Chez Getty

During a vainglorious late-August weekend this year, I slept in J. Paul Getty’s bed. I wallowed in his solid marble bath, wrote notes at his desk and danced all over his priceless tapestry carpets. But before branding me a boastful hussy, you might as well know: My husband was there too.

Whenever I take tours of the great houses of Europe, glimpsing fabulously decorated rooms stuffed with rare art, antique furniture and sumptuous brocades, I always feel frustrated. Thwarted. It’s those forbidding velvet ropes. But virtually no boundaries exist to guests at La Posta Vecchia, the late Getty’s sweeping 17th century Italian villa by the Tyrrhenian Sea--now an ultra-luxe hotel.

Located 30 minutes outside Rome, near the town of Palo Laziale, this 55-room mansion remains exactly as the eccentric old billionaire left it: ancient Roman statues, massive beds with carved medieval canopies, magnificent chandeliers in bathrooms, and reputedly the largest collection of 17th century Italian furniture in the country. There’s even a private gallery of Etruscan artifacts, discovered under the house and now displayed in a basement mini-museum.

Between 1965 and ‘70, years when his wealth was accruing at the rate of over a million dollars a day, Getty began a serious search for a European base from which he could run his oil empire and indulge his passions: collecting art and women.

When Getty Oil moved its Italian offices from Milan to Rome in 1964, the billionaire, always fascinated by true aristocrats, met Prince Ladislao Odeschalchi, from one of Italy’s oldest families. The prince owned several grand residences, including the imposing Palo Castle, a stone fortress just outside Rome, near the old Etruscan site of Palo. Next door was his equally impressive and aesthetically prettier Posta Vecchia, built by the royals in the mid-17th century as a guest home to accommodate visitors to the castle.

Getty decided to rent Palo Castle from the prince--but he coveted La Posta Vecchia. In 1965, he persuaded the prince to sell it to him, and immediately undertook a five-year restoration of the entire place. He lavished millions fixing up and furnishing his retreat in opulent yet tasteful splendor. And the current owner, Italian businessman Roberto Scio, has had the good sense to keep it that way. Even the drapes were created anew by tracing the fabric to the original Paris factory, then commissioning more to be woven.

The inn, a member of the select Relais & Cha^teaux group, is just 20 minutes by car from Rome’s airport, so it’s a tempting place to get pampered at the beginning--or end--of an Italian idyll.

Sequestered behind automatic gates, the estate is entirely imperceptible from the dusty, eucalyptus-lined dirt road that runs past the entrance. The sun was low in the sky when we announced ourselves at the gate via intercom. A heavily accented male voice said “buon giorno!” and then we were buzzed through. As we drove along a curving private drive, the golden late-afternoon light fell in slants across a curious forest of towering pine and tropical palms. Through yet another gate stood the villa, its imposing facade of variegated ochre framed by a maze of sculptured gardens in front.

There were no signs posted to mar its handsome countenance, no indications it was a hotel at all, indeed that it was anything but someone’s secluded, eye-popping estate. The villa’s aged canine mascot, Nico, lazing nearby in the shade, gave us the once-over, and, with a bored yawn, went back to his siesta.

Presently, a smiling young fellow with noticeable lack of attitude appeared, ushering us into a palatial entry hall of Moorish-style tiles and dark wood. The centerpiece of it was a historic Roman sundial set atop a carved alabaster pedestal that would look at home in the Getty villa in Malibu. The young staff member led us through a series of ever-grander salons to a small, artfully concealed elevator at the end of the hall. Upstairs, we navigated another maze-like corridor linked by hushed candlelighted ante-rooms, finally slipping a heavy brass key into the door of our suite.

*

There’s rich, and then there’s Getty: The ochre-shaded room, with a 20-foot-high coffered ceiling, was so big you could have parked three Rolls-Royces in it and still had space for a Bugatti. Over an immense marble fireplace hung an ancient map of the Italian coast. A deep mahogany side-cabinet four yards long barely put a dent in the space against one wall. A tiny, cloistered room off to the right looked like it once had been a prayer chapel. Fresh flowers brightened corners and tabletops; the heavy curtains, made of velvet brocade the color of sea foam, were so long they draped across the floor. A truly king-size bed, covered in lace-trimmed Frette linens, was placed beneath a rare Gobelin tapestry that was one of the old man’s favorites.

“How will we ever find our way back downstairs?” I whispered, but my husband didn’t hear. He was standing before the tall windows, flung open to the salty breeze, gazing out at the sea as a boat with pale sails made its way across the swells.

It was the little things Getty left behind, as opposed to the impressive art, that struck the most resonant chord for me. I caught the scent of history more pungently from the black rotary phone on his desk than the exquisite marble bust of Caesar in an alcove above the door. How many earth-moving deals had he made sitting in that very chair, cradling the receiver to his wizened little face?

Though Getty was the snob’s snob, there’s a get-comfy-and-put-your-feet-up feel here. Guests truly do have the run of the place. Huge wooden bowls of potpourri are placed throughout the house, lending a heady, woodsy fragrance to the formal rooms. The staff remains invisible until there is something you require. Meals are prepared by Getty’s former cook, Maria, who’s been known to leave the kitchen open at night for certain guests who can’t resist a snack. If one is going to spend this kind of money--rates from $375 a night, about the same as a room at Rome’s rather disappointingly nondescript Hilton--it’s worth the splurge.

We didn’t start out with a reservation for the Getty Suite, by the way. We got lucky and were upgraded to the top room for a discount rate of $450 when the hotel discovered it had overbooked its “medium-priced” suites. (The quoted, or “rack rate,” for the Getty Suite is $1,100 nightly.)

A welcoming letter from manager Harry Scio (Roberto’s son) read: “We are honored to have you in our home. The staff and I are at your disposal for whatever whim or desire you should have.” This includes a massage in your room, a jog among Etruscan ruins with your own personal trainer, a picnic in Ostia Antica, horseback riding, a round of golf, or a private tour of the Sistine Chapel.

In my husband’s case, it was a cheese sandwich.

After a long walk around the grounds, he decided he was hungry. Ringing reception--the central place in the house to request whatever strikes your fancy--he asked: “Could you send a cheese sandwich up, please? And maybe put some tomato on it too.”

Within minutes, a groaning tray of polished silver arrived, looking like an Italian still life from the pages of an art catalog: perfectly arranged wedges of six different formaggio; a crystal bowl of house-grown arugula with three types of tomatoes; a bread basket brimming with earthy brown, white and multi-grain breads, just baked. There were strawberries and red currants and acqua minerale on ice, with fine silverware wrapped in linen napkins.

While most of the other “house guests” lazed in the sun, I had the indoor pool all to myself to do laps. The haunting sounds of flute music filtered in from the open library door, echoing in the chamber and blending with the rhythm of the breaking waves just beyond the French windows.

Before wandering into dinner the first night, we spent the cocktail hour perusing the library downstairs, with its canary-colored window seats, antique candelabra, and towering shelves of books. Pouring over some of Getty’s collection, I noted, among volumes of French history, Victor Hugo, Rudyard Kipling and Samuel Pepys, a copy each of “Empires & Emperors,” “The Dow Jones-Irwin Guide to Commodities Trading,” “Accounting Principles,” and “Basic Marketing.” (Were these meant as a house joke?)

As we sat on a sofa to read, two diamond-encrusted ladies of a certain age marched into the room, martinis held aloft, their blue-blazered husbands following behind, whispering. From the library’s heavy, leather-bound guest book, I learned that quite a few Americans seemed to have found their way here.

*

The next morning, we awoke to bells from a nearby church playing “Ave Maria.” On the beach below, the tide was out, and we watched as several guests and locals waded a few yards into the water to gather fresh shellfish into little nets. After a leisurely room-service breakfast (which included great caffe latte and fresh-squeezed blood orange juice), we set out to explore Ladispoli, the nearest main town. It’s an easy three-mile stroll, but I wouldn’t recommend it for the faint of heart; the difference between the peaceful molto privato Posta Vecchia, with its castles on one side and sweeping Italian Riviera on the other, and this sprawling concrete city is jarring.

A more interesting sojourn would be to get in a car and head to Cerveteri, a 1O-minute drive away. La Posta Vecchia lies on the edge of what’s often called “The Etruscan Zone,” and Cerveteri, dating to the 9th century BC, was once a great city. The town has all but vanished, but the Necropolis is quite intact. And rather spooky. Tarquinia, another Etruscan city that historians say dates back to the 12th century BC, is about 20 minutes farther.

Saturday evening, the hotel staged an elegant barbecue. Forget about charcoal briquettes--the staff used fragrant logs from the estate trees to grill the sumptuous feast: spiny lobster, giant prawns, pollo with fresh herbs, whole salmon laid out like an elaborate mosaic. Maria’s pastas included ravioli of ricotta and eggplant, and a seafood spaghettini with scampi. I got the chance to speak briefly with the owner, Mr. Scio, who had joined his son for the barbecue, and he shared his story about finding this house: “In the late 1970s, when I heard it was up for sale after Getty’s death, I asked to see it. . . .

“The house was mostly shuttered; a skeleton staff of three people was left to look after things (These three--Getty’s original caretaker, his cook Maria and one other--are still working at La Posta Vecchia.) When the caretaker began to show me around, I couldn’t believe it: Was all this real? Besides the beautiful statues and paintings, the house had, and still has, the country’s largest collection of Italian 17th century furniture. It seemed impossible that such a collection still existed intact. I went back a second time to see it, and then a third.

“The son, Gordon Getty, wanted to sell it with all the contents; apparently, there was more than enough art in the family collection already. The only thing he removed, at the very last moment after our deal, was one marble statue--and it was a very good piece. But everything else is still here.”

GUIDEBOOK / Getty’s Getaway

Getting there: Alitalia, Delta, TWA and US Airways have direct flights (one stop, no change) LAX-Rome; round-trip fares begin at about $1,175.

La Posta Vecchia is about 15 miles north of Rome’s Fiumicino Airport (Leonardo da Vinci International). Take the A12 highway in the direction of Civitavecchia; at Torrimpietra, change to the Via Aurella (SS1) until you come to the Palo/Ladispoli exit; go approximately one mile toward Palo Laziale and look for La Posta Vecchia’s very small, discreet signs, pointing the way down a eucalyptus-lined dirt road. The hotel’s security gate is on the right.

Where to stay: La Posta Vecchia, Palo Laziale, 00055 Ladispoli (Roma), Italy. The villa has 17 rooms; all accommodations are closer to suites than mere rooms, but there are officially nine rooms and eight suites. Rates: about $375 to $1,100 per night, including breakfast, tax and service. (At certain periods, the entire villa can be rented for private conferences, seminars, weddings, family reunions, etc.)

Dinner for two (excluding wine) is about $85. The hotel and restaurant are closed from January to mid-March. Telephone 011-39-6-994-9501; fax 011-39-6-994-9507. (Reservations can also be made through Relais & Cha^teaux USA; tel. [212] 856-0115) E-mail: postavec@mbox.vol.it

For more information: Italian Tourist Office, 12400 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 550, Los Angeles, 90025; tel. (310) 820-0098; fax (310) 820-6357.