Tower Lodge, Hunter Valley review: Australia's most unusual luxury lodge

Elton John was in my jacuzzi on the roof. Stevie Nicks was in my bed. Rod Stewart was by the mirror in my bathroom, preening his fringe with mayonnaise (if you believe what you read). If these walls could talk… hmm, it's probably best they can't.

I'm at Australia's most unusual luxury lodge. Spicers Retreats – the new co-owners of this Hunter Valley icon – describe Spicers Tower Lodge like this: "The grand and palatial Spanish styling of this iconic property… is reminiscent of architecture found in the hills outside Pamplona."

But it's far more eclectic than that. Managing director David Assef says to picture Spicers Tower Lodge, it's best to "… think of Morocco meeting Athens and going on holiday in Spain". Even that skips entire continents – Tower Lodge makes me think of southern African safari lodges. And there are features – like a 300-year-old hand-carved Rajasthani bed Stevie Nicks and I slept in – that bring to mind historical palatial retreats in India. And some of the lodge is built out of adobe brick; so there's some Mexico for you too.

Whatever it is, it's odd, and it's suffocating; but it's great and it's comforting all at the same time. Staying here is like watching an art movie you're not sure you really 'got', then realising you're still replaying it in your mind days, weeks, even months later.

It's the creation of Australia's most memorable wine industry character, the late Len Evans OBE, and his well-heeled, well-cellared friends – a roster that included celebrity chef Rick Stein and entertainment guru, Michael Hope. Tower Lodge was intended to intimidate when it opened in 1999. It was the piece de resistance to their lives and to their lifestyles – a place other wine lovers came to drink only the best bottles, to eat only the best meals, surrounded by only the best people.

"I used to deliver wine here around 2000," a winery worker up the road tells me. "The gates would open and there'd be nothing but Maseratis and Porsches in the driveway and someone would come out telling me where to put the wine in a clipped accent. It was intimidating. But I loved going there, you never knew what'd you see."

There are still steel gates guarding the lodge when I pull up, 16 years after Evans' untimely death. They part (when I call a phone number given to me the day before) and I drive my modest rental car to an entrance marked by an enormous 19th century French coach house door.

I'm led inside, past a grand piano to a European-styled central courtyard with cobbled stones and an Italian water fountain: a sort of Mediterranean oasis in the middle of Australia's busiest wine region. There's ornate pillars that look like Rome and cloistered walkways that lead guests to their quarters.