A Sanctuary by the Sea: Milos, Bali
Long before Bali became synonymous with wellness retreats, digital nomads, and impossibly aesthetic villas on Instagram, one of the island's first Italian settlers built a guest home on its northern coast with a runaway princess.
Decades later, that home would become Milos on the Beach.
I've been fortunate enough to travel to some beautiful places over the years. From the coastline of Kenya to long summers in the South of France, I've stayed in places that promised peace, privacy, and escape. It takes a lot for a destination to genuinely surprise me these days. Milos on the Beach did.
I travelled to Milos with four of my friends. I wanted to experience the kind of place that donen't ask anything of you. A place that don't require an itinerary, that doesn't encourage you to do more, a place that simply invite you to just be.
Getting there is part of the experience. From Canggu, the drive takes around four hours, winding through local villages, green landscapes, and some of the most breathtaking scenery Bali has to offer. There is one particularly steep stretch through the mountains that those wary of heights should probably prepare themselves for, but the views are unforgettable. By the time we arrived, it felt as though we'd left one version of Bali behind and entered another entirely.
We were fortunate enough to be hosted by Alberto, the villa's owner and a mutual friend, who shared the story of Milos with us over dinner. The villa was originally built by his parents decades ago and has recently been lovingly restored. His father was one of the first five Italians to settle in Bali, arriving long before the island became the global destination it is today. His mother was, quite remarkably, a runaway princess. It sounds like the beginning of a novel, and perhaps that's why the villa itself feels so full of character and romance.
Throughout the property, traces of that history remain. Designed with influences from Alberto's Italian family, elements of Art Nouveau can be found everywhere, from intricate details hidden within door frames to artistic flourishes that make every room feel collected rather than decorated. But what I loved most wasn't the architecture. It was the way the villa exists alongside nature rather than competing with it.
The ocean sits just beyond the garden. Horses graze nearby. Cows occasionally wander past the pool as though they're part of the staff. Birds provide the morning soundtrack.
Nothing feels manufactured. Nothing feels staged. Instead, Milos feels deeply rooted in its surroundings.
One of my favourite moments each day was waking up to the sound of the sea.
Not a sound machine. Not an ocean playlist. An actual ocean. Combined with the birdsong that drifted through the room each morning, it created the kind of atmosphere that feels increasingly rare in a world designed to keep us constantly connected and distracted. The rooms themselves were stunning, spacious, calming, and filled with personality. Every detail felt considered without feeling overly polished.
Then there were the outdoor showers. Technically enclosed, yet open enough to make you feel immersed in the elements, they quickly became one of my favourite parts of the stay. There was something incredibly grounding about showering while listening to birds overhead and feeling connected to the landscape around me.
The food deserves special mention too. The villa's chefs prepared traditional Indonesian dishes throughout our stay, and every meal felt like an expression of care. Fresh ingredients, vibrant flavours, and the kind of cooking that reminds you that simple food is often the most memorable.
One morning, I also had the chance to go horse riding. Guests can ride through the surrounding countryside and even into the mountains, though we opted for a shorter route due to time. In a small coincidence that felt strangely meaningful, I was paired with horse number 22. For anyone who knows me, you'll understand why that made me smile.
I was born on the 22nd. My surname contains 22. Somehow, that number has a habit of finding me wherever I am in the world. Finding it waiting for me in a stable on Bali's northern coast felt like one of those little travel moments that stays with you long after you've returned home.
Milos isn't somewhere you come to party. It's somewhere you come to rest. To read the book you've been carrying around for months. To watch the ocean. To have long dinners that stretch into the evening. To remember that slowing down isn't wasted time. In many ways, it reminded me that rest is productive too.
For travellers looking to experience a different side of Bali, one that exists beyond beach clubs, packed schedules, and tourist hotspots, Milos offers something increasingly rare: stillness.
A quieter Bali. A slower Bali. Perhaps even a more authentic Bali.
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