What is luxury?

Last summer, I decreed that when I came back to VN for our summer family visit, I would stay in the most cost efficient high end hotels. Then my son’s grandma got my idea from somewhere, and went around to my son and told him: “you and your dad can stay at my house, to be close”. Hers is a grand one, but next to a main road, cars and trucks go by day and night. Our allotted room would be stuffy (meaning full of stuff), airless, because the windows just open to another house, and dark (which is a good thing). The toilet is rudimentary, and you are supposed to run water to a bowl and use a can to pour water over and wash. Not the authentic drawing water from a well and pour it all over either. When the son tried to convince me to stay there, I relented. But I had a cunning plan.

We stopped over Kuala Lumpur, and I booked two nights at the most cost efficient high end hotels (airport five star, and the RuMa Residence). At least I spent some of my earnings the way I wanted.

But the experience was not that great. The airport hotel was grand to some, but so so to me. Only good thing was we landed at midnight and could go straight to bed after a good meal, Malaysian ones are on the heavy side. The room was spacious, water flowed strongly, but did not feel luxurious. The next day, we moved to RuMa Residence, but the single thing ruined my experience: their porters were women. Probably Malaysian women are stronger than men and the like, but the Olympic truth is that they could lift less weight than men, so leaving them in the role of porters just not a relaxing starting of the stay I was looking for. The hotel was nice, quirky, and deliberately dark orange. Again the room was nice, water was nice, but nothing met my imagination. But again, perhaps I was too conscious, too cramped to let go and enjoy. But I have a cunning metric: the smell. You can always feel some smells are more refined, more upmarket from others. Both hotels smelt nice, but not instant lift, this is somewhere else feeling.

What I look for is something that lifts me out of the place, something instantly recognisable as pleasant because it has a deeper point: sounds that are calming, scents that awaken, lights that are soothing, textures that feel close. Not: ah, this must be two fifty perfume, or yes, I know the round staircases are trending.

The son and I deviated to Wagyu here and there, the British version. The mouthfeel is different, pleasant even, but there is no depth. Son said, it is nice, but I am used to the other type of beef. The other type is the short rib from Riverford, the cheapest beef they sell, bones for the phở broth, the meaty bits dipped in hot broth.

Let’s go to some restaurant, sometimes I ask, and I always get the reluctant shrug of shoulders. Food at home is just too true. Vịt tiềm is something I cook well. Bún chả is another one. When I am in the mood, it would be a vegetarian stew with mushrooms and peach tears.

I truly reach out in search for a real luxurious experience, only to realise that I am living much closer to it without much ado. Organic extra virgin olive oil? I stir fry veg in it. Not because it is expensive, not at all at 5.5 per 500ml, but because it is clearly something: we dip bread in it and eat them for snack.

On my runs, I realise, the most luxurious smells, for me, probably the smells of roses, of mock orange in early summer, later down, they would be lily, and other. Even fish can smell upmarket or few days old. Of course I already had the luxurious experiences, what I was looking for is just that, imaginations. I could live it if I wanted to. I am living it: the bird songs in the morning, the summer scents, the autumn cool.