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The hotel gift vouchers in the Store come from boutique hotels, guesthouses, chalets, holiday apartments, and country houses chosen for their style, design, and the people behind them. Star ratings never come into it. The range runs from a seventeenth-century inn on the IJmeer to a blackened-larch house above the Atlantic in Donegal, from a working finca beneath Mallorca’s Tramuntana to a masseria in the Sicilian Madonie, and from Zermatt and St Anton to TriBeCa, Porto and the Alentejo.
Every house is run by the people who own it: the ones who plump the cushions, straighten the oil painting their father hung, carry the chairs back onto the lawn each morning and fuss over the bread. They take food seriously, and they take wellness well beyond the sauna: a bathing lake of spring water in the Tyrol, a porphyry onsen open to the sky above Merano, seaweed baths on the Wild Atlantic Way.
The gifts are as varied as the houses. A night in a roof tent on a South Tyrolean mountainside. Four hours in a Porsche 911 on winding Bavarian roads. A tasting menu high above Merano, raclette for ten in a forest cabin, a three-course dinner in Highland Perthshire, or simply breakfast at altitude. There is something for every pocket, from a €50 voucher to a stay in a timber chalet with its own sauna and hot tub, and each is bought directly from the house, valid for at least twelve months, and sent by email, by post or both.
Welcome to the wonderland of fabulous hotel gifting.
On ground the Schmuck family have worked since 1617, a forest spa runs cryotherapy at minus 110, breathwork among the pines, sushi beside the water.
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A spring-fed bathing lake, a driftwood cathedral, eight thousand square metres of spa and a six-course dinner to end the day, in the Tannheimer Tal.
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A 1664 inn on the IJmeer, now a luxury boutique hotel in Amsterdam, 15 minutes by car from the centre, with De Mark’s open-flame kitchen.
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Honeyed timbers and noir accents at 1,218 metres on Engelberg’s sunny slope. Two Nordics and a Canadian run a foodie basecamp with a fire pit.
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Named for Ullr, the Norse god of snow, and set opposite the Galzig lift. Stephanie Thatenhorst’s interiors make it St Anton’s most dandyish ski base.
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A 200-year-old inn and barn by the Liechtenstein border, joined in Swiss walnut and Scandinavian classics. Famed for its table, and a cellar worth descending.
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Salt ‘n Turf on the Sado: Alentejo fields inland, Atlantic beaches nearby, and an old merchant’s townhouse restored by Filipa and Antonio with real reverence.
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Seven centuries as inn, manor house, farm store and even a pizzeria. Now twenty-nine rooms, with a golden tunnel down to the vaulted cellar bar.
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A 1909 Queen Anne pile above the Tay, stripped to pitch-pine bones and refitted with Urquiola sofas. Nine suites, a firepit, room for the clan.
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Architect Carolyn Sarah Herzog built a hotel that knows when to stay quiet: structured plaster, oak, mountain grit and Japanese-taught respect for leaving things out.
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Family-run and award-winning in the Chiemgau Alps: twelve chalets with their own sauna and hot tub, fifteen suites, and a pool heated all year round.
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Max and Sebastian Witzmann run Seebichl the way they live: off-script and analogue. Schnitzel suppers, a black-clad terrace, and lake-still evenings under the Wilder Kaiser.
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White villas skim sixty-six hectares of vineyard and lake. Star-gazing suites, vinotherapy treatments, and Alentejan wines poured beside a fire on the jetty at dusk.
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Grant Maunder’s adults-only Alpine retreat with a Welsh soul: Vitra sofas, slate underfoot, Welsh blankets and a revolving door lifted from Peter Sellers. Entirely unforced.
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A two-hundred-acre working finca beneath the Tramuntana: almond, carob and fig trees, terracotta tiles, and the Mirabona kitchen plating Mallorca’s sun-warmed flavours along the veranda.
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Salzburg’s oldest inn, trading since 1350, where Mozart once drank and three hundred contemporary works now hang throughout. Andreas Gfrerer’s arthotel faces the Festival Hall.
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Reclaimed spruce, ancient oak and steel sky pools at 1,800 metres in Arosa, plus their own cookie of Schanfigg honey by star pâtissier Christian Humbs.
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An 1848 patrician home in Giacometti’s valley, kept by the Erne family: larch boards, tiled stoves, open-fire suppers and walnut tarts, with conversation running late.
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Seven design apartments threaded through a sixteenth-century Porto townhouse, six years of restoration: spiral staircase, lantern skylight, stucco ceilings.
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A five-hundred-year-old nail smithy an hour south of Munich, refined to limewash, oak and stone. Bavarian heritage, gently filtered, in the snowy cradle of Geitau.
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A 1907 grande dame gone gloriously unserious, chandeliers hung with climbing gear, the Matterhorn in every window. Wolfgang Schmidt’s wood-fire Grill handles the long evenings.
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Snow falling into an open-sky spa cloister in Pontresina: a Maistra 160 gift voucher for a Day Spa, a treatment or any value you choose.
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Robert De Niro’s TriBeCa address of Civil War timber and handmade brick, its spa a 250-year-old Japanese barn reassembled without nails. Manhattan, minus the gilt.
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Edy and Miki Longo sank six suites into their own Arco vineyard: rusted steel, raw concrete, and a black infinity pool holding the mountains still.
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Klaus and Carmen’s mountain obsession at 1,230 metres: a salt-water infinity pool in volcanic stone, a porphyry onsen open to the sky, coffee roasted in-house.
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Four rooms on the Horn Head peninsula: breakfast through a hatch, seaweed baths, turf fires and the wild Atlantic. Cathrine and Niall’s blackened-larch eyrie, undiluted.
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