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Daily Mail Saturday Magazine - January 2009 CHATEAU MCELY: A CZECH RETREAT Needless to say there was a stag party on our plane: lads in matching tee-shirts all set to booze and behave badly in the capital of the Czech Republic. Poor Prague, I thought - the stags and hens who totter obliviously around its historical elegance go for cheap beer instead of Charles Bridge. Indeed, many people have no idea there are other places worth visiting in this country. So - whisked away from the airport in a car and driven for an hour - we were heading to one of those perfect small hotels which are a destination in themselves, and as far removed from stag and hen raucousness as you could wish. On a personal note, I was desperately seeking solace. Though I love writing my Saturday advice column for this paper I do become overwhelmed (sometimes) by the relentless woes of the world, and overworked too. But as an occasional travel writer I am equally unresting; take me to a great city like Milan and there isn’t an art gallery or church I will leave unvisited. It can become hard work. Also, my office at home, Saturdays and Sundays will often find me at the computer. I needed peace. To arrive at a place where there would be nothing to do except rest, eat, sleep, stroll in exquisite surroundings. So we came for a weekend at Chateau Mcely (pronounced muh-selly) to find nothing more elusive than…. rest and retreat. Slick modern styling has its place (and in its place I like it) – but this time I was in need of the smooth, soft elegance of a less frenetic age. From the moment we swept up the gravel drive to the imposing entrance to the 17th century building – lit by early evening light - I knew we’d found it. Beneath a wall of ancient hunting trophies, they welcomed us with their trademark cold drink made from herbs found in the surrounding St George forest. Then we were led to the Mark Twain suite. This was the first piece of delightful serendipity. The great American writer stayed at Mcely when it was owned by the aristocratic Thurn-Taxis family. I’m a fan of his wit and widom– having even made the pilgrimage to his house on the Mississippi. They couldn’t have known that. It was Mcely magic. The house has just 24 bedrooms, ranging from the huge, romantic, white and gold bridal/honeymoon suite (called ‘Legend’), to the floor of ‘single’ rooms (actually small doubles) each one individually themed and hand-painted for the months of the year. Weddings are a big event there; you can take over the whole place and they will arrange everything. The Chateau also puts in special weekends (chocolate tasting, ballroom dancing, mushroom picking…), but for me the task was how to learn to do nothing: no laptop, no email-checking, no phone calls – a state of what might be call zen-zilch. On the first day a two hour massage was the obvious time-filler. I intended to appreciate the lovely room, the haunting music, the candles – and the sweet young Czech therapist. What happened? I tumbled into a deep sleep and woke stupidly blissed-out. I just hope I didn’t snore. The whole point of hotel-as-destination is that you relax into the spirit of a place – and for that to happen the place has to be special. Which doesn’t necessarily mean grand. The truth is, I’ve always had an ambivalent attitude to luxury. When I was young I despised it as the province of rich, middle-aged people who needed four waiters to serve one silver dish, and would bawl them out if they got something wrong. Over-priced hotel boutiques, celebrity patronage, gilt mirrors and fusty swags, snooty desk staff, soul-less lobbies…not for me. Though never a back-packer, I tended to equate virtue with the small family-run hotel, even if it meant pokey rooms and mediocre food. But the truth is – middle-aged myself now, I’ve learned to love quiet, easy, unostentatious style. Chateau Mcely ticks all the boxes. It’s certainly beautiful, though not scarily grand and at dinner the waiter does lift the silver lids with a flourish, yet at the same time the hotel feels like somebody’s home. Your own… in your dreams. There’s an open-air Jacuzzi on the terrace – but a child’s sandpit in the garden. The wine list is amazing and the mirrors are – yes – gilded, but the whole place is child and pet friendly. The staff are quite exceptionally friendly and helpful, the food delicious. You can rent a 1961 convertible Skoda (plus its proud owner Karel Resl) and tour the countryside, or just walk freely in the park and nearby forest. What’s not to like?
Bel in the grounds of Chateau Mcely in a vintage Skoda sports car. It so happened that our visit coincided with the birthday of
one of the owners, Inez Cusumano, and she’d arranged a dance
class for her friends – and any hotel guests who wanted to
join in. Robin declares that teacher Tereza’s instruction
in Czech were the reason he was such a clumsy dancer – and
anyway, he was trying to take photographs! Me - I was strictly happy to be twirled around by her handsome partner Lukas, all my
childhood ballroom dancing skills returning. Inez’s American
husband James laughed, ‘I prefer rock n’roll!’ He
should know. In the late fifties he was lead singer with a group
called The Royal Teens who had a smash hit with a little number
called ‘Short Shorts.’
Bel with Chateau Mcely's creator, Inez Cusumano, and in the dining room.I know I’d be mad to say that I sensed all this in the loving attention to detail: the curtains, the plates, the library – and the whole atmosphere. But how can you define what makes a hotel special – other than acknowledging the importance of a vision? Inez and James have a hotel motto: ‘We make a difference in the world by making a difference in you.’ Not bad, I thought – as I noticed the pretty Cheateau Mcely bookmark the maid had placed in the scruffy paperback I’d carelessly left face down. And realised that I hadn’t thought about work once. FACT BOX Bel Mooney and Robin Allison-Smith flew Easyjet from Bristol to
Prague. 
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