The Dream Life 
Markus Hofer

Words Allison Reiber DiLiegroImages Lucy Deverall

After years of playing by the rules, Markus Hofer decided it was time to break them.

Markus’ journey to creating The Bohemian Bali—set in the legendary surf town, Canggu—began on the ski slopes. Growing up between Austria and Munich, Markus always felt the pull of the mountains and became a ski instructor as soon as he could. “It’s the dream life,” he tells us, “doing what others do on holiday full-time.” Spending every day with travelers, he got to know their wants and needs. The idea for an ideal place to stay began to take shape—more a home than a hotel.

Then came a string of successful businesses: He opened a hotel in Austria and then sold it, launched a series of restaurant franchises, including bringing Starbucks to Australia for the first time, but eventually grew tired of corporate life. It wasn’t until Bali, with its generous spirit and creative energy, that he found the right place to fully bring his vision to life: the very special, seven-room The Bohemian Bali.

We talked to Markus about how the mountains led him to the sea, the lessons he learned along the way, and what he’s been able to build with all the freedom he found.

Tell us about your ski-instructing years.

I was born in Munich to Austrian parents, and always felt a bit like an outsider. We moved between Austria and Germany a lot, which blurred my sense of home. Our house in Austria was only accessible by ski, foot, or toboggan in winter. So the moment I finished school, I became a full-time instructor.

One of my first groups was Australians, and I connected with their relaxed way of life. Then a skiing accident put me in rehab, and my mother said, “You need to do something else,” as mothers do. I began studying hospitality while recovering.

As soon as I could ski again, I went to Australia. That started years of back-and-forth: six months skiing in Austria, six in Australia. Eight months a year on snow. It was an amazing rhythm.

When did you first start imagining a different kind of guest experience?

Being an instructor meant I spent a lot of time with tourists—essentially curating their holidays and making sure they had a great time. They’d confide in me about where they were staying, what they liked and didn’t. Over time, I started dreaming about a way to do it better.

What type of hotel were you envisioning?

Something small—a cabin with a few rooms and a wine bar. I bought land in Austria, and what started as a guesthouse grew into a mix of styles, opinions, and financial constraints. It did okay, but only through sheer hard work. Eventually, we expanded into a 300-bed, 3-restaurant operation. Outwardly, it looked successful, but I had no freedom. I felt trapped in a golden cage.

That must have been a big contrast from your traveling days.

It hit me hard. I’d spent years traveling freely—New York, Hawaii, the Maldives, Bangkok—always flying different routes between Australia and Europe in the early ‘80s, when some of those places were still off the radar.

Eventually, the stress caught up with me. I sold the hotel to a time-share group, paid off my loans, and moved to Australia.

What did you do next?

I opened McDonald’s franchises—thinking it was the safe choice, especially because I had a young son at the time. But if the hotel in Austria felt restrictive, this was worse: all manuals, no creativity.

Later, I visited Whistler and saw Starbucks. I secured the rights to introduce it to Australia, but it was even more stifling. I sold my share a few years later, burnt out on corporate life. In 2002, I bought a café in Byron Bay—nature, surfers, music. That was a refreshing change.

How did you go from there to Bali?

I met my now-fiancée. With her support, I revisited my original dream: to create a home for travelers. Australia felt too regulated, but Bali offered openness and creative freedom. I was drawn to traditional Balinese architecture—timber, warmth, openness, simplicity—and some of the art is really beautiful. We found land in Canggu, which reminded me a bit of Byron Bay.

What was the concept for The Bohemian Bali?

From the start, I knew what I wanted: something essential and perfectly imperfect. A place where all the senses get triggered—what it smells like, how you feel, the music that surrounds you, the inspiration from the art. Even the arrival had to feel like a discovery.

I drew the building plans myself, handed them to a draftsperson, and was meticulous with every detail—very high ceilings, steel windows, recycled wood. The suites have nine-meter ceilings and artwork that barely fit inside.

What did you envision for the guest experience?

First of all, no reception desk. Guests sit around a table while we check them in and tie a Balinese prayer band to please the spirits and wish them a good journey.

Our staff guides guests personally—asking what they want to do, see, eat. It should never feel transactional. It should feel like we truly cared for them.

Tell us about the music at The Bohemian Bali.

We collaborated with Nindy Noto, a Balinese DJ who hosts a radio program for Potato Head. I made the first playlist and she developed the rest. We send one to guests before arrival to set the mood, and we always have the right playlist playing for the time of day when guests check in—as well as the right scent. Some suites have record players with a small vinyl collection.

Do you have a favorite design detail?

There’s a Balinese timber called ironwood—dark, heavy, textured. We used it for the floors and some ceilings. It’s all recycled so it has a lot of texture and moodiness to it. I love the contrast between the darkness and the lush tropical plants—it plays really beautifully together.

We also restored a 1972 vintage Mercedes to pick up guests from the airport. You’re not in a black minivan with wet towels. Everything should feel different from the start.

Do you have a motto?

“Be careful what you ask for—you might get it.” Often when you pause and ask yourself if you really want something, the answer is no. Now, I let things run their natural course. If something comes easily, it’s meant to be. If it’s difficult, maybe it’s not.

What’s a perfect day for you?

I just had a few of them, one after the other—skiing in Val d’Isère and Courchevel with my partner. Wake up early, coffee and a beautiful baguette, first lift up, fresh snow, sunshine. That to me is a perfect day.

Do you feel like you’ve finally built the place you imagined?

A recent guest said, “You can tell this place was built from passion, not for profit.” That meant a lot. When people notice the staff, the details, the scent, the music—that’s the reward.