Warbling magpies are the only alarm clocks. Once I answered their early-morning call to see dawn's soft light washing over the vines. These choristers have, however, serenaded me on several occasions while I soaked in a vineyard-view spa after a hectic day of eating, drinking and boule tossing. Warrenmang's timber-beamed restaurant sits so near the vines that breakfasting guests can see morning dew on the grapes. But you must return for lunch and dinner to savor the local yabbies, berries, cheese, rabbit, trout and hare that have earned Warrenmang Good Food Guide hats for years.
Every mouthful is almost like falling in love again.
So what if you call the city Yangon or Rangoon, the country Myanmar or Burma - the Strand Hotel is a gem that transcends such trifling issues. There's a fine restaurant that serves succulent Burmese curries, a bar with a jazz band and billiard table and an eclectic clientele of locals and expats. Great fun all round. A small wiry character, skin of crinkled leather, wrapped in worn khaki greatcoat and colorful scarf, snapped a military salute. Everyone assumed he was a Gurkha.