Aman junkies, they were called, the great and the good who back in the 1990s would traverse the globe attempting to pick off the seemingly ever-expanding list of Aman hotels. I attempted to be one myself for a while, and after I’d spent my honeymoon (with my wife, obviously) in Amankila and Amanwana in Bali (the one with tents on the beach where Princess Diana liked to go), spent the next five years trying to go to as many as possible. I didn’t do too badly, but in the end, it came down to cost, and as Aman hotels at the time were the benchmark of chi-chi travel, as well as being mouth-wateringly enticing, they were also eye-wateringly expensive. Maybe I should have embarked upon a career as an investment banker.
The world is different now, and private, silent, sophisticated resorts with a bit of spiritualism and plinky-plonky music thrown in for good measure are ten-a-penny. Ok, maybe not a penny, but you get my drift. The zeitgeist has also changed, as it has a wont to do, as for some time now travellers have gravitated towards something less stuck up, more inclusive, and a bit more fun. Which is why Soho House started opening hotels as well as members’ clubs.
