A young model shows off Kenzo’s SS13 designs

DESIGNERS ARE SETTING THEIR SIGHTS ON THE NEXT GENERATION, AS THE FIRST GLOBAL KIDS FASHION WEEK IN LONDON PROVED

High fashion for little people. The first ever Global Kids’ Fashion Week, in association with designer children’s outfitters AlexandAlexa.com, was held in London’s Freemason’s hall this spring.

With not a miniature fashion faux pas in sight, the catwalk featured designs from Chloé, Junior Gaultier, Supertrash and Little Marc Jacobs to scratch the surface.

With ambassadors including model, Portia Freeman and founder of my-wardrobe.com Sarah Curran and Jodie and Jemma Kidd on the front row, no one could deny that the show had style. Taffeta party dresses, neon laced new rave trainers and real indie kids tiptoed and clomped down the catwalk, cooed and snapped by well-heeled mothers and fathers. But how much sartorial elegance does an eight year old need?

Opinion may differ on having children on the runway, but the show wasn’t a solely commercial exercise; all proceeds from the SS13 public fashion show were donated to Camila Batmanghelidjh’s highly respected Kids Company charity, which works with dispossessed children a million miles away, metaphorically, from the privilege of the party. globalkidsfashionweek.com 

The grand finale

Marco Lodola, Aladin

As Bowiemania takes over the world, our columnist tells how he is putting on a particularly original, global tribute to the multifaceted cultural icon. JEAN-DAVID MALAT

The current exhibition on David Bowie at London’s V&A, sponsored by Gucci, is an interactive hi-tech exhibition featuring more than 300 objects – handwritten lyrics, original costumes, fashion, photography, film, music videos, set designs, personal instruments and original album artworks, brought together by the V&A for the very first time in order to give visitors a more comprehensive insight into the life, career and mind of David Bowie. One would ask “why such mass enthusiasm for the artist?”, to which only one answer is possible: because he is a legend and his influence on contemporary creative society is exemplary and will be remembered.

Bowie has sold close to 136 million albums, and ranks among the ten best selling acts in UK pop history. In the BBC’s 2002 poll of the ‘100 Greatest Britons’, Bowie ranked 29 – that’s Britons of any type.

Bowie’s avant-garde artistic aura is what made him the legend he is, and art has played a large part in his life. Andy Warhol, probably the most famous artist of the pop art movement, was one of Bowie’s greatest inspirations. In 2003, in an interview with Performing Songwriter magazine about the song he wrote about Warhol, Bowie explained that he took the song to The Factory (Warhol’s studio and workshop) when he first visited America and that Andy Warhol hated it. After this unfortunate event, Bowie got to know Warhol and they became friends.

In 1996, David Bowie even played the part of Andy Warhol in Julian Schabel’s film ‘Basquiat.’ So, in parallel to the Victoria and Albert Museum exhibition, in 2013, the Opera Gallery is opening a visual artistic tribute exhibition on the legendary musician and icon.

Over twenty contemporary artists, from the US, the United Kingdom and the rest of Europe have been asked to create an artwork that pays homage to the singer, in their own style and technique.

The list of participating artists include Spanish portraitist Lita Cabellut – whose large-scale portraits fascinate the viewers with striking depth and colours; French stencil artist C215 who usually makes portraits of the poor 01 and homeless but eagerly accepted the challenge to depict the iconic singer for this exhibition.

British street artists Bob and Chaz from The London Police (TLP) collective are also taking part in the exhibition ‘The Many Faces of David Bowie.’ Famous for their lovable & iconic ‘Lads’ characters that have been seen on streets all over the world, they will bring a new dimension to the tribute display thanks to their unique back-to-basic black and white ink drawing technique. Other street artists from the British scene were selected to take part in the exhibition, such as Bristol-born Nick Walker, who emerged from the graffiti scene in the early 1980s and is now famous for his style and humour that have gained him worldwide recognition. Finally, Mac1 is a photo-realistic graffiti artist who came out of Birmingham’s innovative scene in the 1980s & 90s. He is a selftaught artist who deals mainly with acrylics, oils and inks. Inspired by pop and comic art as well as iconic figures from the past and present, Mac1 has been painting for 19 years, mainly with aerosol paint.

Nick Gentry presents a portrait in his very own recycling-upcycling technique that consists in painting with oil on a background made of floppy disks and cd-roms

And British visual artists Zoobs continues to incorporate different cultures and their representations into breath-taking iconic images that are often themed with death, love, pain, celebration and magic. His images, verging on the surreal, are haunting and sinister yet fashionably contemporary. There is no doubt that his take on a portrait of music and fashion icon Bowie, right up Zoobs’ street, will be strikingly edgy and sensual.

Eduardo Guelfendein, David Bowie

From the French scene, we are delighted to welcome Kan and Blo, from the ‘Da Mental Vaporz’ collective, as well as Hisham Echafaki and Jef Aerosol.

Initially from the south of France, Kan joined the Da Mental Vaporz crew in 2000. Blo, on his side, discovered graffiti at the age of 14, inspired by the urban landscape and hip-hop culture of his childhood. Following his first personal exhibition in 2003, Blo’s work evolved towards a more contemporary approach, yet remaining firmly attached to the codes of his graffiti background. Moving to Paris in 2005, he further developed his figurative style on a variety of mediums. Integrating various techniques and influences, the art of Blo earned him respect from the graffiti community as well as recognition in the contemporary art world, allowing him to display his work in prestigious venues such as Paris’ Grand Palais in 2008.

Jef Aerosol is a main proponent of the first generation of French street artists who started working on the streets in the early 1980s. A legend himself, he will take on the challenge of paying tribute to the British legend David Bowie in the recognisable stencil and collage style that he is famous for.

Mr Brainwash, Bowie Triptych

From the rest of the world, the exhibition will showcase works by the infamous Los Angeles based Mr Brainwash, moniker of Paris-born Thierry Guetta who became famous thanks to Banksy’s film ‘Exit Through The Gift Shop’ and who was introduced to the London public in the summer of 2012 when he took over the Old Sorting Office to present his large-scale installations, murals and stencils largely inspired by the iconic pop culture imagery.

Canada will be represented by painter André Monet, who blends collage of old newspapers and books, and paints portraits over this specially-made background. The traits of his characters are recreated with such precision that one might see a realistic photography arising from a distance. This new technique reveals the strengths and weaknesses of individuals appearing on the canvases.

In the mixed media category, the Italian sculptor Marco Lodola, who participated in the Venice Biennale several times in the past, will illuminate the exhibition with a neon and aluminium sculpture depicting David Bowie as Aladdin – the alter ego hero of his sixth album ‘Aladdin Sane’.

Joe Black, the London genius who describes himself as an ‘image-maker’ rather than an artist, features in the exhibition as well. Famous for his portraits made out of toy soldiers, badges, Lego and other small mundane objects, he will present a portrait of David Bowie entirely made with painted test tubes, proving once again that his ingenuity and resourcefulness are endless when it comes to depicting figures that inspire or have inspired him.

Finally, the most famous Scottish contemporary sculptor, the Royal Academician David Mach, who works with postcards, coat hangers, match-heads and pin-heads to create monumental installations, sculptures and collages, will create a new piece for the purpose of this exhibition, and to render homage to one of the most beloved singers and musicians of our times.

Jean-David Malat is director of the international Opera Gallery group; operagallery.com

David Bowie Is, V&A 23 March to 11 August 2013
The many faces of David Bowie, Opera Gallery London 20 June to 31 August 2013. After London the exhibtion will tour in Opera Gallery venues in Hong Kong, Singapore and Seoul.

Stacey Teo

For the conscientious chef, sustainability is more than just a fashionable catch phrase, as our columnist explains, it is both a moral obligation and our best chance for the future. STACEY TEO

I am not a professional writer, I’m a chef, but I do know that when writing an article it is good to grab the readers attention right away. How’s this for an attention grabber? According to the World Wildlife Fund, over 73 million sharks are killed each year just to feed consumer’s demand for sharks fin soup. That’s not a typo. 73…million. It’s a shocking number and the saddest part is that in most cases the shark is pulled from the water, its fin is hacked off and the rest of the majestic animal is unceremoniously dumped back into the sea.

More numbers? According to the Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations, 85% of the world’s fisheries are either fully exploited, over exploited, depleted, or recovering from depletion. It’s no wonder. Singapore alone consumes an average of 100,000 tons of seafood each year and the global seafood market is expected to grow another 50 million tons by 2025. On land things aren’t much better. Millions of tons of food go to waste each year. It is estimated that in the US, 14% of food purchased at the grocery store is thrown away. This is an incredible waste of resources – not just to produce the food but also to ship, process and store it, all for nothing.

Something needs to be done and as chefs I believe that we are part of the problem but hopefully, we’re also part of the solution. For too long we have been abusing our resources and it is now time we start thinking about how we can stop destroying the raw materials we need to run our businesses. We have to set the example for our clients to follow. Yes, we face difficult questions and tough steps will need to be taken, but I am confident that if professionals and clients work together, we will not only sustain but actually begin to replenish.

This is the goal towards which we have already taken some important steps at our newly opened Montigo Resort, Nongsa. Before we opened our doors we began reaching out to area farmers to purchase as much locally produced food as possible. On the property itself we use organic fertiliser and we are planning to create our own gardens where we will grow vegetables, herbs and fruits to use in our restaurant.

We do not have items like cod and instead of industrially caught tuna we serve a locally caught variety. Salmon is occasionally served but we have replaced it on the menu with similar types of fish as often as possible.

Finally we do our very best to only buy what we will be using. Many restaurants over-buy which is not only environmentally wasteful but also bad for the bottom line. We ask our suppliers to deliver our products in minimal packaging without compromising on freshness and sanitation. Aubergine really does not need to be individually wrapped the way it is in the supermarket.

Sustainability can be achieved without compromising on flavour

When planning the menus I thought long and hard about how to make each dish sustainable. To  be truly sustainable you need to do more than just strike an item like shark fin soup from the menu. Buying locally sounds great but the reality is that not everyone starts out on an equal playing field. In Batam the main agricultural product is cassava leaves. That doesn’t give you a lot of menu options. Limited local crop variety means chefs have to become much more creative to develop a menu that offers a bit of variety but there is only so much one can do. Relying on local, seasonal harvests also means certain products are not available during certain times in the year. In consequence dishes need to be changed more often leads to more menus printed which adds to the restaurant’s overall costs and increases the carbon footprint.

It’s also difficult for a chef to select the right local farmers. Not many use organic compost these days and it’s difficult to keep track of who is using what in their growing cycles. To be sure a chef has to keep a list of farmers who support sustainable initiatives but how many of us have time to check-up on these things.

One thing we can control is the education of our staff. At Montigo, having everyone on the same page and fully understanding the reasons behind our initiatives is key. We are hopeful that some may start coming up with their own ways to help the cause and that it will carry over to their home lives and they will help spread the message if they ever decide to change jobs. Our guests also need to be aware that the future depends in great part on what they order when they are out and what they cook at home. As industry professionals, we are just the tip of the ice berg. We need to lead by example but it is up to our clients to follow. Ultimately our goal is not only to sustain but regain.

Want to help? There are a number of things you can do. First take a stand against unsustainable fishing by pledging to buy MSC (Marine Stewardship Council) certified seafood. It is still not readily available everywhere so if you can’t find seafood with the MSC label in your local store, please ask for them because businesses do listen to their customers. Next, inform yourself. You can find a lot of great information on the WWF website. There are sites for every area in the world. I love the Singapore site. It has useful information on what you can do to help preserve the area’s waters, from taking a Save the Sharks Pledge, to seeing what restaurants are shark-fin free and best of all, you can download an easy to carry guide to sustainable seafood shopping. I also like to check in at the Marine Stewardship Council’s website where apart from a lot of useful info on sustainable fishing there are some tasty recipes. Stacey Teo, Executive Chef at KOP Hospitality

wwf.org, msc.org 

SWEDEN IS CELEBRATING ITS OWN, UNIQUE GASTRONOMIC CULTURE LIKE NEVER BEFORE, AS Caroline Davies DISCOVERS ON A TOUR OF THE CAPITAL

Sweden is going back to its own. No longer satisfied with following the dictates of the French, the demands of the Spanish, the inventions of the Americans, Swedes are making a stand. Organic, traditional, simple, smoked, foraged and served, the Swedish food movement is embracing its homegrown tastes and getting its hands dirty. In more than one way, they are going back to their roots.

My visit to Sweden starts in twilight, at 3pm in the afternoon on a winter’s day. By the time my friend Rory, a discerning foodie, and I arrive in the city known as the “Venice of the North”, night has fallen. We bumble our way through the old town streets of Gamla stan, pausing to take in the view across the lakes, ornate pristine facades and street lights reflected in the water, or to peer past the curtained covered windows of cafes promising bowls of hot chocolate.

At the unlikely location of a motorway junction, we find our first stop. Strömmingvagnen, the herring stand, is the Swedish equivalent of a burger van. For over 20 years, the small trailer under a large golden fish has served herring in different forms to late night snackers and adventurous tourists. Ravenous from the journey, we examine the faded images displayed behind the counter and opt for rye bread, gravalax, dill and herring. Warm, gooey, salty and sweet, it is impossible to eat neatly and without noises of appreciation. Hands still a little sticky, we head for our hotel.

Hotel Rival, owned in part by Benny Andersson of Abba fame, is a converted cinema. The huge theatre, filled with 700 red velvet covered seats, is still used for screenings – Abba, the movie was premiered here – theatre productions and comedy nights. On performance evenings the foyer and bar are lively and the hotel has more spirit than most. Swedes love their coffee shops, a welcome escape from the winds that whip across the waterways, and Hotel Rival’s cosy art house style cafe tucked in the corner is a good spot to grab something smothered in cinnamon.

Each room is decorated with a wall sized print of a famous golden moment in cinematic history, a teddy bear and, of course, an Abba “The Greatest Hits” Album. Unsurprisingly, the sound system is not only crystal clear, but available in a variety of guises. If you haven’t had enough after singing along to “Dancing Queen” in the shower, you can request a speakerphone pillow from the menu and allow Benny, Agnetha, Björn and Anni-Frid’s dulcet tones to sing you to sleep. Buoyed by the burst of Swedish pop, we head out for our first taste of the food.

Volt is discreet. Situated on an elegant street in Ostermalmstorg we walk past it a couple of times before noticing that the clean framed front with elm branches in the window is the entrance. The decor – black carpet with white walls, the occasional pencil sketch hung on the wall – sounds stark, but is surprisingly relaxing, even comforting. Perhaps it is the quiet friendliness of the staff, who are so closely involved in the restaurant they pick everything from the art on the walls to the berries used in the tea at the end of your meal, that makes the restaurant feel familiar. Their music choices, which sounds as though they should be the soundtrack to an indie film, mummer in the background. Brass pipes cross geometrically along the walls with the occasional tap, used to refill the jugs with icy cool water.

The six course tasting menu, paired carefully with wine from Germany and France, focus on in season ingredients. Plates are balanced, but flavoursome with interesting pairings; smoky tinges are encouraged but not dominant, berries present but used sparingly. The Normandy cider, made only from fallen apples from a Michelin starred producer was a confident match with the cheese plate from local farms. With understanding and careful delivery, the menu wins even initial sceptics round.

“This place is one gravedigger short of Elsinore.” Rory says as we wander the isolated path towards the nursery gardens in Djurgården.

There is something Hamlet-esque about the Rosendals Trädgård in winter. Black mud sucks in the green tendrils of the grass and stains the solid grey boulders, silver birches hold cawing ravens. The bright light of daytime cuts the outlines of the surroundings into clear focus, so that we can see a horse drawn cart dragging its way through the mud in the distance with distinct clarity. We come across an art installation, the words “this is the corner of a larger field” written in swirling handwriting, created in white wire 10ft long, its stand planted solidly in the marshy ground giving the impression that it has been scrawled across the landscape.

The gardens are in the stately home of Rosendal palace. An organic haven, they grow seasonal produce for local restaurants and their own cafe, an expansive, steamy greenhouse with painted blue picnic benches laden with plates of Swedish biscuits and rosehip tea. In summer the gardens are full, but in the colder months, the cafe is filled with dog walkers and knowledgeable foodies. It is a curiosity, not quite bleak and not quite twee. We wander the garden’s paths past artistic bamboo structures and carefully pruned topiary to find a locked greenhouse, empty but for a leaf strewn dinner table, decorated for a dinner party that never came or is perhaps yet to arrive.

Henrik Norström is viewed as the pioneer of the Swedish food movement. Formerly a chef at a Michelin starred restaurant in central Stockholm specialising in French and Spanish cuisine, Norström decided that he was tired of meals dominated by flavours from other countries. He wanted his dishes local. In 2003, he opened Lux, a converted staff canteen for the Electrolux company, overlooking the lake on the small island of Lila Essingen. In 2004, they won a Michelin star.

“From here you can see the changes in the season,” he says. “If you have a restaurant in the city you have your four walls and you cannot see if it’s summer, winter, autumn or spring.”

Even a trained eye might find it difficult to spot the distinction between each of Norström seasons; there are 16. He is an innovator in tune with his subject.

“If you came back here this time next year there would be different items on the menu,” he says. “I use the same produce, but I never go back and use old dishes.”

Over the past decade Norström has developed a relationship with each of his suppliers, be they the fisherman, apple growers or reindeer farmers in the northern reaches of Sweden. Not unlike its owner, the restaurant is elegant and understated; the focus is on the food and a lifestyle, not brash gimmicks.

Back in central Stockholm, Swedish restaurants are fast becoming a la mode. With the food’s hunter gatherer ethos, some restaurants have adopted a macho edge. Ekstedt is bold. Red brick walls, black granite surfaces, bare light bulbs and a scorching fire behind wisely placed glass barrier, this is a hearty restaurant. Dishes are smoked, sizzled and grilled at the flame before being prepared by chefs in leather aprons at the central table and presented carefully on slate plates and wooden charred slats. The food is rich and creamy, the meat tender and the flavours strong. Butter soft reindeer meat, baked in ember and served with truffle proves a highlight, and their lemon ice cream with smoked almonds and salty caramel mixes textures well. The chef and creator behind it, Niklas Ekstedt, researched traditional methods to give his food the authentic Swedish edge; you can certainly imagine that their five-course tasting menu would sustain you through a long winter.

Full to the brim and as it is our final night in the city, we wrap up and meander through the old streets of Gamla stan past churches and narrow passages. Heading for home, we find ourselves in front of the big golden fish over the small trailer. We pause. There is always a little room left for herring.

Volt: restaurangvolt.se

Ekstedt: ekstedt.nu

The Rival Hotel: rival.se

Info: visitstockholm.com 

Grande Cuvée Brut, the product of as many as 1,000 tastings

THERE ARE CHAMPAGNES, VINTAGE CHAMPAGNES, PRESTIGE CHAMPAGNES, AND, FOR A NUMBER OF CONNOISSEURS, THEN THERE IS KRUG. OUR COLUMNIST, HIMSELF A LEGEND IN THE WINE TRADE, EXAMINES WHAT IT IS THAT MAKES THIS CHAMPAGNE SO SPECIAL

“Bring anything you like as long as it starts with K and ends with G.” So I was instructed before a dinner at which only the best would do and it was up to me to bring champagne. So why is Krug considered by true connoisseurs to be the best among many fine champagne houses? To help answer this question I was invited to Krug on a cold winter morning. In contrast to the many splendid champagne ‘Maisons’ in Reims, France, the Krug headquarters is an unprepossessing building that does not prepare you for the splendours inside. I was invited to a special tasting by Margareth Henriquez, the president of Krug. We were joined at the tasting by Eric Lebel, the chef de cave.

The wines to be tasted were Krug Grande Cuvée, Krug 1996, Krug Clos du Mesnil 1996, Krug Clos d’Ambonnay 1996 and Krug 1998. The wines were very different yet all had some things in common. First was a core of firm acidity, the backbone of Krug. All had a very fine mousse and were wonderfully fresh. All were richly aromatic with multi-faceted flavours that danced across the palate, suggesting perhaps grilled nuts for a moment, then a touch of honey followed by toasted brioche or dark red fruits. The sensations went on and on. All had an impression of size and volume yet were so elegant that the aromas and flavours seemed to be balanced on the point of the finest needle. Finally, a long finish that lasted minutes rather than seconds. The wines could be enjoyed on two levels; immediate pleasure certainly, but they also repaid contemplation when so much more was revealed. They are not showy wines but really quite cerebral.

The two wines closest in style were the Krug Grande Cuvée and the Krug 1996. The Clos du Mesnil, a 100% Chardonnay champagne, reminded me of a young Montrachet, but the flavours were much finer. Totally harmonious, very complex and like a ballerina poised on tip toe, supremely elegant. The Clos d’Ambonnay 1996, made entirely of Pinot Noir, had the same Krug backbone as the Clos du Mesnil but its taste profile was entirely different. The texture silkily smooth, the bouquet and flavours hinting at dark red fruits, a touch of toasted brioche, dark chocolate and as Eric Lebel suggested “that classic burgundian feature, sous bois”. There is no equivalent word in English: ‘boskiness’ gets about 20% of the way there. The richness and power of the fruit perfectly balanced by the firm acidity which is a feature not only of Krug but also of 1996. The taste went on and on, the long finish was of almost symphonic complexity. Among wine snobs it is common to look upon the Grande Cuvée as a sort of entry level Krug, a mere nonvintage wine. This is a great error.

So how does Krug achieve such outstanding quality? Apart from insisting on only the best for every small decision that has to be made during the whole process there are several key factors that elevate Krug above their competitors.

Of utmost importance is the raw material. As their own vineyards provide just 40% of their needs, the remaining 60% have to be bought in. The source of their grapes is not a few very large vineyards but dozens of tiny plots, some no larger than a large garden. Each terroir being subtly different, this brings great complexity to the final blend. The growers keep the yields low and the contracts with Krug often go back many generations. Several growers told me that it is considered an honour to supply Krug with grapes. It should be noted that Krug buy only grapes, never wine. Every parcel bought is kept separate. Many Champagne houses mix the many lots bought in large tanks. Not so at Krug. Amazingly, the grapes from each plot of land from each grower are fermented separately. There is a severe triage and the wines are fermented in old 205 litre oak casks. Krug is the only great Champagne house that still ferments all its wines in oak. The casks are old because the aim is not to add tannins but to allow a slow interaction between the must and the tiny amount of oxygen that the casks allow through. This method ensures a long, slow evolution of the wine and contributes enormously to its legendary longevity. A further contribution to longevity is that the malolactic fermentation is never induced. In March the growers come and taste their wines at Krug. It is quite possible to find, from one grower for example, that one wine is fine and fruity, one more structured while the third is over-ripe. This last wine will be rejected by Krug and sold elsewhere.

The most difficult task of all is the assemblage, especially for the Grande Cuvée. For a vintage Champagne, those casks whose characteristics best represent the unique character of the year will be set aside. But for the Grande Cuvée where consistency is paramount, Krug can call upon its amazing array of reserve wines which are stored in stainless steel. For the blending, Olivier Krug and a tasting committee of seven spend five months with as many as 1000 tastings, seven wines at each tasting. They will have as many as 7000 tasting notes. These are all reviewed by Lebel who will then suggest certain blending combinations to the committee until that special Krug character, taste and quality is achieved.

Clos du Mesnil

Krug use about 15-20% Pinot Meunier in their blends. Some find this surprising as it is often considered to be an inferior variety. It was explained to me by Eric Lebel and Margareth Henriquez. “The character of Pinot Meunier is the most variable of the three grape varieties. It is not so much Pinot Meunier per se that we seek but a little touch of spice or fruitiness or je ne sais quoi that a certain grower in a certain village can produce,” said Margareth. It is incidental that it happens to be Pinot Meunier. It also acts to enhance and enrich the other two varieties so that the final blend is a more complex, exciting and harmonious wine.

They have a similar attitude to grand and premier cru rated villages. The tasting committee never discusses the benefits of adding say a little more grand cru village wine, preferring to suggest perhaps a little more Chardonnay from a certain grower in say Trépail for its extra elegance and finesse or a little more Pinot Meunier from a grower in Sainte Gemme whose Pinot Meunier has, say, an extra charm, fruitiness or spiciness. In other words, the grapes used depend solely on their quality and character regardless of what the grape variety is or which village it comes from. There is no formula though it almost always ends up with Pinot Noir being the most used followed by Chardonnay and then by Pinot Meunier.

Krug is not afraid of modernity. They use giro pallets for the riddling of the standard sized bottles but for all other sized bottles the riddling is done traditionally by hand. A rosé wine is also produced as is Krug Collection which is a vintage wine. This is exactly the same wine as the standard vintage wine. However it has been stored in Krug’s cellars for at least 20 years prior to being released. This guarantees the provenance and therefore the freshness and condition of the wine. The actual date when Krug Collection is released depends on when the wine attains a new phase in its life story, a sort of second life when new flavours of maturity emerge. One will pay accordingly.

As Olivier Krug told me, “there are no short cuts to quality and at Krug every tiny detail is carefully considered and has only one aim which is to make the best possible Champagne in that totally unique Krug style”.

Howard Ripley founded his eponymous wine merchant while practicing as a dentist in London. He became a global legend among connoisseurs for his deep relationships with some of the most important producers of Burgundy’s wines.. He is now retired.

From ‘Princess Kate’ Middleton to Lady Gaga, celebrities are nobody without a Philip Treacy hat. But what drives London’s divine milliner? Caroline Davies probes for the answers from the god of gorgeous headwear

“It’s a bit like being a missionary,” Philip Treacy says. “I’m preaching, ‘hats are good.’”

To many Philip Treacy is not just a dedicated evangelist of millinery; he is one of its gods. His designs adorn the heads of Royal Princesses and Harry Potter characters, Sarah Jessica Parker and of course, Lady Gaga. He has collaborated with designers of every ilk including Chanel, Versace, Givenchy, Alexander McQueen, Valentino and Ralph Lauren. But while he is adaptable – his designs may be outlandish, ironic, classic or surreal – they are recognisable. A small quirk, a way of designing, of seeing the world, a creation of this designer is unmistakably a ‘Treacy’.

His hats are eccentric and dramatic. They pull your stare, captivate and amaze. They are unapologetically whimsical, direct but from a new perspective.

“When you meet somebody you meet their face not their foot,” Treacy says, bluntly. “It is a very potent part of the body to decorate and embellish.”

Is what he does challenging? “When you design hats people want something new that they have never seen before, has never been invented and that’s not easy,” he says. Does he worry he will run out of ideas? “Every day. But it hasn’t happened yet.”

With constant demand flying in from around the globe – “Lady Gaga likes a hat a week” – the ideas need to flow thick and fast. “It is catching all over the world,” he says. “We have interest from cultures that didn’t necessarily think they could wear our hats before. Fashion is a big communicator today. Lady Gaga has introduced my hats to 11 year olds. That’s quite fun, because she’s a hat wearer of the world. She’s a 21st century Isabella Blow.”

Treacy tone changes, softer and almost conspiratorial. “I’m not giving her Isabella’s crown, that’s not mine to give. But she reminds me of her, rather alarmingly. I don’t think anyone has any doubt about that. They do have a certain similarity. What’s most interesting is that Isabella was a very, very sweet person and so is Miss Gaga. A very, very sweet person.”

Gaga’s appearance at Treacy’s 2012 September London Fashion Week show, his first in 8 years, was the surprise entrance of the season, even to Treacy. “She said if she went to my show, she would come in her own way,” he says. “It was all her idea to come to the show. An hour before, she called me up and apologised that she was running 10 minutes late. “She said ‘I’m wearing a brown wig and I’m channelling Isabella’ and I said ‘Ok, I hear you’ thinking ‘Yikes’. And then she turned up looking like her.

“She’s a conceptual artist. She told me what she was going to say and I said ‘please don’t say that, they are going to think I told you to say that.’ She said ‘Philip, don’t worry, I’m not going to mess up.’”

Dressed in a florescent pink shroud that covered her entire face, draped over her arms, Gaga walked down the catwalk with echoing footsteps. She stopped, raised her arms and said in a deep, echoing voice “Ladies and gentlemen, the greatest milliner in the world, Philip Treacy.” She was cut short by the crowd as they erupted in applause.

Born in Galloway, Ireland, Treacy began making hats – “because I was good at it” – while at Fashion College in Dublin. In 1988 he began his MA at The Royal College of Art. Aged 22, he met Isabella Blow.

“Oh God.”

Speaking about Blow, an illustrious magazine editor and then legendary style editor of Condé Nast’s London-based Tatler magazine, Treacy’s voice becomes softer. It is clearly a story he has told before, but one he doesn’t mind revisiting.

“The first time I met her, I was in Tatler’s art department. It was the late 80s and the power suit look was in; navy, white, red suit. It was very suit with pearls.

“Isabella was in evening dress; transparent Galliano cobweb top with a satin skirt and yellow Manolo Blahnik satin shoes. Evening wear while everyone else was in day wear. Today that is a common look, but then it was very unusual. She stood out, she was different. It wasn’t an extreme outfit but she was certainly different. And she had lipstick on her teeth.” He pauses. “She wasn’t friendly, she wasn’t not very unfriendly… but she was checking me out.”

Treacy had been called in by Michael Roberts, then fashion editor of Tatler, to create a green hat, the centrepiece for a fashion story based on the 1920s novel of that name.

“It’s difficult to find a green hat, because weirdly enough people can be superstitious about them. I’m not, I love green hats.” When Treacy returned to college, he had a message. It was from Isabella. She wanted him to create something for her wedding. “I was used to white brides, so I thought she meant a veil. But Isabella was wearing purple. Velvet. With Aquitaine embroidery. So I made her a golden wimple.”

The hat and wimple sparked off a fashion partnership far more significant than designer and muse. After graduation, Blow not only wore Treacy’s creations, but arranged for him to set up his workshop in the basement of her house. “She changed my life.”

Today, Treacy rarely stands still. I have caught him while he is momentarily in his London studio. His itinerary over  the next week alone will take him to New York for Grace Jones’ concert, back to London and on to Melbourne for the Melbourne Cup before working on hats for Armani’s couture collection. London, however, remains his home.

“England is the home of the hat,” he says. “I make hats for very conservative English women who think my hats are normal. That’s why I work in England, I love it here. That is the epitome of English eccentricity as far as I am concerned. Many of my customers are very conservative dressers, but when it comes to a hat they like a very stylish hat. They want something more from a hat.”

Treacy’s craft can be divisive. The image of Princess Beatrice in his creation, a swirling cream, pink hat, at the Royal Wedding in April 2011 caused a stampede of criticism from twitter to the mass media. A month later it sold for a record breaking £81,101 on a charity eBay auction.

“Hats are provocative, they always have been,” says Treacy. “You love it, you hate it, you think it’s wonderful, you think it’s ridiculous. Hats have always brought about conversation. People are attracted to that person; they want to talk to that person.”

Treacy’s recent partnership with Asprey, a company that has centuries of experience in catering to the most extravagant eccentric tastes, is not unusual. The outcome is. He has designed a Christmas cracker.

“They thought I was joking,” he says. “I wasn’t. I love Christmas. Christmas reminds us of our childhood when we were at our happiest.” The cracker is unexplored territory. It’s another version of a hat. It’s something you don’t need, but you do need. It’s food for the soul. A cracker can be beautiful too.”

Every detail of the cracker, on sale at Asprey Bond Street in November 2012, was overseen by Treacy, from the pop up hat that unfolds when you remove the ribbon, the sterling silver thimble engraved with his signature, to the jokes curled inside. His vision, rendered completely, translated to something new.

“We live in a world of shape and I make shapes,” he says. “I have my own style of shape so I can adapt what I do to anything potentially. Designing a building would be fun, in Shanghai, China; they are very open to the future. Sydney Opera House is my favourite hat in the world. It’s not a building, it’s a hat. It’s a symbol of Australia, it’s the most exquisite building.”

“I’m happy with my lot,” says Treacy. “When Isabella [Blow] started wearing my hats first, no one wanted them. Now they all want my hats, her style of hats, interesting hats. People are much more adventurous than they have ever been before.”

asprey.com

Philip Treacy by Kevin Davies, published by Phaidon now available 

ROJA DOVE’S SCENTS ARE THE ROLLS ROYCES OF THE PERFUME WORLD. AND THE FLAMBOYANT ENGLISHMAN WHO HAS REWRITTEN THE BOOK ON HIGH-END PERFUME FROM THE GULF TO HOLLYWOOD HAS NO INTENTION OF SLOWING DOWN, AS Caroline Davies DISCOVERS OVER GREEN TEA AT CLARIDGE’S

Roja Dove’s worst nightmare is to catch a cold. “I find it frightening. I become very panicked. It is like someone, I imagine, would feel if they lost sight. We take in so much about our world through a sense of smell. It gives you the power of memory whether you like it or not.

“I haven’t travelled on the underground for years. If you imagine smells are music, it is as though someone has put all their records on at once at top volume.”

The curator of Harrods Haute Parfumerie, creator of bespoke perfumes for the global elite and his own range – the number one and two best selling perfumes in Harrods – Dove is The Nose. Commonly renowned as the most significant perfumer of this century, he has helped pull back his industry from the brink.

“There was a point when most houses were launching with 30ml sprays with a free gift,” he says of the old days. “People forget that, that’s how debased it had become. I was embarrassed to tell people my profession after 15 year of training. 15 years! Surgeons take eight.”

Carefully combed back hair, Indian-yellow coloured silk cravat bulging illustriously from his open crisp, white shirt, cuffs just hiding gold bracelets and a chunky watch, Dove is dressed precisely and flamboyantly. His manner is soft and careful, punctuated with the occasional dignified sniff. With the wafts of breakfast, coffee and the floral display, I catch only a whisper of his scent, “something I created just for me, one of the perks of the job.” Those devoted to his work can tell his creations from just a sprinkle.

“There are elements I come back to, because I like them,” he says. “When I was little, my mother used to bake something between a bread and a cake. She made it very rarely, perhaps twice a year and  only in the evenings as we were going to bed. It would go in the oven and as we were up in bed, the scent of this thing, laden with spices and a lot of cinnamon,” Dove wafts his hands “would fill the room. I like very soft spices and I have no doubt that is where it came from.”

Dove began his career at Guerlain, where he stayed for 20 years. Harrods approached him.

“I was invited in for a cup of tea” says Dove, delicately. “Before I was seated they said “We would like to open a perfumery with you”. I said “I would just like tea please”. I didn’t know what they wanted to see me for, but that wasn’t in my realm of consciousness.”

Harrods persuaded Dove to curate his own ultimate collection within their store. “If we were going to open a perfumery, it had to have a raison d’être,” he says. “The world does not need another  regular perfumery. Everything in there is my personal edit of what I think is great perfume. It’s not about whether it is old or new, it’s not particularly driven by its price, it is whether I think it is a good example.”

A perfume historian, Dove found that he often had a better knowledge of a perfume house’s work than they did.

“I spoke to the managing director of Dior to request Diorama and Diorling,” he says. “He told me that they didn’t make them. ‘You do make them, you never stopped making them, but that they only sell them in the Avenue Montaigne.’ They found that they did sell it and allowed us to stock it.”

Dove pauses and shrugs, raising his eyebrow slightly. “Eight years later, those scents have now been re-launched and you can buy them from any Dior counter in the world.”

Although he had been creating bespoke perfumes after his lot gained a storm of interest at a Christie’s charity auction, raising more money than a Mercedes sports car or a holiday for 8 in the Maldives, Dove steered clear of creating his own range until he had dinner with an old friend.

“She said to me ‘wherever I look in the world of perfumery I see your name. Your shadow is enormous. As a client, if I read about you and I want to walk into your shadow, how do I because I can’t find your products anywhere. You need to create your own range so that customers can discover your work.’ I realised that she was right.”

Dove launched his own house in 2007. “Within a month I had the number one selling perfume in the shop, which was one of the pinch, pinch, pinch, pinch, is this really true, moments,” he says, eyes shining, pinching his shoulder. “Now we have the number two best selling perfumes in the shop.

“What I find the most amazing is that we don’t advertise. What seduces the client is actually the perfume. People find my work beguiling enough it seems so that when they smell it they say I will take one.”

Today Dove’s reach stretches across the world. London –“in Harrods, the only truly international address”–Dubai, Russia –“I speak it a little, but only enough to make a Russian smile” – Switzerland and Abu Dhabi . This year he will open in Oman –“I have always wanted to visit, they have the best frankincense” – Germany and Jeddah. He is careful to avoid the mistakes of the other major perfume houses.

“I don’t want to be in lots of places,” he says. “It is very important that wherever we sell the perfumes I will always go to the store and explain to the staff what the stories are and the ideas behind them. I don’t want someone else doing it. It’s too personal for me.”

Dove’s way of introducing scent is unique. Working with a palate of smell across four different families – three feminine, three masculine and two crossing in the middle – he guides you across the spectrum to find your favourite.

“When you meet people who are informed about scent, they talk to you about ingredients. “This contains heliotrope and celiac and exotic benzoine.” How does that help you? We need to get people to understand that a perfume is sweet and sexual. It is a bit like when you go to a restaurant. Do you actually care what the chef was doing in the kitchen? You want to know that what you eat is delicious.”

Dove’s kitchen is a complicated concept. “There are fewer perfumers on earth than there are astronauts,” he says. “If you want to understand my world, close your eyes and try to think of a colour you have never seen using no reference point; so you  can’t say a peachy shade of turquoise because you already know those two colours. Then try to imagine a smell you have never smelled before.

“My world is trying to think of an idea. I sketch an idea of the sorts of smells that might be part of that idea, put them on blotters then put them on a wheel. They mix in the air and you try to see if that will give you what you want. It is trial and error, patience, memory and hopefully having a little bit of good taste.”

Inspired by a selection of adjectives which become the tongue in cheek names for his creations, Dove creates a story, an image behind each. “Take something like mischief,” he says. “I knew I wanted a fresh floral in my palate. Freshness suggests movement and lightness. I thought mischief is perfect. If you think of a child when it has been mischievous what does it normally do? It normally nips there and does the thing it shouldn’t, stands there looking very innocent or it zips out again” he whistles. “You can feel the movement in your nose.”

Some of Dove’s perfumes have a much darker, seductive edge. “When I created Reckless, the name came about in a totally different way. I was on holiday with my partner Peter and he read out a fabulous line; “reckless maybe, foolish never,” he says, gently. “It put an idea of a woman in my mind, a woman who has got what she wants out of life. I saw this woman in the theatre or opera house in the half light with a big open décolleté and a diamond necklace. I had the idea of how the diamonds would shimmer and tremble; the same effect is created in the perfume by the aldehydes. I wanted to create a scent where you imagine the woman going home, slipping out of her silk dress and if you picked it up,” he pauses and takes a deep sniff, far into the back of his nose. “You would smell the softness and warmth of her skin and her perfume.

“It is the antithesis of a man’s world, but something they find irresistible. The woman knows that. She will always take risks and follow her heart, but she will never do anything to damage herself as she is reckless maybe, foolish never.”

So how should you discover if you are a ‘Mischievous’ or a ‘Reckless’? Dove recommends trying each first thing in the morning, firstly on blotters, comparing each one to another until you find the one you prefer. Do not use hand cream or hand wash, wear it and let the perfume sink in.

“Scents are like love affairs, you only know whether it works when you have spent the night together.”

And how do you know if you have found the one? “If you spent the night with a lover,” says Dove, leaning in conspiratorially, “You would know whether or not you would want to go back a second night.”

rojadove.com

The Lodge seen from across the Snake River

Caroline Davies doesn’t care for beaches or spas when she’s on summer holiday. Perhaps foolishly, she mentioned to LUX’s editorial team that she had a taste for adventure. Not long after, she found herself on a plane, headed for America’s wildest bear country. And she survived to tell the tale

“Got bear spray?”, the park warden asks.

My guide nods and gestures with his chin to me. I helpfully hold up a hairspray size can labelled “50 times stronger than mace”. It has a vivid warning photo of a man gushing blood from a bear sized bite in his forehead.

“Well alright then.” The park warden opens the gate and our 4×4 rumbles down the open track and into the woods.

Welcome to Idaho, America’s real life adventure playground. Unlike the well-visited Yosemite to the south west and Yellowstone to the north east, the wilds of Idaho are the well kept secret of those who like their nature without burger bars.

Reaching Idaho Falls, population 60,000, was no mean feat. A few hops across America on United Airline planes of ever decreasing sizes I buzzed over flat fields, deeper and deeper into the American heartland. Touching down, I had been met by Ian, the general manager of South Fork Lodge. Broad and affable with a sarcastic sense of humour, he is in town to pick up me, some groceries and to stop by the Sportsman Warehouse, a cavernous huntsman’s store on the outskirts. Under the gaze of your future targets – glass eyed moose heads and stuffed eagles hang from the soaring rafters – you can browse the racks of rifles and rails of hunting outfits.

“Camouflage isn’t a method of disguise here,” says Ian, catching me quizzically browsing a selection of camouflage bikinis. “It’s a fashion statement.”

We drive through the valleys of low growing potato bushes and dry farming plots of hay. The summer bush fires from neighbouring states have brought a haze to the city and valleys, blotting out the hills in a dense blue until you are almost upon them. After an hour, we begin to descend through the river worn valleys to the lodge. Curled around a lazy bend in the Snake River in Swan Valley, South Fork Lodge is located on 65 miles of dry fly fishing river, making it one of the fishing destinations of the North West.

Tucked away from the main road, past their fly fishing shop, the lodge’s cabins scatter their way across the gentle slope down to the river. Designed to fit with local architecture, the warmth of the honey coloured wood, grey stone chimneys and slate roofs blend with the burnish tones of the forests, the bubbling pebble colour of the river. The main lodge holds the suites, all with their own grey stone fireplace and private terrace looking out to the river. For a little more privacy or larger groups there is an eight person cabin complete with pool table and your own deck on the river. For families or smaller groups the vast double bedrooms with connecting doors give you more than enough space and come with a balcony or veranda. I dump my bags, hit the hot tub and curl up on the rocking chair outside with the wine and jerky from the welcome basket.

A double suite at South Fork Lodge

Inside, the lodge is decked with original art works by local artists, hung next to panoramic windows that look out on the landscapes and wildlife that inspired them. The relaxed restaurant, which spills out from the polished wood octagonal dining room on to the flagstone terrace, has recently had a shake up. The newly appointed chef was chosen for his menu of local flavours and produce, created with a twist. Rainbow trout sushi is popular, as is their lamb, and the hen of the woods, served with a reduced cherry dressing to add sweetness and balance to the slight bitterness of the mushrooms, is a flavoursome update on the traditional dish.

Over dinner, watching the few remaining boats sidle past, I meet a few of the lodge’s guide and the sous-chef. He is only a few rounds away from a place in the smoking finals in Memphis, I am told. I look blank, mind whirling with images of grizzled men manically smoking multiple Marlboros simultaneously in a Memphis shed, their eyes on a cigaretteshaped trophy.

“Meat smoking is big business around here,” explains Ian. “Ribs, chicken, all sorts of meat. Our guy came 3rd out of 2000 in the last competition.”

Steamy morning views

The lodge holds rib evenings throughout the summer, but the next big event is in a few days time at a local music festival. Despite competition from across the valley, they always sell out. The morning arrives misty and fresh, condensation spotting my boots as I brush past the long grass on my way up to breakfast. Ovals of folded grass, like amateur crop circles, spot the fields; the only remaining sign of the deer that bedded down here the night before. After a large plate of sticky soft French toast with maple syrup I set off. We drive the short distance to Wyoming, past rock strewn drops, dense pines and a winding roadside queue for ‘the world famous square ice cream’ parlour. Stopping in a gravel lay-by we perch above the river to watch the rapids. The river courses through the bolder littered banks, hurling inflatable rafts up and over. Children shriek with excitement, bumping downstream. In summer the water is comparatively low, but the river swells in spring and has taken the lives of a few daring rafters with it. We turn back, pausing to watch the dam that feeds into the Snake River. Built in the 60s, the dam is partly responsible for the rich fishing in South Fork, pushing cooler, oxygenated water from the bottom of the river through and encouraging the creatures that feed the fish to multiply.

By the time we return to Idaho, the dew has dried. I am dropped at the bottom of a steep crag, the edge of a range of hills. Being British, they seem more like small mountains, rough and shrub strewn, thin grey wires bend up and across the peaks.

“T-bar or harness?” Ian asks. I hesitate. I’ve not zip wired before and my palms are already a little clammy. He laughs. I think he’s joking. Helmeted and trussed up in a harness, I clamber into an open air all terrain vehicle next to the driver, an octogenarian with a deep tan and a hearing aid. He beams at me, then starts the near vertical ascent.

“You’re up.” I step up to the small wooden platform, the last point before the slope disappears, becoming a flat rock face. I’m clipped in and edge forward, trying to absorb all of the instructions. “Don’t worry if you start going backwards, particularly when you reach the end, that’s normal. If you go upside down, keep your knees tight and give us a big wave. Ready?” I nod, walk off the edge and drop.

Eight wires later, and jumping off a cliff feels quite normal. I even go upside down while backwards willingly. Blood still pumping a little, but feet now back on the ground, I follow my nose firstly for a dip in the sulphur hot springs next door and then the pizza parlour for a Hawaiian and a jug of ice cold beer watching the sun creep down.

Heading out for a trout of two

I wake early to hit the river. Not early enough. The hard core crews have been and gone, setting off at six to catch the first fish of the day and watch the valley waking. Leave as the sun rises and you should catch deer, moose, perhaps even the odd bear, strolling to the water’s edge for a morning drink. Foolishly travelling without a hat, I drop by the lodge’s shop to pick up a floppy khaki number complete with draw string chin strap and a friendly-looking embroidered fish. Feeling the part, I saunter to the car park to meet my fishing guide, Dave.

Dave is a man of few and select words. He has the deep tan of a fly fisher that has spent every summer on the river, black reefer shorts bleached grey by the sun. As I approach he pushes his cap over his salt and pepper hair and I notice that the backs of his hands and knuckles are speckled with small cuts and scrapes, presumably from manly outdoor activities.

“Can you see ok in those sunglasses?” he asks.

My Jackie O style glasses have always served me well before, but as we push off down the river I realise quite how little I see. We bob under a bridge and I squint to spy the nymphs Dave points out stuck on the pillar, brushed by the waterline. Dave gamely hands me his, in a case labelled “welcome to the city”. They are rose tinted. “Not only clever, but they make the world look cheerier.” He says.

We drift downstream, resting up against gravel banks, wedging the boat among the rapids and fishing out. Focusing hard on casting and not catching Dave on my hook – a possible explanation for the cuts – you can almost forget to look up at the soaring canyon around you. Sandy coloured grass and 3ft tall bracken sweeps down the lower reaches of the reddish tinged rock formations, camouflaging the wildlife sheltering from the midday sun. Although you need keen eyes to spot a deer, birdlife is easier to notice, either tucked among the reeds or circling against the azure sky. The water bubbles past, so clean you can see the pebbles on the river bed.

“Gin clear.” says Dave, seeing me watch a failed catch as it slips away down river.

We fish until the sun begins to set, turning the river from blue to copper. As we pull in to the bank and our camp for the evening, a fire is crackling, the beers are chilling and the red wine is breathing in the last of the day’s heat. Ian and his fiancée Haley are at the stove, cooking steaks that fill an entire pan. After a competitive game of horse shoes, someone suggests clay pigeon shooting. Ian mocks me up a makeshift set of headphones – folded tissue paper tucked into a bandana – and gives me a quick tutorial. With no machine to fire the clays, Ian throws them out like a Frisbee. As night falls, we tuck ourselves into the sturdy wooden picnic table to eat platefuls of tender meat and buttery vegetables by torch and candle light. By dessert, a sizzling hot berry crumble, we are all sitting around the glowing embers of the fire, draining the last of the bottles of wine. After a heated discussion with Dave about which really was the greatest Rolling Stones record, I pad into the tall white tent and clamber into my cot.

We wake to a hearty breakfast and a cold dip in the river for the brave. The camp packed up, we jump into the waiting boat and skim back upstream to meet our transport back to the lodge; three glossy steeds, two red and one white. We amble our way gently on a path that takes us through the undergrowth, the trees and finally out of the canyon into field upon field of chest high corn.

Lodge dining with views of the river and beyond

Back in the ranch there is a buzz. It is the last night of the music festival and it seems everyone is going. The “Young Dubliners” are headlining, an Irish folk band. The park in Victor town centre is rammed, barely an inch of grass between picnic rugs strewn with plates full of ribs, burgers and noodles as people balance bendy plastic pint glasses on the grassy mounds. South Fork’s stand queue winds around the stall; they are nearly out. We grab some of the last rack of ribs and manoeuvre our way to the front. The band starts up, authentic Irish accents, violins and guitars and the audience stands to its feet, jumping around in fake jigs, beer splashing the ground.

My final day at South Fork and I go east to Jackson Hole, Wyoming with my trekking guide, Bob. We stop just outside the centre for a big breakfast at Nora’s and necessities for our walk. I loiter outside the store, admiring the number of different states on the number plates. Jackson Hole is a well known spot for nature tourists and adventure holidays are big business, especially when the adventure feels real. We buckle up in the 4×4 and Bob hands me a bag with the bear spray.

“Just in case, always best.” He says as I scrutinise the directions for use. We head towards the mountains.

Summer may be short but it’s extremely lush

A boutique ski resort in Winter and outdoor activities centre in summer, Jackson Hole is one of the wealthiest regions of America. “The billionaires are buying out the millionaires.” Bob says as we drive past the airport, sleek private jets lining the runway.

The slopes, now devoid of snow, still run a cable car throughout the summer, offering one of the best ways to see the Tetons. We clamber onboard, joined by a group of five T-shirted men in their twenties wearing three-foot backpacks; paragliders. “We have seats left if you want them.” one says to the rest of the car. I smile, but Bob turns to see if anyone is taking them up on the offer. They are serious.

We follow them up to the peak and watch as they piece together their equipment on the slope. Those with passengers strap them in tightly and point their instructions; run down the mountainside and don’t stop until told or the mountain ends. The first one catches a gust, untangles his parachute and runs, full pelt, off the edge. For a moment he is still, feet just off the ground, parachute hovering above him, then the force of the wind takes him up and off, smoothly gliding. Mesmerised, we watch them each as they follow one another, circling like a bird of prey before curving out of sight behind the mountain. When we reach the bottom, I follow them to their landing spot, watching them bump down.

One of Wyoming’s largest national parks, Grand Teton National Park spans around 31,000 acres, including peaks of Teton range, lakes and forges. Driving past the entrance, we zigzag our way through the trees, as I keep an unnecessarily close watch for wildlife. We are pulled over by an officious looking ranger, tight lipped and severe.

“You sure you guys want to head down this way?” he asks. “There are a lot of grizzlies around and they’re hungry and grouchy. Where you walking?”

“Death Canyon.” Says Bob unflinchingly

Our ranger sucks his teeth. “You sure you wouldn’t rather go to Jenny Lake?” Jenny Lake does sound preferable, but after jumping off cliffs, learning the difference between a Rainbow and a cutthroat trout and wearing a floppy khaki hat without shame, I’m fairly committed to following South Fork’s expertise. We soldier on.

Thinking it’s best to be prepared, I ask Bob for some bear advice. “Well they used to say make yourself small, then they said make yourself big. Neither of those work particularly well though,” he says. “Probably the best advice is to run.”We park at the bottom of the trail. “Bears don’t like to be surprised so if you make a lot of noise that can scare them off.”

I talk non-stop up the mountain, jumping once at a chipmunk. Thin reddish trees flank the path, row after row, disappearing to fine lines in the distance. We pass a thick tree next to the path, freshly shredded by bears in search of food; they were here a few hours before us. The path ahead clears to one gnarled tree, its roots bursting out through the dusty ground, its branches framing the spectacular view; a deep blue lake, pine green forests, jagged mountain sides and tiny bays. Slightly out of breath from my constant conversation, I stand at the edge in silence, leaning against the tree, drinking it in.

Our final stop is Jackson Hole town centre, an idyllic scene with a wooden sidewalk lined with art galleries and boutiques. The highly manicured, lacquered stores gleam with wares of country living; furs, fishing, a bronze of an eagle. It is well equipped. As we ride out of town, we pass a row of tents with a handmade sign reading “Art Fair.”

“Now art,” says Bob, sighing. “That’s the thing that will wear you out.”

Caroline Davies travelled as a guest of Natural Retreats who provide luxury holidays in secluded locations of natural beauty in Europe and the USA. They have recently introduced Natural Retreats properties to buy Naturalretreats.com, South Fork Lodge

OVER THE PAST DECADE, MERCEDES-BENZ AMG MODELS HAVE BECOME A BYWORD FOR THE ULTIMATE COMBINATION OF POWER, LUXURY AND EXCITEMENT. Guy Fiorita SPENT A COUPLE OF DAYS AT AN EXCLUSIVE OWNERS’ EVENT, GETTING TO KNOW THESE THOROUGHBREDS OF THE ROAD – AND FALLING IN LOVE WITH THEM

I’m not a car fanatic, a speed freak or adrenaline junkie. I don’t particularly enjoy driving fast. When I learned to drive, I made a conscious effort at smoothness. The goal of any good driver, I thought, was to drive so that your passenger hardly noticed the movement. No sudden turns or slamming of brakes. Right?

“Wrong, all wrong,” comes a voice on a walkietalkie by my side. “You have to hit the brake much, much harder. Jam it as hard as you can and pull the steering wheel to the left.”

Sitting behind the wheel of a Mercedes-Benz CLS63 AMG, stopped in the middle of a racetrack, I had have obviously blown my first test. The voice is Former British Formula 3 and DTM racer Marco Engel, my team leader. I’ve just finished the first leg of the first day of training and I am already coming up short.

The racetrack is in Andalucia, Spain and I am here as part of an AMG Private Lounge event. My co-drivers are all AMG Mercedes owners. The chassis number on their cars qualified them to join the AMG Private Lounge, of which there are now more than 20,000 members. The thirty or so here with me are mostly from Germany and the UK but also from as far away as Brazil, the US and Lebanon. These are people who are serious enough about their cars and driving not only to have paid the price of an AMG but to have splashed out a few thousand extra to spend two days speeding around a racetrack having orders barked at them by professional race car drivers.

The Lounge event is taking place at the Ascari Race Resort. We were helicoptered in the day before from Marbella. From above, the track is a beautiful expanse of tarmac that twists its way through the rolling hills. This 5.4 kilometres track with a total of 26 total turns was once called “the most challenging race track in the world,” by some guy named Fernando Alonso and I get the feeling I’m soon going to find out why.

Earlier this morning we were divided into groups and now each is out on a section of the track being put through their paces by one of the instructors. AMG has brought along an impressive group of rock-star drivers like F1 and Le Mans racer Karl Wendlinger, endurance racer Roland Rehfeld and four-time Mercedes DTM champion Bernd Scheidner.

They have their work cut out for them with me. Back on the track I am finding that this Lounge is anything but relaxing. After my initial break and turn failure, we move onto a series of warm-up exercises including a combination of fast slalom, cornering technique, trail braking and handling parcours, skid pad and lead and follow training. At the end of each exercise we stop just long enough to switch cars between the AMG CLS 63, SLS, SLK and my soon-to-be favourite, the C63 AMG Black Series.

And off we go again. Around and around. I soon find I am pushing the limits, if not of the car then at least my own. I’ve been bitten. The faster I go, the faster I want to go. At one stage in the loop, we get to drag race against another driver. Each time I punch the gas a little harder and break a little later. I’m surprised by how much I want to win. I never do, except once when the other driver was penalised for stopping outside the box.

And it is not only the speed that’s got me. It’s the sound. The primitive, guttural rumble of an AMG is exhilarating. No wonder owners say it was one of the main factors in their decision to purchase one.

Later that day I get a chance to see how it should be done, this time as a passenger in a Pagani Huayra. Equipped with a Mercedes-AMG V12 engine that produces 720 horsepower, this brandnew Italian hypercar has a top speed in excess of 230 mph (370 km/h). By the time I get myself strapped into the passenger seat, my Italian driver is already giving me the thumbs-up. “Ready,” he says and something suddenly pushes me deep into my seatback and I find out what 0–60 miles per hour in just three seconds feels like. The rest of the lap is a jostling blur that proves once and for all that I knew nothing about real driving. There was nothing smooth about that, I say to myself as I walk away on wobbly legs.

Looking at the itinerary the next morning I thought that the “On Road Experience” and the  chance to take a leisurely drive through the Andalusian countryside at the wheel of a classic AMG would be more my pace, but my pace had obviously changed. Halfway through the drive, beautiful as it was, I found myself itching to get back on the track. Before I could however, I was taken off road in a Mercedes-Benz G63 AMG. The vehicle proved to have impressive power as we slogged our way over the muddy hills around the resort grounds but I was here for speed.

Which is exactly what I lacked as we lined up for the big event of the day, a team trail where all the times are added together and the lowest total time receives a prize. I really want this one, or at least I don’t want to let my team down. They’ve been so patient. So this time I really go for it, pushing myself faster and faster until I come skidding to a stop, dead centre in the box. Perfect. I look over to see that my time is just a few seconds worse than the slowest member of our team. Not bad for a non-speed freak. The proud moment is short lived. It appears I’d missed two gates and hit a cone along the way too. It all adds up to 15 seconds of penalty time and knocks my team out of any chance for a victory.

Fortunately everyone’s attention quickly turns to the last event of the day and the chance to run a few laps in a true race car, the SLS AMG GT3. The top-of-the-range of Mercedes-Benz cars, it is a strictly limited edition and so extreme you are not allowed to use it on the road. This was universally considered the highlight of the whole Lounge by my co-drivers. Personally I found the asbestos suit, the helmet with just an opening for the eyes and a driver’s cage that took a Houdini-like effort to get into, almost unbearably claustrophobic. On the track, the car’s raw power is scary and I am afraid it remains beyond my skill set. The experience, however, certainly gave me a new-found respect for race drivers.

I may not have come here much of a “car person,” but by the end of the three days, having driven, and heard, enough horse-power to propel a horde of Mongolians across the Steppe, something in me has changed. Now as the shuttle slowly winds its way back to Malaga airport, I sit leaning over the seatback in front of me like a restless child, watching the road ahead. “Are we there yet,” I ask the driver. “No, about another hour,” he answers. After my AMG Private Lounge experience, I’m confident that I could do it in half that time. And as I watch the olive groves move slowly past my window, one thing becomes perfectly clear, I’d sure love the chance to try.

mercedes-amg.com