Dear Gale, Penn & Philip,
Thank you so very much for your wonderful email. It was read slowly, several times, and with a smile that stubbornly refused to leave for the rest of the day. Words like yours really ought to be prescribed by doctors – or at the very least made tax-deductible.
From our very first phone call – when our stay was rearranged with such calm kindness and not a hint of drama – until the moment we reluctantly sat in the car to leave, our time with you felt like one long, seamless dream. The sort of dream one wakes from feeling mildly offended by reality.
We experienced English charm in its most refined form: discreet, understated, and so effective that one only realises afterwards that one has been completely won over.
We sensed the thoughts of a visionary man, saw the result of a life lived with curiosity and care – and witnessed how love for a place can take physical form and become something as rare as Kanlaya’s.
Because Kanlaya’s is not merely a beautiful place. It is a complete little universe.
A place where nothing feels accidental, and where everything – the gentle curves of the paths, the way the light falls in the garden, the view over the river, the silence at night – seems to be the result of a thousand thoughtful decisions and just as many loving omissions.
We can thank you for many things: comfort, experiences, food, nature and peace.
But above all, we thank you for the way you welcomed us – not as room numbers, but as people. That is a rare luxury. And an even rarer skill.
They say a diamond cannot shine without light. The same is true of Kanlaya’s.
Without you, Philip, the place would still be beautiful – but it would lack its soul, its direction, and its quiet greatness.
You are a rare combination: romantic and entrepreneur, dreamer and builder, gentleman and uncompromising perfectionist. A man who has not merely created a place, but given it identity, dignity and warmth.
It is clear that Kanlaya’s was not built for profit alone, but out of love, pride, and an almost artistic determination to prove that the world can still be made more beautiful – if one simply refuses to compromise.
You have not built a hotel.
You have created a sanctuary.
A home for travellers.
A place where shoulders drop, and people straighten up.
To meet someone of your age with such presence, humour, vitality and curiosity is deeply moving. If even half of the world’s forty-year-olds had the same energy, the fitness industry would collapse, retirement would be abolished, and the world would be a considerably more interesting place.
The garden deserves a chapter of its own.
It is not merely beautiful – it is poetic. A living composition of colours, scents, shadows and calm. A place where time itself seems to slow down out of respect.
In the morning it is quiet and modest. In the evening it becomes a small fairytale of light, fire, water and cicadas.
To dine there does not feel like having a meal, but like taking part in a ceremony – discreetly orchestrated by nature itself and refined by human hands of exceptional taste.
And then the rooms…
They are not rooms.
They are small private kingdoms.
Each one thought through to the smallest detail: proportions, materials, light, silence, views.
Beautiful without being showy. Luxurious without asking for applause. Sensual in their calm.
One does not merely sleep well.
One sleeps with dignity.
It is obvious that they were created by people who understand that true quality does not shout – it whispers
And then the kitchen and the housekeeping team – Penn’s realm.
This is where one truly understands what leadership means when it is practised with heart, precision and human intelligence.
The kitchen does not merely serve food, but daily little love letters on plates: honest, beautiful, perfectly balanced, and prepared with a respect for ingredients and tradition usually found only in proud grandmothers and extremely expensive Michelin chefs.
Every breakfast felt like a kind gesture.
Every dinner like a quiet celebration.
And the housekeeping team – discreet as shadows, kind as old friends, and efficient like a Swiss watch that has learned elegance in Asia.
Everything works. Nothing disturbs. Nothing is missing.
It is evident that Penn has not merely gathered a team – she has created a culture.
A culture where people help one another.
Where they take pride in their work.
Where guests are cared for as if they were family.
If Kanlaya’s were a watch, Penn would be the mechanism.
Invisible to most – but absolutely essential for time to move forward beautifully at all.
We loved your little village: the school and little Penn, football matches with the children (which we lost with dignity), beer with the petrol station keeper, sausages from the elderly ladies, fishing with Penn’s brother, and breakfast on the mountain served by Penn’s mother.
It did not feel like tourism.
It felt like temporary citizenship.
We have travelled the world for many years. Slept everywhere from palaces to places where even the mosquitoes seemed emotionally affected. More than a thousand nights, easily.
Nothing comes close to this.
Not even in the same emotional postcode.
And number two may remain comfortably where it is, gathering strength.
If anyone asks our advice, we say: at least five days. Preferably more.
Sunrise and breakfast on the mountain. The coffee village. The caves. The 250,000 swallows returning like a living blanket across the sky. The river. The town.
And dinner in the garden – where even the silence has flavour.
A place with soul.
A place with backbone.
A place with character.
We wish you all the very best for the future:
many wonderful guests, strong health, quiet mornings, long dinners – and just enough
adventure to keep life worth telling stories about. With the deepest gratitude and the warmest thoughts from two people who feel extraordinarily fortunate,
With love,
Jannie & Henrik
