Domaine des Etangs | Prestige Hong Kong (May 19)

In the heart of France lies a spot where history and whimsy collide. zaneta cheng visits the Domaine des Etangs to discover the magic lurking beneath the towers and turrets of this 11th-century château

I’m picked up at Angoulême railway station in a classic blue ’70s Citroën DS, replete with pillow-soft springs and squashy leather seats. It’s a breezy, sunny day – rare, I learn, for this part of France – and little do I know it, but my introduction to the Domaine des Etangs has begun even before my arrival at the hotel.

We drive through green hills and plains, and past manoirs or castles that instantly summon up myths and legends. It’s in stark contrast to the more arid landscapes of the Mediterranean, because while this is considered southwest France, it’s also near to the more central region of Charente-Limousine where rain is frequent, the vegetation is lush and lakes abound. As to the latter, I’m told that Domaine des Etangs (the word means “ponds” in English) is named for the tracts of water that dot the 1,000-hectare property.

The landscape hints at what’s to come. We drive past the impossibly beautiful Château la Rochefoucauld, which was built more than a thousand years ago, and I remember that this is also the land in which the 17th-century writer Charles Perrault set his fairytale Cendrillon (better known to English-speakers as Cinderella). But not even these can adequately prepare me for my destination.

There’s a crunch of gravel and suddenly the car is gliding up an avenue of ancient oak, through a gate and on to the property. The greenery parts and at the end is the 11th-century château, the epitome of every five-year-old’s idea of a French castle.

Although once home to the medieval knights of Chasteignier de la Roche-Posay, the château is less a fearsome fortress than a gracious, inviting manor. Dragonflies – an emblem of the hotel – hover around me as I walk across a manicured lawn beside a pond reflecting the château’s turrets; it’s as if I’ve been transported to another time.

Inside, the dream continues, thanks to the efforts of architect and designer Isabelle Stanislas, who was commissioned to transform the property into a luxurious hotel after the death in 2008 of its former owner, the billionaire French businessman Didier Primate, for whom the estate had served as a country home. The result is interiors that aren’t merely immaculately restored, but also warm, personal and inviting.

Stepping through the main doors, it’s as if I’ve walked into a functioning castle – one where I might spot a gowned duchess peering down from the sweeping circular marble staircase that leads to the upper landing, but that’s also been softened by playful touches, contemporary lighting and some astonishing works of art. During my wanderings I stop to admire a Picasso and then a Matisse, while meteorite fragments, ceiling lights that resemble planets and an impressive telescope in the Salle de Famille all purvey an astronomical theme that runs throughout the salons and rooms.

My room isn’t ready when I arrive so I take a quick tour, peeking first into the vast Attic TV and games room, whose vaulted hardwood ceiling stretches to the floor and which looks down over the grounds below. Down in the basement I discover thermal baths, which I make a note to find time for, and then head into the library, a tall yet cosy room tucked on one side of the building. Here, I plonk myself on to a deep window seat and, with a hot chocolate and a book for company, wait for lunchtime to come around.

Set among gardens and woodland, and with abundant rooms to lounge in and the freedom with which enjoy it all, the Domaine des Etangs fast becomes less of a hotel and more like a home – just as I find myself treating the one-Michelin-star Dyades as if it were my very own dining room. Helmed by chef Loïc Lecoin, the restaurant is set in an adjacent building and serves lunch and dinner without any of the fussy dress codes usually associated with such establishments. There’s no menu – instead, the friendly waiters ask for any preferences – light or heavier; meat, fish or vegetarian – and relay my moods to the chef so he can concoct something suitable. What emerges is invariably meticulously prepared and served, and it’s all so indulgent that having wine with my main meals each day is unavoidable.

Once my accommodations are ready, I realise I’m to be the lady of
the castle. The Soleil (sun) suite is one of the rooms on the landing I’d looked wistfully at on first entering the main building. Fittingly, sunlight streams into the sitting room through large windows and, as I stride across the broad space to my circular bedroom, the wooden floorboards creak ever so slightly. Whenever I’m ensconced here, which is quite often, I divide most of my time between the bathtub and the bedroom, where I gaze up through a glass ceiling to the tower in which it’s set.
In either case, the urgent pronouncements of French TV newscasters – when not in use, the set is concealed in a curved cupboard – seem like bizarre intrusions on my reverie.

Part of the Domaine’s paradisiac appeal is the complete freedom it grants to do as you please. One rainy afternoon I do just that, cycling across the property past lakeside cottages that can be rented by families who seek both space and privacy. It turns out that the estate is home to at least three herds of cows, all of which stare at me as I pedal past at breakneck speed through the drizzle.

On a sunnier day, I take a generous picnic out to the small dock on the main lake, and row out to the middle of it for a lazy lunch. No permission is needed and afterwards I engage in some more lazing in the thermal pool, before my appointment in the Moulin, the hotel’s spa, which is set in an old mill that once ground the flour for the Domaine’s bread.

In the evenings, after feasting on local fowl, scallops or forest chestnuts, I carry my nightcap – liqueur or cognac and a dessert – on a tray back to my suite and run the bath. Save for occasional birdsong, nights at the Domaine are blissfully silent and sleep comes quickly and easily. Mine are dreamless but that hardly matters, because when I wake, the very real prospect of another day at the Domaine easily supplants my wildest subconscious imaginings.