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Villa 59 is built of sweet-smelling wood, all two floors of it. Latticed windows overlook a lotus pond with dreamy dragonflies buzzing over it, and birds hop about in the tiny garden alongside the entrance door.

Frangipani flowers have scented the air beyond the living room with their heady fragrance, and as I lie in the hammock absorbing the sights and sounds, I cannot believe I am in a place that was built but recently out of nothing. The Mandarin Oriental in Chiang Mai is a world removed from the rest of the city.

Chiang Mai is in the northern corner of Thailand, and sleepy as only a small town can be. The shops that dot the main streets play host to visiting shoppers. The locals seem quite happy with their lives, led the way it was many years ago. My first reaction when I entered the Mandarin Oriental Dhara Dhevi Resort at Chiang Mai was one of awe.

Here was a piece of history, immaculately preserved. Old mossy walls, perfectly structures buildings that had curving tiled roofs with wooden engraved edges; some of the tiled houses had playful monkeys on them, while others sported peacocks or a parrot — all carved of wood.

It was with wonder I learnt that the entire place was built by someone who wished to preserve history and got together some of the best architects from the region to create this huge sprawling property. And then handed it over to a hotel chain renowned for its efficiency and style, to run. The architects travelled across the regions of Myanmar, Thailand and Malaysia and came back with drawings of buildings they wanted to replicate. Then they built them stone by stone, wooden slat by slat.

Trees, ponds, flowers of exotic hues and varieties, horse carriages and rickshaws did the rest. And then there were the villas. Most interesting is the crafts section, where women sit creating traditional artefacts, and a floor above is a traditional Thai home, complete with a kitchen, implements of daily use, and fabrics that its inmates would have worn.

At times I catch sight of a group of guests, mostly Americans, sweating it out, red-faced and out of breath, at a paddy field experience. They are at the point of realising that the rice they waste so mindlessly is the result of backbreaking labour!

Night time alone in the villa was quite another experience. As dusk fell a strange creaking sound began in the pond behind … a night insect I thought, except for the tinny edge. A squeaky water sprinkler, I told myself, quickly ensuring that the mesh on the doors was intact and bolting the doors securely from any creepy crawly that should decide to investigate my presence.

The creaking sound moved methodically from one end of the building to the other in a wide arc. And finally, I could bear itno longer… the suspense was Hitchcockian.
I turned on the TV and watched with more interest than ever shown before, a
series of programmes.

Then, finally too sleepy to be scared, I padded up the wooden steps, noting the wide open expanse behind me that led to the paddy fields, bolted the doors, turned off the lights, and sunk into the soft recesses of the four-poster. The next day, I raided the resort’s DVD library, which I believe is one of the best ever, and armed myself against imagined fears with real stories of crime and passion.

As I climbed the stairs that night, my hair almost standing on end after the films, I was happy to note that the villa next to mine was full of lights, and I could hear children laughing loud. Happily, my dreams were of carriages and princes riding pumpkins, and I woke refreshed to face a day of yoga, culinary experiments and long walks.

If I’m living in a villa, I told myself, I might as well feel every bit a secluded, pampered princess.