I had very low expectations of Amandari from all the reviews I read.  Pretty much the consensus stated that it was dated (despite being built 20 years ago) and its sister, Amankila, was by far the star of the Balinese Amans.  Upon arrival at this property, as the van pulled up to the open air lobby, and your eyes sweep past the open space out onto the Ayung River Gorge, your mouth drops open.  It is as if some had take a knife and slit through the mountains to create this magnificent place.  The rain had stopped the moment our van pulled up, and the sun started to break through the metallic sky.  As sun descended past the ridge, the fog gathered in the valley and rose in sparse patches so it seemed as if the valley itself was blowing out clouds.

It is hard to describe Amandari.  I don’t understand all the negative reviews; I suppose you either get it or you don’t.  Or maybe there is an expectation that comes with a place whose asking price is set so high.  It doesn’t have televisions or a lot of things to remind you that you are in a modern world.  There are phones in the rooms, for guest assistance, room service, or whatever else you could possibly want.  A fleet of cars await at the lobby to act as complimentary shuttles to Ubud center and back.  That being said, the beauty of Amandari is not in its physicality or even its material being.  Not in the stone walls and paths that have been aged and weathered with moss, lichen, and epiphytes.  Nor is it in the minimalist designs of the room, with clean lines, vast and open spaces. It is in the air, scented by frangipani, jasmine, and the wafting stream of sandalwood incense.  It is in the genuine, heart warming smiles of its caring staff.  It is in the twisted branches of trees heaving with scarlet flowers, the sound of the Ayung rumbling by, the music that is ever-present and the feeling of being in a magical place.

Our first night there, I couldn’t sleep.  Was it from jet lag or just disbelief?  At 4:00 am, I opened the sliding glass door to stare at the valley in pitch black.  What could I possibly see?  Fireflies twinkling and buzzing set the electricity in the air.  The noise of frogs croaking and insects chirping filled the space.  Roosters roamed and groaned and created a ruckus.  Right before the sun came out, the bats gathered together and screeched so loud that the sound reverberated inside your skull.  Then minutes later, they dispersed, vanished, gone, just as if they had not been there at all.

Amandari is not about the resort itself.  It’s blended into its surrounding, set behind villagers’ compound, subtly elegant, understated, and unimposing.  It’s a place where you are a treasured guest, with pretty much everything and anything you could desire.  You want to go to Mount Batur in thirty minutes?  No problem.  And you don’t have to worry about having a minimum amount of people for your excursions–most everything is private, just you and your companion(s).  It was truly an amazing experience to have that kind of luxury, privacy and intimacy, without worrying about the details, and the ability to see whatever you want.  But I would say the best quality about Amandari (and pretty much any other Aman) is the people who work at the resort.  One of our guides had worked for Amandari for 21 years, pretty much since it opened.  He beamed with pride as he talked about how much he loved Amandari, and working for the resort, the opportunities he received (being able to stay in his village with his family) and the community efforts by the resort.  Amandari owns the land surrounding the property such as the rice paddies, but lets the villagers work the field, and come harvesting time, the resort buys the produce from the villagers (which is used in the restaurant).

My favorite memory of Amandari was wandering through the dark with Steve, one flashlight for the both of us, as we navigated our way through the property, the footpath, the ridge of the rice paddies, looking for the steps that led into the valley below.  At night the creatures come out to play.  We’re city people, so we are not used to all this wildlife, and we especially didn’t want to harm any of it.  A frog jumped across the path, only in sight of Steve’s flashlight, and when he jumped, I shrieked.  Finally we found the steps; we sat down, watching, observing, taking in the fireflies floating across the rice paddies, glowing, off and on, off and on, off and on, as they zipped in zig zags illuminating bits and pieces of the field.  And then suddenly, gamelan music rose from the valley.  Locals walked by in a line, flashlights affixed to their helmets–and we thought, that’s what we need next time for roaming about in the dark.

I am a restless person who tends to wander, roam, and amble aimlessly.  I am not good at sitting still, and despise the feeling of being confined.  Here, I could stay here time without end.