Romazzino, a Belmond Hotel, Costa Smeralda

Essentially unimprovable. The hotel sits above a protected bay with sand of that uncanny, almost luminescent color that draws the megayachts to anchor offshore. The beach is effectively semi-private (technically public, as all Italian beaches are, with hotel-reserved loungers), the water is crystalline, and hiking trails lead to further coves. Porto Cervo is a ten-to-fifteen-minute drive. The flipside is isolation: there is nothing within walking distance, a car is essentially mandatory for dinners and exploration, and taxis are eye-wateringly expensive (€50–100 for short hops).

The bones are extraordinary. Busiri Vici's architecture — the white volumes, the cave-like interiors, the meandering staircases and corridors, the integration with the maquis garden — remains one of the great pieces of Mediterranean resort design. The gardens are (mostly) beautifully kept, the outdoor gym pavilion overlooking the pool and sea is genuinely special, and the sunset hour at Ginepro bar is the kind of thing one remembers. The atmosphere is mercifully understated — no bling, no scene — which in this region is itself a statement.

This is where Romazzino's current identity is most contested. At its best — with certain long-tenured managers, the beach team, the bar staff at Ginepro, the concierge on a good day — service here approaches the anticipatory, name-recognizing warmth that defines true Italian luxury hospitality. Pre-arrival concierge correspondence is genuinely responsive, small personal touches (a requested local digestivo appearing in the room the next day) still happen, and the front-of-house leadership has genuine gravitas. But there are real inconsistencies: housekeeping that occasionally skips turndown, concierge bookings for boat excursions and transfers that misfire, billing errors at checkout that recur with uncomfortable frequency, and a whiff of tiered treatment in which the most conspicuous spenders receive the most conspicuous attention. The brigade is large but sometimes untrained or uncoordinated — a symptom of a property in management transition.

The breakfast buffet, taken on the upper terrace overlooking the bay, is genuinely memorable — one of the loveliest starts to a day in the luxury resort universe. The beachside lunch is the hotel's other culinary high point: grilled fish, fresh pasta, a generous antipasti spread, eaten barefoot with turquoise water at arm's length. Beyond that, the picture grows murkier. Belmond's reconceived fine-dining dinner is ambitious but uneven, and with only one evening restaurant effectively operating (and seasonal closures earlier than expected), guests staying more than a few nights will want to arrange meals in Porto Cervo or the surrounding coast. And then there is the pricing — which is, frankly, the most commented-upon feature of the property. Coffees at €9–18, single Cokes at €10–15, €200 lunch buffets, pasta dishes at €35–50, cocktails at €30–40. Even measured against Porto Cervo's own stratospheric norms, Romazzino's F&B prices feel punishing and, critically, not always matched by quality.

Here lies the property's most urgent problem. A portion of the inventory has been genuinely refreshed — these rooms are lovely, with the Sardinian-vernacular vocabulary of arches, tile, and whitewash handled with restraint. But many rooms, including standard and premium categories commanding €2,000–4,000 per night, remain small, dated, and occasionally threadbare: tired carpeting in the hallways, cramped bathrooms where doors hit fixtures, plumbing quirks, noise transmission between rooms and from public spaces above. At these rates, in this brand, it is simply not defensible. The villas and the renovated upper-category suites are a different story, and they are the rooms to book. Beds, linens, and Acqua di Parma amenities are uniformly excellent.

The weakest category by a wide margin. Very few guests leave Romazzino feeling they received commensurate return on their expenditure. Belmond's rate increases have not yet been matched by product improvements, and the on-property pricing for food, beverage, transfers, and ancillary services pushes even wealthy guests into a defensive, nickel-and-dimed mindset that is antithetical to a genuine luxury experience. Until the renovation cycle completes and F&B pricing is recalibrated, value is a real, structural problem.