When the Ubud Chapel opened last July in the deserted interior of Bali, the resort’s 22 tent houses, inspired by Dutch spice trading camps of the late 1800s, were often described as made for glamping – this port charming and camping,
At best, the description is inaccurate. The chapel of Ubud is a temporary deformation. Log in to another land. Strolling in one of your cottages – with wooden wooden doors, a plush four-poster bed and an open-air hedonistic shower, you feel as if you are entering into Rudyard Kipling's novel. You can cool off in a private pool with sea water, overlooking the terraced rice fields or Zen in the emerald-green forests, crackling early morning birds singing and the night chorus of frogs.
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You can even jump to Ubud, the cultural heart of the island, for a traditional fire show. Of course, there are modern luxuries. A 24-hour personal assistant will arrange a rafting trip through a river valley or a mountain bike ride on a dusty volcano. And at night, you can replenish the provisional fare and listen to the locals spinning yarn around a billowing fire. Because, you know, who would be camping, no matter how glamorous it is, without a story?