Inside the suite
A long room, a long view, a long bath by candle.
The room is longer than it is wide. From the door, your eye runs the whole length of it — past the bed, past the table, past the threshold of the bath, and out through a tall window onto a single, level line of sea.
We chose this room because of that line. The horizon, when you live with it long enough, does something to the breath. It slows. It opens. By the second night you will not be the same person who walked in.
The bath is at the far end, set on dark stone, walked-around by candle. There is no door between the bath and the bed — only a step, and the understanding that a room can be more than one thing at the same time.