal collections. The next will be about timeless timepieces. What are your favorite materials to work with? From bone to diamonds I’m happy to work with anything that is genuine. How important is material and color in your design process? I advocate a holistic approach. No aspect is ever inferior or superior to another as materials, colors, techniques and the rest are meant to fill

predefined roles that together embody a thought. How would you describe your jewelry designs? The Ottoman sultan or Byzantine emperor meets Alice in Wonderland. You have a book published by Assouline. When you first read it, what did you feel? I am very happy with the imagery. I believe it does a great job introducing readers to my world. I used to feel that one would have to be in Istanbul to understand what I do. This is no longer essential thanks to the book. What kind of dreams did you and your team put down on paper during your last weekly meeting? We contemplated a spider spinning a web. Can you tell us a specific dream you had that helped your creativity? I am probably such an extreme daydreamer that I might miss out at nighttime. Of course, you don’t need to daydream in a city like Istanbul. Who are some of your most famous clients? Can you give us a few names or anecdotes? I don’t feel comfortable naming names. What do you expect from the future? For peace to embrace all the people in this world. Our magazine is titled My Moments. What do you do to savor your moments? I stay in the company of family and friends with good food, good music and lots of laughter. What is your favorite destination? I am obsessed with cruising the Aegean Sea by boat. One of my favorite stops is D Maris Bay, a standalone hotel in the middle of the Datça Peninsula on Turkey’s west coast. I cannot imagine a more beautiful location or a more inviting seashore.

jeweler extr aordinaire

BLING RING Bıçakçı isn’t afraid to go modern. His bold skull ring with a punk edge.


t r av e l diary

Africa 66 M Y MO MEN T S


Zebras graze in the savanna that stretches from Tanzania to Kenya, one of the most expansive habitats for wild animals in the world.

How better to experience nature than to get away and spend time amid the wildlife of the African savanna? Hemingway would certainly have agreed

mon amour



t r av e l diary


Sunset from the porch of the luxury Roving Bushtops in Tanzania. On some evenings, the silhouette of a giraffe will embellish the triumph of colors that dusk brings to the Serengeti. 68 M Y MO MEN T S

Ernest Hemingway once said, “I never knew of a morning in Africa when I woke up and was not happy.” The American writer was passionate about those magical lands and visited every chance he could. In 1935 he wrote Green Hills of Africa, the autobiographical account of a monthlong safari near Kilimanjaro. Last summer, I felt the same way during my visit to Tanzania. On my first day, an invasion of baboons that arrived like a storm merely emphasized this feeling. I heard a horrible crackling coming from the thatch roof above me just as I was taking a bite of my omelet, which had been brought to me by room service and placed on the coffee table of my tent’s porch. A big baboon, jumping

off the roof and onto the porch, was right in front of me, staring at me. Although I’m experienced when it comes to wildlife, I was so frightened that I grabbed my cellphone and ran inside. The baboon, taking advantage of my absence, invited his friends. And those adorable but dangerous animals, which quickly numbered up to four, tucked into my breakfast. Even after devouring everything, including the orange juice, they were not finished and kept licking the plates and cutlery. Unfortunately I missed the chance to follow a herd of impala passing right by the porch. I grabbed the phone and called reception. I explained to them, “Baboons are having my breakfast in front of my tent and I can’t get out. What should I do?” They said they would inform the Maasai Rescue Team immediately. While I was thinking what this might entail, two local officers dressed in their traditional garb arrived with bats and scared off the baboons. And so this was how my Serengeti-Tanzania safari got underway.


“Some animals’ egos are really strong. They love to come close to people and pose for them!” As I was telling the manager of this luxurious camp what had happened at breakfast, he said, “I should have warned you.” Then he proceeded to add, “If you had made some noise that would have scared away the baboons.” I replied: “Not to worry. I’ve learned something new about Africa and wildlife. By the way, if I bump into a lion, I have to stand as still as a statue. Isn’t that right?” He nodded in approval and added that he would pray for this not to happen. And yet his prayers weren’t answered! On one of the safaris I did bump into one – not face to face but rather side by side. A lioness walked alongside the jeep I was in, almost touching it. As I was leaning out of the window, I could hear her breathing. If I had reached out with my hand I would have touched her. While I was trying to take pictures of her, constantly shouting “Oh my God,” she kept walking calmly with us, looking as if she didn’t care. My award-winning guide, Abraham, laughed as he explained, “Some animals’ egos are really

strong. They love to come close to people and pose for them!” This lioness, just like Abraham said, walked next to us like a dog with two tails. She showed off, offering us a little performance. And once she had made sure that everybody had taken enough pictures of her, she quickly disappeared into the golden grass. The Serengeti National Park has been one of the most important destinations among the countless safari trips I’ve take throughout my life. This is a habitat under UNESCO protection, and with its neighbor, the Maasai Mara National Reserve in Kenya, it covers almost 15,000 km2 – nearly the size of the Netherlands – and offers the richest variety of wildlife. Here you can witness the Great Migration, an amazing annual phenomenon of nature during which more than a million wildebeests (a type of African antelope) and 250,000 zebras migrate en masse to more fertile lands in search of food and water. The season I visited was a period when the migration was almost finished in Tanzania, and the

animals were crossing the Mara River to reach the promising flatlands of Kenya. Despite this, I wanted to take a chance and went out from sunrise to sunset. As I read the “Welcome to Kenya” text message sent to my phone, Abraham smiled at me via the rearview mirror and said: “You are very lucky, you’ll see two countries in one day.” He was right. Africa was indeed full of surprises. Here I was about to witness the Great Migration, which I had only ever seen in documentaries, and I would be experiencing it over two countries. And then it happened. I jumped because of a sudden noise, and I couldn’t figure out where it had come from. Thousands of blue wildebeests and zebras, which I’d just seen gathering in groups a few minutes ago in Tanzania, started running like crazy toward the Mara River. Nature’s voice melted into the dust of the land. I didn’t want to see the attacks of the crocodiles that wait by the banks of the river while the animals tried to cross it. Abraham said, “This is M Y MOME N T S 69

t r av e l diary

“When I fell asleep, I dreamed of the possible adventures to try in the coming days.” pure nature.” Of course, he again had a point. But the scene I had just witnessed a couple of minutes earlier touched me deeply: an antelope that had been stampeded during the crossing was lying on the ground, getting torn into pieces by vultures. After taking plenty of pictures I told Abraham that I wanted to return to the camp. I needed to rest until the next outing, to process what I’d just seen. After a long, exhausting day, the sun was setting as I reached the camp. I’d taken pictures not only of the Great Migration but also of crowded herds of elephants, elegant giraffes, antsy zebras and lions calmly assessing their prey. The accommodations in Africa are made up of luxurious canvas tents or lodges built of wood and stone. There are several options for different budgets. Five-star accommodations offer the same level of comfort as the five-star hotels one finds in major capitals around the world. Tents are spacious and designed like hotel suites. In each tent there is a butler at your service. Baths in vintage tubs with aromatic essences are drawn 70 M Y MO MEN T S

after a day’s outing, the fireplaces are readied and your favorite drink is poured. Dinner is served on tables set around the campfire. Local dances and songs accompany the meals that consist of traditional foods. Those unique moments take away the fatigue of the long hours one has spent in the arms of nature at its wildest. The special African massage that I received in the spa got me ready for the evening. The time I spent in “Boma” that same night was unbelievable. In African culture, Boma is the place where the men and elders of the tribe gather together to chat, eat and celebrate. The restaurant at the camp where I was lodged is named after this concept. Maasai dancers put on a show in the restaurant where dishes of savory African flavors influenced by Indian cuisine were served. After a fantastic night out, I retreated to my tent to prepare for a 5AM wake-up call so I could start a new safari adventure. As soon as I lay on my bed, I felt something warm, big and wiggly

under my feet. I yelled at the top of my voice as I jumped out of bed. My heart was racing. Could it be a piglet, a huge rat or a snake? At that very moment, from the river near where my tent was positioned, the voices of hippos rose up, sounding like ship sirens. Under that din, counting the distance between the tents, no one heard my scream. There was no phone in the room with which to call for help, and in a panic I couldn’t manage to use the radio placed there for emergencies. I was on my own, shaking. I turned the lamp on beside my bed and pulled the blanket off briskly. So what was it? Given the nighttime temperature in that part of Africa could drop down to 10 degrees Celsius, hot water bottles were placed by my bedside to stave off the cold. The African hospitality that I often encountered during my stay was truly welcoming. When I fell asleep between two lions’ roars coming from the opposite side of the river, I dreamed of the possible adventures to try in the coming


The real Lion King, the second largest living cat after the tiger. Opposite page, clockwise from top left: sunrise in the Serengeti; Maasai tribeswomen; the Great Migration of wildebeests; elephants kissing.


bedtime reading

The final novel penned by the famed American author of the Lost Generation takes us on a journey to the French Riviera in the interwar period to explore love, innocence and ambition.


Tender Is the Night CHAPTER I


n the pleasant shore of the French Riviera, about half way between Marseilles and the Italian border, stands a large, proud, rose-colored hotel. Deferential palms cool its flushed façade, and before it stretches a short dazzling beach. Lately it has become a summer resort of notable and fashionable people; a decade ago it was almost deserted after its English clientele went north in April. Now, many bungalows cluster near it, but when this story begins only the cupolas of a dozen old villas rotted like water lilies among the massed pines between Gausse’s Hôtel des Étrangers and Cannes, five miles away.

was both tranquil and aware in a pleasant way. However, one’s eye moved on quickly to her daughter, who had magic in her pink palms and her cheeks lit to a lovely flame, like the thrilling flush of children after their cold baths in the evening. Her fine forehead sloped gently up to where her hair, bordering it like an armorial shield, burst into lovelocks and waves and curlicues of ash blonde and gold. Her eyes were bright, big, clear, wet, and shining, the color of her cheeks was real, breaking close to the surface from the strong young pump of her heart. Her body hovered delicately on the last edge of childhood — she was almost eighteen, nearly complete, but the dew was still on her.

The hotel and its bright tan prayer rug of a beach were one. In the early morning the distant image of Cannes, the pink and cream of old fortifications, the purple Alp that bounded Italy, were cast across the water and lay quavering in the ripples and rings sent up by sea-plants through the clear shallows. Before eight a man came down to the beach in a blue bathrobe and with much preliminary application to his person of the chilly water, and much grunting and loud breathing, floundered a minute in the sea. When he had gone, beach and bay were quiet for an hour. Merchantmen crawled westward on the horizon; bus boys shouted in the hotel court; the dew dried upon the pines. In another hour the horns of motors began to blow down from the winding road along the low range of the Maures, which separates the littoral from true Provençal France.

As sea and sky appeared below them in a thin, hot line the mother said: “Something tells me we’re not going to like this place.” “I want to go home anyhow,” the girl answered. They both spoke cheerfully but were obviously without direction and bored by the fact — moreover, just any direction would not do. They wanted high excitement, not from the necessity of stimulating jaded nerves but with the avidity of prize-winning schoolchildren who deserved their vacations. “We’ll stay three days and then go home. I’ll wire right away for steamer tickets.”

A mile from the sea, where pines give way to dusty poplars, is an isolated railroad stop, whence one June morning in 1925 a victoria brought a woman and her daughter down to Gausse’s Hotel. The mother’s face was of a fading prettiness that would soon be patted with broken veins; her expression


At the hotel the girl made the reservation in idiomatic but rather flat French, like something remembered. When they were installed on the ground floor she walked into the glare of the French windows and out a few steps onto the stone veranda that ran the length of the hotel. When she walked she carried herself like a ballet-dancer, not slumped down on her hips but held up in the small of her back. Out there the hot light clipped close her shadow and she retreated — it was too

bright to see. Fifty yards away the Mediterranean yielded up its pigments, moment by moment, to the brutal sunshine; below the balustrade a faded Buick cooked on the hotel drive. Indeed, of all the region only the beach stirred with activity. Three British nannies sat knitting the slow pattern of Victorian England, the pattern of the forties, the sixties, and the eighties, into sweaters and socks, to the tune of gossip as formalized as incantation; closer to the sea a dozen persons kept house under striped umbrellas, while their dozen children pursued unintimidated fish through the shallows or lay naked and glistening with coconut oil out in the sun. As Rosemary came onto the beach a boy of twelve ran past her and dashed into the sea with exultant cries. Feeling the impactive scrutiny of strange faces, she took off her bathrobe and followed. She floated face down for a few yards and finding it shallow staggered to her feet and plodded forward, dragging slim legs like weights against the resistance of the water. When it was about breast high, she glanced back toward shore: a bald man in a monocle and a pair of tights, his tufted chest thrown out, his brash navel sucked in, was regarding her attentively. As Rosemary returned the gaze the man dislodged the monocle, which went into hiding amid the facetious whiskers of his chest, and poured himself a glass of something from a bottle in his hand. Rosemary laid her face on the water and swam a choppy little four-beat crawl out to the raft. The water reached up for her, pulled her down tenderly out of the heat, seeped in her hair and ran into the corners of her body. She turned round and round in it, embracing it, wallowing in it. Reaching the raft she was out of breath, but a tanned woman with very white teeth looked down at her, and Rosemary, suddenly conscious of the raw whiteness of her own body, turned on her back and drifted toward shore. The hairy man holding the bottle spoke to her as she came out. “I say — they have sharks out behind the raft.” He was of indeterminate nationality, but spoke English with a slow Oxford drawl. “Yesterday they devoured two British sailors from the flotte at Golfe Juan.” “Heavens!” exclaimed Rosemary. “They come in for the refuse from the flotte.” Glazing his eyes to indicate that he had only spoken in order to warn her, he minced off two steps and poured himself another drink. Not unpleasantly self-conscious, since there had been a slight sway of attention toward her during this conversation, Rosemary looked for a place to sit. Obviously each family possessed the strip of sand immediately in front of its umbrella; besides there was much visiting and talking back and forth — the atmosphere of a community upon which it would be presumptuous to intrude. Farther up, where the beach was strewn with pebbles and dead sea-weed, sat a group with flesh as white as her own. They lay under small hand-parasols instead of beach umbrellas and were obviously less indigenous to the place. Between the dark people and the light, Rosemary found room and spread out her peignoir on the sand. Lying so, she first heard their voices and felt their feet skirt her body and their shapes pass between the sun and herself. The breath of an inquisitive dog blew warm and nervous on her

neck; she could feel her skin broiling a little in the heat and hear the small exhausted wa-waa of the expiring waves. Presently her ear distinguished individual voices and she became aware that some one referred to scornfully as “that North guy” had kidnapped a waiter from a café in Cannes last night in order to saw him in two. The sponsor of the story was a white-haired woman in full evening dress, obviously a relic of the previous evening, for a tiara still clung to her head and a discouraged orchid expired from her shoulder. Rosemary, forming a vague antipathy to her and her companions, turned away. Nearest her, on the other side, a young woman lay under a roof of umbrellas making out a list of things from a book open on the sand. Her bathing suit was pulled off her shoulders and her back, a ruddy, orange brown, set off by a string of creamy pearls, shone in the sun. Her face was hard and lovely and pitiful. Her eyes met Rosemary’s but did not see her. Beyond her was a fine man in a jockey cap and red-striped tights; then the woman Rosemary had seen on the raft, and who looked back at her, seeing her; then a man with a long face and a golden, leonine head, with blue tights and no hat, talking very seriously to an unmistakably Latin young man in black tights, both of them picking at little pieces of seaweed in the sand. She thought they were mostly Americans, but something made them unlike the Americans she had known of late. After a while she realized that the man in the jockey cap was giving a quiet little performance for this group; he moved gravely about with a rake, ostensibly removing gravel and meanwhile developing some esoteric burlesque held in suspension by his grave face. Its faintest ramification had become hilarious, until whatever he said released a burst of laughter. Even those who, like herself, were too far away to hear, sent out antennæ of attention until the only person on the beach not caught up in it was the young woman with the string of pearls. Perhaps from modesty of possession she responded to each salvo of amusement by bending closer over her list. The man of the monocle and bottle spoke suddenly out of the sky above Rosemary. “You are a ripping swimmer.” She demurred. “Jolly good. My name is Campion. Here is a lady who says she saw you in Sorrento last week and knows who you are and would so like to meet you.” Glancing around with concealed annoyance Rosemary saw the untanned people were waiting. Reluctantly she got up and went over to them. “Mrs. Abrams, Mrs. McKisco, Mr. McKisco, Mr. Dumphry” “We know who you are,” spoke up the woman in evening dress. “You’re Rosemary Hoyt and I recognized you in Sorrento and asked the hotel clerk and we all think you’re perfectly marvellous and we want to know why you’re not back in America making another marvellous moving picture.” They made a superfluous gesture of moving over for her. The woman who had recognized her was not a Jewess, despite her name. She was one of those elderly “good sports” preserved by an imperviousness to experience and a good digestion into another generation. “We wanted to warn you about getting burned the first day,” she continued cheerily, “because your skin is important, but there seems to be so darn much formality on this beach that we didn’t know whether you’d mind.”


bedtime reading



e thought maybe you were in the plot,” said Mrs. McKisco. She was a shabby-eyed, pretty young woman with a disheartening intensity. “We don’t know who’s in the plot and who isn’t. One man my husband had been particularly nice to turned out to be a chief character—practically the assistant hero.” “The plot?” inquired Rosemary, half understanding. “Is there a plot?” “My dear, we don’t know,” said Mrs. Abrams, with a convulsive, stout woman’s chuckle. “We’re not in it. We’re the gallery.” Mr. Dumphry, a tow-headed effeminate young man, remarked: “Mama Abrams is a plot in herself,” and Campion shook his monocle at him, saying: “Now, Royal, don’t be too ghastly for words.” Rosemary looked at them all uncomfortably, wishing her mother had come down here with her. She did not like these people, especially in her immediate comparison of them with those who had interested her at the other end of the beach. Her mother’s modest but compact social gift got them out of unwelcome situations swiftly and firmly. But Rosemary had been a celebrity for only six months, and sometimes the French manners of her early adolescence and the democratic manners of America, these latter superimposed, made a certain confusion and let her in for just such things.

“The plot?” inquired Rosemary, half understanding. “Is there a plot?” “My dear, we don't know,” said Mrs. Abrams, with a convulsive, stout woman's chuckle. “We're not in it. We're the gallery.” Mr. McKisco, a scrawny, freckle-and-red man of thirty, did not find the topic of the “plot” amusing. He had been staring at the sea — now after a swift glance at his wife he turned to Rosemary and demanded aggressively: “Been here long?” “Only a day.” “Oh.” Evidently feeling that the subject had been thoroughly changed, he looked in turn at the others. “Going to stay all summer?” asked Mrs. McKisco, innocently. “If


you do you can watch the plot unfold.” “For God’s sake, Violet, drop the subject!” exploded her husband. “Get a new joke, for God’s sake!” Mrs. McKisco swayed toward Mrs. Abrams and breathed audibly: “He’s nervous.” “I’m not nervous,” disagreed McKisco. “It just happens I’m not nervous at all.” He was burning visibly — a grayish flush had spread over his face, dissolving all his expressions into a vast ineffectuality. Suddenly remotely conscious of his condition he got up to go in the water, followed by his wife, and seizing the opportunity Rosemary followed. Mr. McKisco drew a long breath, flung himself into the shallows and began a stiff-armed batting of the Mediterranean, obviously intended to suggest a crawl — his breath exhausted he arose and looked around with an expression of surprise that he was still in sight of shore. “I haven’t learned to breathe yet. I never quite understood how they breathed.” He looked at Rosemary inquiringly. “I think you breathe out under water,” she explained. “And every fourth beat you roll your head over for air.” “The breathing’s the hardest part for me. Shall we go to the raft?” The man with the leonine head lay stretched out upon the raft, which tipped back and forth with the motion of the water. As Mrs. McKisco reached for it a sudden tilt struck her arm up roughly, whereupon the man started up and pulled her on board. “I was afraid it hit you.” His voice was slow and shy; he had one of the saddest faces Rosemary had ever seen, the high cheekbones of an Indian, a long upper lip, and enormous deep-set dark golden eyes. He had spoken out of the side of his mouth, as if he hoped his words would reach Mrs. McKisco by a circuitous and unobtrusive route; in a minute he had shoved off into the water and his long body lay motionless toward shore. Rosemary and Mrs. McKisco watched him. When he had exhausted his momentum he abruptly bent double, his thin thighs rose above the surface, and he disappeared totally, leaving scarcely a fleck of foam behind. “He’s a good swimmer,” Rosemary said. Mrs. McKisco’s answer came with surprising violence. “Well, he’s a rotten musician.” She turned to her husband, who after two unsuccessful attempts had managed to climb on the raft, and having attained his balance was trying to make some kind of compensatory flourish, achieving only an extra stagger. “I was just saying that Abe North may be a good swimmer but he’s a rotten musician.”

“Yes,” agreed McKisco, grudgingly. Obviously he had created his wife’s world, and allowed her few liberties in it. “Antheil’s my man.” Mrs. McKisco turned challengingly to

Rosemary, “Anthiel and Joyce. I don’t suppose you ever hear much about those sort of people in Hollywood, but my husband wrote the first criticism of Ulysses that ever appeared in America”. “I wish I had a cigarette,” said McKisco calmly. “That’s more important to me just now.” “He’s got insides—don’t you think so, Albert?” Her voice faded off suddenly. The woman of the pearls had joined her two children in the water, and now Abe North came up under one of them like a volcanic island, raising him on his shoulders. The child yelled with fear and delight and the woman watched with a lovely peace, without a smile. “Is that his wife?” Rosemary asked. “No, that’s Mrs. Diver. They’re not at the hotel.” Her eyes, photographic, did not move from the woman’s face. After a moment she turned vehemently to Rosemary. “Have you been abroad before?” “Yes—I went to school in Paris.” “Oh! Well then you probably know that if you want to enjoy yourself here the thing is to get to know some real French families. What do these people get out of it?” She pointed her left shoulder toward shore. “They just stick around with each other in little cliques. Of course, we had letters of introduction and met all the best French artists and writers in Paris. That made it very nice.” “I should think so.” “My husband is finishing his first novel, you see.” Rosemary said: “Oh, he is?” She was not thinking anything special, except wondering whether her mother had got to sleep in this heat. “It’s on the idea of Ulysses,” continued Mrs. McKisco. “Only instead of taking twenty-four hours my husband takes a hundred years. He takes a decayed old French aristocrat and puts him in contrast with the mechanical age.” “Oh, for God’s sake, Violet, don’t go telling everybody the idea,” protested McKisco. “I don’t want it to get all around before the book’s published.” Rosemary swam back to the shore, where she threw her peignoir over her already sore shoulders and lay down again in the sun. The man with the jockey cap was now going from umbrella to umbrella carrying a bottle and little glasses in his hands; presently he and his friends grew livelier and closer together and now they were all under a single assemblage of umbrellas — she gathered that some one was leaving and that this was a last drink on the beach. Even the children knew that excitement was generating under that umbrella and turned toward it — and it seemed to Rosemary that it all came from the man in the jockey cap. Noon dominated sea and sky — even the white line of Cannes, five miles off, had faded to a mirage of what was fresh and cool; a robin-breasted sailing boat pulled in behind it a strand from the outer, darker sea. It seemed that there was no life anywhere in all this expanse of coast except under the filtered sunlight of those umbrellas, where something went on amid the color and the murmur.

“Do you know what time it is?” Rosemary asked. “It's about half-past one.” They faced the seascape together momentarily. “It's not a bad time,” said Dick Diver. “It's not one of the worst times of the day.” Campion walked near her, stood a few feet away and Rosemary closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep; then she half-opened them and watched two dim, blurred pillars that were legs. The man tried to edge his way into a sandcolored cloud, but the cloud floated off into the vast hot sky. Rosemary fell really asleep. She awoke drenched with sweat to find the beach deserted save for the man in the jockey cap, who was folding a last umbrella. As Rosemary lay blinking, he walked nearer and said: “I was going to wake you before I left. It’s not good to get too burned right away.” “Thank you.” Rosemary looked down at her crimson legs. “Heavens!” She laughed cheerfully, inviting him to talk, but Dick Diver was already carrying a tent and a beach umbrella up to a waiting car, so she went into the water to wash off the sweat. He came back and gathering up a rake, a shovel, and a sieve, stowed them in a crevice of a rock. He glanced up and down the beach to see if he had left anything. “Do you know what time it is?” Rosemary asked. “It’s about half-past one.” They faced the seascape together momentarily. “It’s not a bad time,” said Dick Diver. “It’s not one of the worst times of the day.” He looked at her and for a moment she lived in the bright blue worlds of his eyes, eagerly and confidently. Then he shouldered his last piece of junk and w ent up to his car, and Rosemary came out of the water, shook out her peignoir and walked up to the hotel.



let’s talk

Jacques Garcia

The Grand Maestro of Interiors The respected French architect and designer has made a name for himself with his elaborate hotel interiors. He sits down for an intimate one-on-one conversation


Paris, 212 Rue de Rivoli, interior, daytime. We are in an Empire style hôtel particulier with a gorgeous view of the Tuileries Garden. Here, in the aristocratic heart of Paris, a few steps away from the Louvre, the Palais Royal and Place de la Concorde, is the headquarters of Jacques Garcia, the internationally renowned architect and interior designer who for decades has been featured in the world’s most prestigious magazines. Hemmed in by his collaborators’ desks, which are covered with fabrics, books and drawings, this is the Parisian domain of the author of breathtaking designs for top-class hotels, among them the Royal Monceau, Hôtel Costes, Le Fouquet’s of Paris and La Mamounia in Marrakesh, along with a portfolio of private residences, museum installations (at the Louvre, no less), set designs and a thousand other commissions.

This gentleman décorateur, a title taken from a documentary dedicated to him by Francis Blaise, is also co-author of books that offer a glimpse of his orientation in interior decoration, ranging from Le Style à La Traviata to L’éloge du décor to Moderne. Delving deeper into his past, one discovers that he was born in 1947 and that his vocation for architecture manifested itself early on when he was eight years old at his grandparents’ home, where he built his first mock-up of an interior complete with furnishings. Jacques Garcia is a respected collector of art and antiques, which nourish his very personal vision of interior decoration. References to the past are always present in his work but are filtered by a sensibility so unique that we now talk of a “Garcia style.”




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Reopened in 2009 after a three-year renovation by Garcia, La Mamounia in Marrakesh was given a contemporary redesign without harming its trademark Art Deco-meetsimperial-Morocco look.


let’s talk After working in Paris for decades, Garcia earned international recognition with his renovation of the five-star Hôtel Costes, which sparked a desire for his voluptuous designs. His penchant for romance and opulence started a style revolution in hotels, restaurants and private homes.

How has your passion for interiors developed over the years? What studies, readings and experiences have stimulated it? Architecture is like decoration; the truth lies in talking to the soul. Since I was young I knew I had a special virtue of letting myself soak up atmospheres and relate them to spaces. That’s what has guided me throughout my career. Which masters have been a reference for you in your work? Given my origins, I could not have any other reference than books. It was my father (a son of Spanish immigrants with a great deal of cultural curiosity) who made me understand that books could provide me with unlimited knowledge. What were the most important moments of your career? In 1968, I had the opportunity to attend the Ecole Nationale Supérieure d’Art. In 1972, I could choose which world I wanted to belong to and went from being the richest of the poor to the poorest of the rich. Your portfolio includes unforgettable hotels. What is your concept of high-end hôtellerie? For me, the idea of hôtellerie already includes the concepts of conviviality and the encounter. Personally, I love situations that are intimate. I like 78 M Y MO MEN T S

the dynamic that develops during a conversation in one’s own home or at someone else’s. When we decide to step into a public place, it is to have new experiences. Public spaces of hotels have again caught people’s attention: certain bars and restaurants have become the place to be seen in the city where the hotel is located. They now host fashion shows, auctions, art and antiques exhibitions just like the grand hotels of the early 20th century. Is this a return to the past or some new form of socializing? Given my origins, I repeat, access to luxury hotels was impossible for people outside a certain circle. When, for the first time, I was offered to design a grand hotel, I immediately had the idea of bringing the city into it. That meant drawing a lobby that wouldn’t be exclusive to guests, but would provide a space of contact between the hotel guests and city residents. This is what I started to do first at Le Royal Hotel in Deauville and then at Hôtel Costes in Paris. It was the biggest shock to the hôtellerie world of the past 25 years. Duchesses, rock stars and politicians sat at tables not far from each other. People who previously had nothing in common and who never thought they’d find themselves in the same place were

now there together and happy about the mix. To be clear once and for all, I am for mélange. Which hotels are near to your heart? It’s a question that should never be put to a décorateur because I would be the only one to point to other people’s hotels. I do not see why I should do so, so I’ll simply say “mine.” You have opened to the public your residence in Normandy, the famous Château du Champ-de-Bataille in Sainte-Opportunedu-Bosc, which for 11 years has hosted opera performances in the park. Is it a way to share your vision of taste with others? I opened my house to the public 25 years ago. I was interested in making visitors part of the building’s constructive process because, after all, it has all been reinvented. Year by year they could follow with their eyes what was happening: the work of bulldozers, the terraces, the plantations. If we want to make a comparison, imagine walking into a kitchen when the pig is being gutted and then jump to a gourmet restaurant experience. I have accepted all the criticisms of fate because in the end what is left is a book (Vingt Ans de Passion: Le Château du Champ de Bataille, 2013), an image and a statement recognized by everyone, or at least those who have freedom of thought. Do your homes resemble you? I always say I'm Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I have very different, opposite, sometimes incompatible tastes. My homes resemble me if I share private things with you because the part I cannot show may not resemble the home you visit. Maybe it’s a trivial question, but what is your personal idea of luxury? As I always say, luxury for me is knowledge. Your upcoming public projects? Obviously, the Aldrovandi in Rome! Then the NoMad Hôtel in Los Angeles and Las Vegas, the Oscar Hôtel in London, Murray Terrace in Singapore, the Deauville Casino renovation, a Washington DC restaurant, another in Dubai, and many more. What about your projects for private residences? Do we want to talk about Noto? In Noto, a wonderful land that has not been ruined by development, I had the idea of bringing together some existing homes and renting them to those who want a moment of peace, beauty, freedom and sense of being “elsewhere.” One last question: what book is waiting for you on the bedside table at the end of the day? For many years now, auction catalogs. I dream about what I can as well as what I can’t afford.


room with a view


The sun setting behind the walls of the city’s Old Town, as seen from the Duke Suite at Villa Dubrovnik.

In the wind of Dubrovnik I keep at bay The madness of the people Of my time While the past wraps the truce of our day And the Bora kindly inflicts no pain. I taste strawberries unthinkable at that latitude, As unknown as the paradise we have discovered, Made of figs, oranges, lemons and olives, Of a hospitable people Who offer up their pantry To seekers of peace. And this branch of azure sea, Ridden by quick seagulls and Happy thoughts, Reminds me of my lake. The noise of our war within is far away. In this karstic land that absorbs everything, I rediscover you in the setting sun’s light, Which hides who’s won and who’s lost. I await you staring at the water’s way And that of the sky as we anticipate Returning home, While the wind embraces the pine Carlo Rossi 80 M Y MO MEN T S





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