Mark Jolly: Top Five Hotels by Mark Jolly

FINCA ADALGISA: CHACRAS DE CORIA, ARGENTINA

At the gateway to Mendoza’s choicest vineyards, Finca Adalgisa is a superb blend of old-moneyed elegance with all the perks of a modern boutique property. The stylishly restored manor house is furnished with monster-size leather armchairs and gnarled oak tables recycled from antique wine barrels. Next door, a new stone villa has been added, overlooking an landscaped pool.

POUSADA DO AMPARO: OLINDA, BRAZIL

So intense is Olinda's carnival that in 1994 the congregation of Amparo Church chose to move out rather than compete against the noise of marching maracatu drums every year. In their place moved next-door neighbours, Kléber and Angela Dantas, who set about restoring the ravaged 18th century structure and turning it into one of the most evocative guesthouses in all of Brazil.

COVECASTLES: ANGUILLA

A super-secluded pearl of whitewashed villas in the western Caribbean, these castles-in-the-sand seem to rise from the turquoise waters like sculpted billowing sails. The 5,000 square feet Grand Villa would do well as a 007 secret hideaway: floor-to-ceiling windows, private pool and two ultra-minimalist master suites.

SANTA ISABEL: HAVANA, CUBA If your idea of swank is the New York Plaza, then the big, flashy Hotel Nacional is for you. But if you’re seeking more subdued elegance, there is only one place in Havana: the 27-room Santa Isabel, a restored 17th-century former palace right on Plaza de Armas. The hotel comfortably holds its own among the great boutique hotels of the world - even if the service is sometimes a little, well, Cuban.

RAJVILAS: JAIPUR, INDIA

For a gleaming modern resort, Rajvilas comes on pretty thick with Rajasthani tradition. Its only cultural anomaly is the service: it's good - shockingly good. The moment our taxi pulled up to the fort's entrance, the back doors flew open and a khaki-uniformed porter asked us our names. A little keen, I thought. But unlike most Indian interlocutors, there was a working purpose to his probing. "Mr. Jolly is here," he announced into a walkie-talkie, "please show him his room." With that, our bags vanished and we were whisked straight past reception, through Mughal style gardens. When we arrived at our tent - an exquisitely furnished, teak-floored haven under a gold-embroidered canopy - our bags were already waiting. I gave the butler my business card; he gave me a simple form to sign - none of that address-passport-length-of-stay nonsense that usually accompanies such paperwork in India. And that was that.