Five visits.
A few arrows.
One very
decisive owl.

Photogenic lunch. Less photogenic chips.

On our first visit, we were there with friends, and the chef sent us two complimentary floating lunch trays for our private pool. They looked wonderfully photogenic.

Then we discovered that soggy French fries are considerably less glamorous. Having observed what happened to the first tray, we ensured the second remained firmly on dry land.

We believe in learning from experience—especially when chips are involved.

A complimentary surprise on that visit; not presented as a standard inclusion.

A welcome worth coming back for.

On my second visit, the chef made me a special chocolate cake. Its message was simple:

The owl who knew when to leave a party.

I got to feed Oscar, a shy rescue owl who preferred women. I gave her all her meat at once.

Oscar triumphantly took it, retreated into hiding, and declined any further social engagement. I had rather undermined my own negotiating position.

A memory from my third visit, not a promise of an encounter on a future stay.

She came for the camel. The curry won.

My mother doesn’t particularly like travelling. But a few months before our 2025 visit, she confessed that, as a six-year-old growing up in Trinidad, she had read about camels and always wanted to ride one.

Naturally, we had to do something about that.

The camel was higher off the ground than she would have preferred. Its gait was bumpy and uncomfortable. It was also, she felt, a little smelly.

The curry chicken was a much greater success. My mother is very particular about food—the only meat she eats is white-meat chicken, which had made feeding her in Japan quite an undertaking.

The camel fulfilled the childhood dream. The chef earned the endorsement.