WHERE TO STAY

What does it take to be named

Scotlands Country House Hotel of
the Year? Or to be voted the regional
Best Luxury and Fine Dining Hotel a
year later? Stan Abbott heads for the
Highlands in search of an answer
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other than the hotels owner) looked to

be, if anything, understated. We quickly
began to appreciate just why the judges
had been so impressed in two consecutive
years. Getting the atmosphere right in a
country house hotel is not necessarily all
that easy I recall a sniffy such venue in
the Lake District once, at which jacket
and tie at dinner was a requirement and I
had brought neither. In the Lake District,
land of the great outdoors, for goodness
sake. And your country house guest list
may range from young couples chasing
romance to old chaps chasing a quiet
days fishing, or shooting, so youve the
challenge of keeping all these disparate
interests happy.
The staff at Ardanaiseig, some of them
local, despite the apparent lack of
population nearby, seemed to strike just
the right balance: not overly formal, but
equally, respectful and suitably indulgent.
We quickly learned that, in addition to the
guests and a surprisingly large number
were to join us at dinner having presumably
similarly coaxed their sat navs to deliver
them here the hotel was lodging a very
large personality. I refer to that of its owner
of some 30 years, Bennie Gray. Hes
loosely described in various places as
an antique dealer, but really that doesnt
begin to do justice to the man. In fact
hes probably best known as the creator
of Birminghams Custard Factory, where
500-plus artists enjoy the space to develop
their creative industry in the sprawling
Digbeth complex that was once where
Birds custard was made. Prior to that, in
the 70s, he brought creative entrepreneurs
together under one roof at Grays Antiques,
in London.
No, we dont get much passing trade!
agreed Lauren, laughing as she stepped
out to meet us when we finally rolled up
outside Ardanaseig Hotel. The sat nav
had given up a mile or two previously,
seemingly shrugging its shoulders and
inviting us to take a compass and hike the
last bit through the forest. I swear I heard its
monotone drone Youre on your own now,
guys as its little red arrow tracked forlornly
across a featureless white map. If there is a
more remote hotel in the whole of mainland
Scotland I have yet to hear of it.
Before the sat nav finally abandoned us,
it had taken us round in a near 20-mile
circle. Wed driven west along the north
shore of a long narrow arm of Loch Awe,
technically the River Awe, dammed at the
Pass of Brander. On its southern side, to
our left, menacing screes tumbled sheer
into the water while, to the north, rose the
brooding bulk of the hollow mountain,
Ben Cruachan a mere 31st on the list of

Munros (Scottish peaks over 3,000ft), yet

taller than either Scafell Pike or Snowdon.
Some miles on we had turned south before
doubling back for ten miles behind the
mountains, on a single-track road, which
had eventually brought us to the long culde-sac leading only to Ardanaseig.
And now, here we finally were, looking
up at this early example of William Burns
romantic Scottish Baronial architecture
(fitting as we had just left Abbotsford,
the home of Sir Walter Scott, which is
probably the most celebrated such Gothic
extravagance).
Location is all, and we found the hotel
sitting comfortably in a natural bowl in the
forest, commanding wide views across
the still waters of the loch. The vista was,
ahem, awesome.
For once the hyperbole about a hotel
(most of it, to be fair, written by people

Bennie seemed to be everywhere: his

dcor was at once exuberant and yet
classy. Our own room whose window
perfectly framed an idyllic island-studded
view across the loch was very red; the
one next door, very green. The dining room
was similarly confident, with pride of place
on its walls belonging to a rather unusual
picture. Merely the largest and grandest
of a collection that once hung on the walls
of London night club, Tokyo Joes. Bennie
stumbled across them 30 years after
that venue went bust. He believes it was
originally a group portrait of councillors
from Lancashire in the 1840s. Their
faces, however, have been overpainted to
represent, on the left, rock stars including
Mick Jagger, Brian Ferry and George
Harrsion. And to the right of the table, men
of politics, including James Goldsmith.
The thread connecting his initiatives, says
Bennie, is: Were just trying to make
spaces people enjoy being in the trick
with all of these things is to create that

WRITTEN IN THE STARS

Bennie Gray tells for the first time how a clairvoyant broke her own rules and helped him
to buy a hotel for somewhat less than hed expected

One morning in spring 1985 I was flicking

through Country Life when an extraordinary
image caught my eye it depicted an ancient
rather crumbly gothic building festooned
with creepers, with grand lawns sweeping
down to a tranquil loch reflecting distant
islands and snow-capped mountains.The
composition was so idyllic, I thought it was a
fantasy painting of some kind of Shangri-la.
It turned out to be a small remote hotel in the
Highlands, called Ardanaiseig.
Sometimes minor events can have major
consequences that casual glimpse of
Ardanaiseig changed my life in a big way.
One glimpse and I was a goner.On impulse
my girlfriend and I caught the plane to
Scotland and, after a picturesque drive over
the mountains and around the lochs, we got
to the hotel at dusk. It was more remote and
even more beautiful than I had expected.
It was also empty. In fact we were the only
guests, which somehow added to the
romantic mystery.We were greeted by a kilted
self-proclaimed woodsman, with an accent
so thick he might have come from central
casting. He seemed to do and be everything
chef, waiter, chambermaid and a great story
teller too.The room overlooking the loch was
enchanting and as for the moonlit view I
dont have the words. I wanted to stay there
forever.
The next morning we were woken by a small
posse of people who wanted to see our
room.At first this annoyed me, but when I
discovered that the hotel was up for sale I
became recklessly excited.I was determined
that whatever it took I was going to buy
Ardanaiseig and later that morning when
I had explored the 100 acres of artlessly
overgrown lochside gardens, and the hotels
private island, I was even more determined.

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I called the agent to find out how much they

wanted, but they wouldnt even give me a
guide price.The sale would be by way of
a closed tender, as common in Scotland.I

knew nothing about hotels and nothing

about the Scottish property market I did
know that Ardanaiseig was beyond price.So
I persuaded a friendly bank manager (there
were still a few around in the 1980s) to lend
me the money in principle and set about
researching the likely value.
A couple of weeks later as the deadline
for the closed tender drew near I had an
estimate in mind. However it was a very
shaky estimate, because although I had spent
a long time checking out recent sales of hotels
in Scotland there were no true comparables.
Ardanaiseig was, and is, unique in so many
ways.Then, exactly three days before the
deadline, I had lunch with my daughter Rosie
and explained my problem: she said I should
consult Angelique in Muswell Hill, her crystal
ball gazer-cum-soothsayer. According to
Rosie, she knew everything past present and
future.
I wont dwell on the sarcastic conversation I
had with Rosie, but I confess that, secretly,
I did go to see Angelique, and this is what
happened.
Feeling embarrassed, I slunk up her path and
knocked on the door.There she was not a
witch or a wizard or a wizened crone but a
perfectly conventional North London mum
with a heavy French accent.She led me into
her patchouli-scented parlour, which was
garlanded with the instruments of her trade
Himalayan artefacts and bells and candles
and bead-embroidered hangings, and, yes,
a crystal ball.She directed me to a tasselled
velvet armchair.No small talk: she demanded
quite brusquely why are you here?
At the mention of Rosie, Angelique half
smiled.Then I explained my problem about
knowing what to bid for the hotel. The half
smile evaporated instantly it was plain that
Angelique felt insulted.With much vehemence
she made clear that her life was devoted
to helping people with real problems not
linked to money, but to matters of the heart,

grief,loss, impending illness, exotic travel,

separation and romance.She was becoming
quite angry and I thought she was about to
show me the door, but the more she rejected
me the more convinced I became that she
had the answer to my question.I had come
prepared with a piece of paper on which
I had written ten numbers five less and
five more than my shaky estimate.I almost
begged Angelique to choose one.With the
kind of intense thin-lipped disdain, which
only the French can manage, she waved my
piece of paper away without a glance,wrote
something on one of her cards, put it in an
envelope,sealed it, handed it to me and
asked me to leave.I rushed to my car, ripped
open the envelope and there on the card
was Angeliques number.
It was about 100,000 less than my intended
bid. I was astonished how on earth could
Angelique know even the number of noughts
let alone anything more specific? It was
eerie.I sat motionless in the car for almost an
hour before driving home
So what to do? Should I ignore the apparent
miracle, or take the risk and use Angeliques
number, even though it flew in the face of
all my painstaking research? I was far too
embarrassed to discuss Angelique with my
bank manager or my accountant. In the end
I decided to go with Angelique.The result?
Mine was the highest bid and so I got to buy
Ardanaiseig.That was remarkable, but what
was beyond remarkable was what happened
next, and this is fully documented.A month
later I met the agent who had handled the sale
and he told me that the second highest of the
many bids was just one thousand pounds less
than mine.
Since that time I have sent a number of
people to see Angelique.Almost everything
she has said about their past and their future
has been correct.One day I might brave her
thin-lipped disdain and drum up the courage
to ask her about my future too.

running with an increasing swell. The boat

felt very small and I suggested the white
horses I could see ahead of us boded ill.
Discretion, I find, is the better part of valour
in these circumstances and I turned the wee
boat gently back the way we had come and
we gingerly headed back to more sheltered
waters as waves broke repeatedly over the
bows. Our return afforded time for a good
nosey at the hotels Boatshed, a romantic
hideaway with dramatic floor-to-ceiling
windows overlooking the loch. For another
visit perhaps.

sense of place that makes you reluctant to

walk away.
Although someone on TripAdvisor was a bit
sniffy about the dado rails being the same
colour as the walls, it would be a mistake
to think for one moment that Bennie is not
driven by high artistic ideals and, throughout
the hotel, there are signs of its gentle ongoing
restoration, such as a pair of marble columns
in the drawing room that had been painted
over with what Bennie refers to as a thick
layer of brown gunge. Also revealed a few
years ago was a fine 300-year-old chimney
breast, while in the grounds youre apt to
bump unexpectedly into statues and other
artworks, often emerging, moss-covered,
from their environment.
So back to all those dinner guests I
mentioned. One of the biggest challenges
running a kitchen in a hotel of this size,
where guest numbers can fluctuate with
the availability of fresh produce, is to deliver
a fine dining experience from finite kitchen
resources. We felt that chef Colin Cairns got
the balance just about right in ensuring the
menu varied enough each evening to satisfy
longer staying guests. His locally sourced
seafood and venison ticked all the right
boxes, as did an imaginative wine list and a
good collection of single malts and spirits,
including the small-batch Highland gin,
Caorunn.

the net result was that Bennie tells on these

pages for the first time how he did indeed
consult a medium before making his bid and
just how crucial her advice proved to be.
The secret of staying at Ardanaseig is to slow
down to its pace and to feel no guilt if all you
want to do is read a book while watching
the changing mood of the loch out of the
corner of an eye. We took a wander through
the lovely gardens one day, enjoying a picnic
in the tiny walled cemetery that houses the
estates ancestors. Feeling bolder, we took
one of the hotels boats and headed towards
the dramatic ruins of Kilchurn Castle at the
head of Loch Awe. Now, many people know
that Loch Ness is Scotlands largest by
volume of water, while Loch Lomond is its
largest by area. Fewer can tell you that Loch
Awes is its longest (25 miles) and third largest
by area. Thats a lot of water water that can
move about a lot if the weather turns.
Ten minutes out from shore and I began to
feel uneasy: changing weather was coming
in from our backs and I sensed we were

Back in the cosy security of afternoon tea in

the sitting room I thought about those hotel
judges. This, after all is the kind of place
where attention to detail is such that they
even tuck the belt back in on your dressing
gown when they come to turn down the bed
of an evening, close the shutters and leave
mints on your pillow.
Lets hear it from the judges: Among the
factors for choosing Ardanaiseig as the
best country house hotel were its setting
and ambiance, and the dcorof its public
rooms. It has a sense of elegance, with high
standards of furnishings, fixtures, fittings, art
and ornamenting. We found it championed
local food at all meals including breakfast.
Judges wereleft with the happy impression
of having stayed in a wonderful, real Scottish
country property.
And so say all of us!
www.ardanaiseig.com
Nearby: Inverary Castle, seat of the Dukes of
Argyll. www.inveraray-castle.com
Visitor centre for the hollow mountain
power station inside Ben Crucahcan.
www.visitcruachan.co.uk
Eastern Airways flies to Aberdeen,
Highlands gateway, from 13 airports in
Scotland, England and Norway.

Not enough, though, for a strange and

stringy man from London, who made a
rather arcane complaint to Lauren across the
bar about locally sourced ingredients and
suggested Londons Borough Market might
be better. My advice: stay in London, mate.
His intervention, however, prompted my own
conversation with Lauren, in which we got
chatting about Bennie and she let slip that
she believed hed consulted a wee wifey
before buying the place. Im delighted that

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