Ventana Big Sur Marks 50 Years of Luxury, Stillness, and Seclusion
Words by Kelly Martin
Photos by Kelsey Wisdom
Video by Grant Kinsey
The first wow factor of Alila Ventana Big Sur, née the Ventana Inn, is what it’s always been: getting there. Today, guests can opt to arrive by classic car—the hotel can arrange a 1975 Corvette Stingray, if that’s your style, or maybe a ’57 Porsche Speedster—and bask in the drive down Highway 1. Expect traffic; in the 50 years since the Ventana opened, Big Sur has become a major destination for sightseers and a pilgrimage for the wellness minded. But slow is fine when the views are this good.
When Hollywood producer Lawrence Spector opened the Ventana Inn in 1975—financed with his profits from “Easy Rider”—he wanted Big Sur to be seen this way. Not by too many people, but by those who would understand and be inspired by this ancient and wild stretch of coast.
He recruited Kipp Stewart, furniture designer and occasional architect, to build it. Stewart’s design started with the details—how you walk into the room, where the sun comes up, what the fixtures and linens would look like—and allowed the big picture to come together. Interior designer Courtney Brunn contributed nods to the American crafts movement, like hand-painted headboards and patchwork quilts from Nova Scotia. Sherna Stewart did the original landscaping.
In a 1978 issue of Architectural Digest—the first time the magazine ever featured a hotel—Spector shared that no one on the team had experience designing resorts; they just built a place they themselves would like.
In part because of the nature of Big Sur, and in part thanks to guests who got it, the early years at the Ventana Inn were defined by what they didn’t offer, versus what they did. From the start, there were saunas, the (now iconic) clothing-optional Japanese baths, and a pool for floating and lounging. The original drafts included plans for five tennis courts. Early guests begged Spector not to put them in.
The idea was “to do nothing and love it,” Spector told the Monterey Peninsula Herald, months after opening.
The idea spoke to those seeking stillness and seclusion in a world marked by political, cultural, and economic chaos and an accelerating pace of life. And from day one, the hotel was always full. This is where Spector’s famous friends, Warner Brothers executives, the Finnish prime minister, the Duke and Duchess of Manchester, Black Panthers founder Huey Newton, and Pentagon Papers whistleblower Daniel Ellsberg all went to disappear. Jesse Jackson gave his “Rainbow Coalition” speech one morning in 1984 and checked into the Ventana that night. Nobody mingled. It wasn’t—and still isn’t—that kind of place.
Randy Smith, the former general manager who worked at the Ventana from 1979 to 1997, says the Ventana’s way of offering next to nothing revealed a lot about people. “People that were comfortable in their own skin fell in love with the place. People that didn’t need attention and people that didn’t need constant input. People that didn't need outside stimulus to be comfy, people that were comfortable with their partner, and people that were comfortable where it was quiet,” he says.
The level of luxury people came for instead fell to the attentive and devoted staff. Rosa Gallo and Vicente Hernandez, who met on staff and later married, led the hyperdetailed housekeeping team that justified the hotel’s steep rates. The longtime landscape architect Scott Parker designed low-impact, low-water-use grounds way before sustainability entered our collective consciousness. Some current staffers have been at the Ventana since it opened; others had kids who now work there, too.
The staff had an ongoing joke about Kent Colwell, president of Transamerica’s real estate division, which owned the hotel from 1980 until 1997: Guests would meet him one day, and he’d be in jeans and a denim shirt—exactly what the bellman wore—helping with their luggage. The next time they saw him, he’d be in a suit and tie, eating continental breakfast with Condoleezza Rice.
Over 50 years, Ventana changed, as things tend to do. The hotel swapped hands; multiple multimillion-dollar renovations warped the original architecture. The country store, which was once beloved for its handmade silk ribbons, bird whistles, and inlaid-enamel thimbles, is gone. (There are now pop-up shops with local artisans instead.) This summer brings a light refresh to the guestrooms; Alila, the Hyatt brand that currently owns the hotel, has another property-wide renovation in the works in the next few years.
The crowd, though, remains the same: mostly couples on romantic retreats and people looking to escape the world for a minute. And weddings, both teeny elopements and big buyouts. According to California law, the hotel can’t explicitly ban children, but you won’t see them there; if you’re considering bringing some, consider whether they’d be happier (and better received) somewhere else.
If you’re not staying overnight, you can still eat at the restaurant, the Post House, or buy a day pass for the spa. (Rates start at $250 for the summer season, and they sell out quickly. Reserve at least two weeks in advance for weekdays and a month in advance for weekends.) Otherwise, the property is exclusively for guests—part of the resort’s commitment to privacy.
There’s still no tennis court. But to align with the Alila brand and perhaps to cater to contemporary tastes—in a world where infinite stimulation is at our fingertips and no one’s ever bored—the staff invites guests to fill their days with guided activities. You can book guided hikes, guided stargazing, guided foraging, California condor spotting, chakra healings, and cold-water plunges in a nearby stream (accompanied by breathwork and wolflike howling).
“We have almost everything you would like,” says Matt Skaletsky, the current general manager.
Those tickled by tarot readings and tai chi can have at it. But many guests will still find themselves struck by slowness. They’ll put down their phones—cell reception barely exists here anyway—and spend time walking in the redwood forest, inspecting the dirt under their feet, or staring out to sea. “Ventana” means “window,” and some will still argue the best thing to do here is look. <img src="https://cdn.prod.website-files.com/6457f19f1c1e1601e2c9c3f6/6487a9355b63a6818c705cea_CC-Icon--20.svg"alt="CC"height="20" width="20">
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Kelly Martin is a lifestyle writer, editor, and brand consultant. Previously, she was the senior editor at goop, where she directed travel content and covered what’s fascinating in the wellness world. You can find her on Instagram at @_kjmartin.