BILL BENSLEY

Interview conducted by Rea Samek

Bill Bensley is considered one of Asia’s most influential designers – a visionary who transforms hotels and resorts into extraordinary works of art. His projects combine sustainable architecture, meticulous attention to detail, and a distinctive signature style that has gained worldwide recognition. More than 200 resorts, hotels, and palaces bear his name, each telling stories of culture, nature, and creativity.

In our conversation with the “Willy Wonka of Design,” as he is often called, Bensley speaks about inspiration, responsibility, and the art of creating spaces that are more than just places to stay: experiences that last.

You have designed over 200 resorts worldwide. When choosing a new project, what attracts you most – the landscape, the culture, or the history of a place?

I’ve always believed that a hotel without a story is just a building with beds. So, when I look at a new project, I don’t ask myself first about the size of the lobby or how many villas we can squeeze in — I ask: what’s the story here? And that story almost always comes from three things that are inseparable — the land, the culture, and the history.

The land is usually my first handshake with a place. If I step into a wild jungle, a misty mountain, or a stretch of beach where the horizon seems endless, that energy immediately speaks to me. Nature is the greatest designer of them all, and I try to let her lead the way.

 But the land without people is just scenery. Culture is where the soul comes in — the crafts, the food, the music, the way people see the world. I spend a lot of time poking around local markets, chatting with artisans, and learning old traditions because that’s what brings a sense of authenticity and playfulness into the design. Guests don’t want a cookie-cutter hotel — they want to feel the heartbeat of the place.

And then, of course, there’s history. I’m a bit of a history junkie, so I love digging into archives, old maps, forgotten stories. Sometimes it’s an old colonial mansion, sometimes a forgotten logging trail, sometimes a king’s eccentric hobby — those bits of history are pure gold. They give a backbone, a narrative thread, something solid to build the whole fantasy around.

So, to answer your question, I don’t choose between the landscape, the culture, or the history. I want the whole cocktail. If a project gives me all three, then I know I can create something that doesn’t just sit in its environment but belongs to it — something that feels like it could only exist in that place and nowhere else on Earth.

Your credo is “lebih gila, lebih baik” – the wilder, the better. Is there a project where you feel you embraced this philosophy most fully?

Ah yes, lebih gila, lebih baik — my favorite motto. It’s not just a credo, it’s practically a lifestyle. I’ve always believed that if you play it safe, you end up with boring hotels, and who on earth needs another beige box with a swimming pool?

If I had to pick one project where I went all-in on “the wilder, the better,” it would have to be Shinta Mani Wild in Cambodia. Imagine this: 865 acres of untamed jungle, waterfalls crashing through the Cardamom Mountains, and me saying, “Right, let’s drop a luxury tented camp in the middle of it — and make sure guests arrive by zipline.” Everyone thought I’d lost the plot. And that’s exactly why I loved it.

We built each tent as if Jackie O herself were on safari, filled them with antiques and unconventional treasures, and put the bar right on the river so you can sip a gin and tonic while the water roars past your feet. It’s wild, it’s theatrical, and it’s utterly respectful of nature — every single detail was designed so the forest would stay intact and protect the wildlife that lives there at the same time.

That project, more than any other, is me living my credo. It’s conservation wrapped in a bit of madcap fantasy, with a healthy dose of fun. Because at the end of the day, I think travel should surprise you — even shock you a little — and leave you with stories you’ll tell forever.

The InterContinental Danang is considered one of your most iconic resorts. What was your greatest source of inspiration when you first began designing it?

The InterContinental Danang is a project very close to my heart. When I first set foot on that extraordinary stretch of Sơn Trà Peninsula, it was as if Mother Nature herself had designed the stage and simply asked me to dress it for the performance. The jungle there tumbles straight down to the sea, filled with rare red-shanked douc langurs swinging through the treetops, and I thought: how do I celebrate this wild theatre without taming it?

As research, I went to 20 different Vietnamese temples, because in any Asian culture the temple is where society put their effort. In Europe they put money into the churches, so they’re the best examples of architecture we have in Western society. So I brought the idea of a temple into the resort in a very light-hearted, innovative way.

My answer was to build a resort that doesn’t fight the landscape but plays along with it. I imagined the place as a series of acts in a grand opera — the arrival, the ascent, the discovery — each level of the resort telling a different chapter of the story, from Heaven down to Sea. I wanted guests to feel like they were slipping into a dream where Vietnamese myth, French colonial echoes, and a dash of my own eccentricity could mingle happily.

Many guests describe the resort as a “theatre of the senses.” Was it always your intention to create such a playful and luxurious world?

From the very beginning at Danang, I thought of the whole place as a stage set — a grand theatre where the jungle, the sea, and Vietnamese folklore could all play leading roles. I wanted guests to step into a story, not a hotel lobby. The playfulness was intentional — the crooked staircases, the over-the-top pavilions, the mischievous monkeys that sneak a starring role now and then and the boat shaped Nam Tram funicular that transports guests between the different levels of the resort, from "Heaven" at the top to "Sea" at the bottom, enabling guests to navigate the resort’s forested slopes with ease while appreciating the view. 

My intention was to marry that sense of theatre with real craft and indulgence: hand-carved details, layers of local artistry, and a kind of luxury that doesn’t whisper, but sings.

To me, travel should tickle every sense, surprise you at every turn, and leave you grinning like a child who’s just discovered a secret world. Danang was my chance to create exactly that — a deliciously theatrical playground where nothing is too serious, and everything is a little bit magical.

Vietnamese culture is deeply woven into the design of the resort. Which local elements or traditions influenced you most?

Vietnam has such a rich cultural tapestry that it would have been a crime not to let it lead the way at InterContinental Danang. I was particularly drawn to the traditional crafts — lacquer, wood carving, weaving — each with centuries of skill behind them. 

The architecture borrows from temples, royal residences and palaces, so every corner has a sense of reverence and grandeur.

La Maison stands as a French colonial mansion straight out of the Indochine era, while down by the sand, the beach restaurant wears its humble thatched roof like the fishing villages that dot Vietnam’s coast. And because I can never resist a bit of the unexpected, the spa treatment rooms are modelled after aircraft hangars from the Vietnam War era — living reminders of history transformed into places of peace. I played with a bold black-and-white palette, a nod to the timeless dance of yin and yang. It’s not just about contrast, but about harmony — opposites in conversation, balancing one another, much like the mountains and sea that cradle the resort.  

Walking through the InterContinental Danang today – is there a space or detail that you are particularly proud of?

When I wander through InterContinental Danang these days, my eye is always drawn upward — to Citron, the grand restaurant that floats some 80 metres above the sea. It’s as though we’ve suspended a dining room in the clouds, with views that tumble out across the jungle, the mountains, and the East Sea in a never-ending panorama.

But the real show-stoppers are the five outdoor platforms that jut out from the cliffside, each one shaped like an upside-down non la hat — the conical hat worn by farmers and fishermen throughout Vietnam. I loved the idea of taking something so simple and deeply rooted in daily life, and then scaling it up to an almost surreal proportion. Suddenly this everyday object becomes sculpture, architecture, theatre.

To sit in one of those “hats,” floating high above the treetops, is to dine in mid-air, with the resort unfolding below you and the horizon painted in a thousand shifting colours. Guests can’t resist capturing it — these are by far the most photographed corners of the property — but what pleases me most is that a humble piece of Vietnamese culture has become the defining icon of the resort. It’s playful, it’s symbolic, and it’s pure Danang. 

And I’m particularly tickled that InterContinental Danang has given space to an Outsider Gallery right on property, where some of my own artworks hang out. Guests are welcome to wander through, and if a piece strikes their fancy, they can take it home. Every single penny from those sales is funneled straight back into the causes dearest to me — conservation and wildlife protection.

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