The Luxury of a Home Away From Home
Radha Chadha -
Monday, January 12, 2009 10:22 PM
It is a fairytale view from my window. I look up to Aspen mountain, massive and majestic, covered copiously in fresh snow from the storm last night. Conical fir trees dot the slopes, their outstretched arms piled up with powder. I can make out the ski slopes curving between the trees, waiting for the onslaught of skiers later in the morning. Closer up are the red brick buildings of the St. Regis Residence Club that catch the early morning sun, and smack outside my window – if I leaned out I could touch them – are the bare twiggy tree branches wired up neatly in white ice.
I sip my tea. White, serene, crisp, magical, it’s a scene I associate only with Christmas cards – a million worlds away from the smog-laden winter chaos of Gurgaon mornings, my home now, or the urban hustle-bustle of Hong Kong, my home for the last decade – and yet the funny part is I feel so much at home here. I didn’t expect to – I am a warm weather girl really – and am surprised and delighted by this overwhelming sense of “home”.
Which brings me to the question of what is home really, especially in a flat world marked by transience and families spread all over the map? How can one be at home in alien settings and alien cultures? And since this is a blog on luxury, what ingredients go into transforming what is essentially a “borrowed space” – from a fractional ownership plan in our case here – into a warm instant home away from home?
Top of that list in creating this “illusion of home” has to be an organization of space and objects that you can intuitively navigate – quite like a well-designed website where you instinctively know where is what. Everything feels familiar. It is only our third visit here, but it feels like I have spent a lifetime. There is comfort in knowing exactly which drawer has the cutlery, and where the washing machine is and the microwave. I put the kettle on for tea and wait for its familiar whistle. Of course, it helps that everything is so comfortable and of impeccable quality – the sheets are super soft, the bathtub gurgles up into a jacuzzi, the bathroom floor is heated. And if there is anything I need, it is genuinely a phone call away, the answer is always an enthusiastic “yes, absolutely”.
The décor – American country, dark wood, leather, stone fireplace - is at once luxurious and homey, spacious and cozy. Things don’t match, rather it is how you and I would have “built up” a home over time, adding one piece of furniture after another. The ceilings are low, creating a sense of intimacy. Open plan, shared spaces, everything is “human scale”, helping a family to bond.
And family is definitely what home is about. Just being together as a family is a big deal – rare enough with the four of us whizzing along on separate schedules in separate parts of the world – as are the special memories we have built jointly in Aspen. The early mornings spent at the kitchen counter with adrak chai and Weetabix, layering up for the day of skiing ahead, back “home” for a simple meal of pasta cooked together, huddled up in bed watching a movie, or crowded around the dining table with our laptops. It is where my son learned to iron his first shirt. It is where I snapped my ACL and went for umpteen rounds of physiotherapy. It is where my husband organized a company conference in far-off Phuket by remote control. It is where my daughter is experimenting with her first few paintings in oil.
Equally, it is the people and places that we have built relationships with. Jodie, the ski instructor we loved so much we followed her all the way to Aspen. Snowmass, the mountain, where the family has skied the most. Aspen Sports where we hire our gear. Mezzaluna and Rustique and Kenichi and Ajax Tavern and Explorer and the dozens of other restaurants and bars where we have spent memorable evenings. (The food is outstanding in almost every restaurant in Aspen.) The Little Nell for après ski and some unintended people watching – it easily has the highest per capita usage of fur coats that I have seen anywhere. The City Supermarket. Carl’s Pharmacy. The bus stop. The ski lift. The airport. Everywhere we go there is this consistently high level of service and warmth. It is a city that understands hospitality well.
Grant McCracken, the anthropologist best known for his ideas on how we transfer cultural meaning into objects – I enjoy his work, and refer to it in my book – has studied the notion of “homeyness” and what helps create it. He examines eight symbolic properties – diminutive, variable, embracing, engaging, among others - and how they contribute to a sense of homeyness. As we in India embark on our high-end apartment building phase, developers would do well to study his recommendations. It isn’t just flash and large size – although we know only too well the Indian penchant for linking size with status – but also its “homeyness” quality. That is the ultimate luxury.