Up Close & Personal: An Interview with the Founder

by azulomo | 6 min read

Not your typical founder chat…

The story, memories and thinking behind Slow Living Hospitality™

Behind every brand is a story that rarely begins with the business itself. azulomo began with a fascination for places, people and the small details that make an experience stay with us. Why one place feels instantly right. Why another, however beautiful, leaves us cold. Why we remember certain moments years later. And why what people value is often very different from what we assume.

Behind that thinking is founder Elke Bretz, whose path to hospitality has been anything but conventional. More than two decades spent understanding experience, behaviour and why people choose eventually collided with a lifelong love of travel, homes, interiors and the way places make us feel. Somewhere between the two, azulomo and Slow Living Hospitality™ began to take shape.

This is the more personal story behind it. The memories, places, curious objects, changing ideas and slightly obsessive observations that have shaped Elke's thinking about home, hospitality, business and what it means to create something genuinely worth choosing.

Less about hustle, more about what really matters. This isn't so much an interview as a conversation shaped like a story, led by curiosity, personal memories and the thinking behind azulomo. A peek into the details, textures and quiet obsessions that shaped the brand, and why meaningful hospitality begins with understanding what people truly value.

With linen, travertine and, naturally, just the right amount of taupe... ;)

Let's start with azulomo. What is it, and how did you end up creating it?

It definitely wasn't one of those “I woke up one morning and decided to start a hospitality brand” moments.
I'd spent more than 20 years working across experience design, consumer behaviour, conversion, interiors and property. A huge part of my career was essentially about understanding people. What they notice, what they value, where they hesitate and, ultimately, why they choose.
At the same time, I've always been slightly obsessed with travel, homes and places. I notice how somewhere makes me feel. I notice the light, the smell, the chair that's been put in exactly the right spot. And I notice when something looks beautiful but somehow leaves me completely cold.
Eventually those two worlds collided.
azulomo became the home of Slow Living Hospitality™, the hospitality and business philosophy I created around understanding the guest more deeply and using that understanding to make better decisions about the stay and the business. Guest Fit, how someone wants to feel, Stay Identity, experience and perceived value all connect.
And then came The Slow Living Hosting Masterclass™, because I wanted to turn that thinking into something genuinely practical. Not simply ideas about better hospitality, but a system that helps hosts understand what matters, what to change, where to invest and how to know whether it's actually working.
So azulomo really grew out of one question I've probably been asking in different forms my entire career: Why do people choose what they choose?

Before the career, the businesses and azulomo, who was Elke, and what of her still shapes the way you see the world today?

Oh, she's definitely still here…! I was quiet, introverted and endlessly curious. I noticed small things. I collected feathers, stones, postcards and little objects that probably looked completely insignificant to anyone else, then arranged them on shelves as though they were treasures. I think I was always creating these tiny worlds around myself, trying to make my little corner of somewhere feel like mine.
I was also quite an interesting contradiction. In my head, I was incredibly organised. I usually knew exactly what I wanted, how I thought something should work or how I wanted something to feel. My physical surroundings, however, didn't always get the memo. I was spectacularly messy.
My mum once completely lost patience and emptied every drawer I owned into the middle of my bedroom floor. “Now you can tidy it.” I remember staring at this enormous pile thinking, yes, but every single thing in there is important.
I sometimes think I've spent the rest of my life learning to edit. The funny thing is, I don't think I've changed all that much. I still like complexity in my head and calm around me. I still collect ideas, objects, references, places, textures and stories, then slowly work out what deserves to remain. Perhaps design has become my way of creating order without losing the interesting bits.
And that's probably shaped my idea of home more than I realised. I don't want spaces stripped of personality in the pursuit of perfection. I want them to hold life, memory and a little imperfection, but with enough clarity that you can breathe.
Perhaps that's the thread that has followed me all the way to azulomo: still curious, still collecting stories, still finding meaning in small things. I like complexity in my head and calm around me. Perhaps design has always been my way of creating order without losing the interesting bits.

What's your favourite material, and what emotion does it evoke for you?

Oh, you can't ask me to choose just one.
Linen for softness. Travertine for stillness. Sandstone for warmth. I love materials that don't try too hard. Linen creases and somehow looks better for it. Travertine has all those tiny imperfections and markings. Sandstone feels as though it's been sitting in the sun forever.
They're honest. Nothing too shiny. Nothing too perfect. Nothing shouting, look at me. Actually, that's probably quite azulomo. Quiet confidence. Texture. Things that become better when you live with them.
And if I absolutely had to choose one? No. Sorry. Still three.

If you could bottle the ‘feeling’ of an azulomo stay, what would it smell like?

Ohhh, fig. But not a fig candle. A real fig tree on a hot afternoon when the leaves have been warming in the sun.
Then a little rosemary. Warm stone. Clean linen. Maybe that slightly salty smell you get somewhere close to the sea. But really, I'm trying to bottle a feeling rather than a fragrance. It's that ahhhh when you arrive somewhere and your shoulders drop without you even noticing. The world feels quieter. Nobody needs anything from you. You don't have to be anywhere. You can just be. That's the feeling.
And that's something I've become fascinated by in hospitality. A guest may search for a pool, a king-size bed and a coffee machine. But underneath all those filters, they may actually be searching for the ahhhh. You need to understand both.

What does home mean to you?

I'm a complete home bot. Always have been. Home isn't really about having the perfect house. It's walking through the door and thinking, yes, this feels like me. Craig and I have always created homes that are relaxed. Beautiful, hopefully, but never precious. Things we've collected. Natural materials. Books. Freddie on the sofa. Something slightly battered that I refuse to throw away because I love it. To me, home is your personality, pace and priorities made visible.
A house gives you shelter. A home gives you a feeling. And I think hospitality can learn a lot from that. A guest shouldn't feel as though they've entered a photograph they're frightened to disturb. They should feel invited into a place.
Perhaps that's the difference. Beautiful places are lovely to look at. The ones we remember are the ones that somehow let us belong, even if only for a few days.

What guest experience quietly changed how you see hosting?

The donkey. I love that the donkey has somehow become part of the azulomo story.
Craig and I stayed on this beautiful cork farm just outside Comporta in Portugal. It was relaxed, natural and completely at home in its surroundings. Every morning, Maria, our host, invited guests to take a carrot to the resident donkey. That was it. No elaborate experience programme. No big production. No sign announcing our “authentic local immersion”. Just a carrot and a donkey. And years later, I'm still talking about it. For a few minutes, you weren't simply staying on a cork farm. You were participating in it.
And the commercial side of my brain now thinks: how much did that carrot cost? Almost nothing. Yet look at the memory value it created. That little moment taught me something I've carried into azulomo: Cost and value are not the same thing. Sometimes a tiny, relevant moment creates far more perceived value than an expensive generic amenity.
And Maria, if you ever read this, thank you. Your donkey made it into azulomo. “Cost and value are not the same thing. Sometimes the smallest moment creates the greatest value.”

Has there ever been a place you didn't quite want to leave, because you loved who you were while you were there?

Yes. Mykonos. I remember walking into this little boutique stay and immediately feeling lighter.
White textured walls, arched openings, linen moving in the breeze, beautiful light. You could feel the history of the building, but nothing felt old-fashioned or overdone. It was incredibly simple. And I think that was one of the first times I understood that luxury could actually be about absence.
Absence of clutter. Absence of noise. Absence of things demanding your attention. It influenced my aesthetic enormously, but it also changed how I thought about hospitality. I didn't leave thinking about what they'd added. I left thinking about how I'd felt. That's stayed with me.

You've always had an eye for beautiful spaces. When did you realise that beauty alone isn't what makes a stay remarkable?

Five-years-ago Elke might be slightly horrified by what I'm about to say, but beautiful isn't enough.
I still adore beautiful spaces. Linen, limestone, warm whites, natural light, microcement. Give me all of it. But beauty has become incredibly accessible in hospitality. Open Airbnb or Instagram and there are thousands of beautiful stays competing for the same guest. So, I really think that the more interesting questions are: Why yours? Why should I choose it over the other nineteen I've just saved? Why should I value it more? And, perhaps most importantly, why will I still remember it once I've left?
That's been one of the biggest shifts in my thinking. I haven't fallen out of love with beauty. I've simply realised that beauty can attract attention, but it can't carry the whole experience.
Beautiful isn't a positioning strategy. Meaning, relevance and a genuine reason to choose you are what turn a beautiful property into something worth remembering.

Any advice for the host who's tired and unsure it's worth it?

Yes. Don't automatically assume you need to do more. I think that's where so many hosts become exhausted.
Bookings slow down, so you add something. Post more. Discount. Rewrite the listing. Buy something. Try another platform. And suddenly you're doing twenty-seven things and you can't remember which one was supposed to fix the problem.
I'd start with one question: What actually isn't working? Then get curious about why. Is price really the problem? Or is the value unclear? Are you attracting the wrong guest? Is the property lovely but interchangeable? Is there friction somewhere?
Sometimes you don't need more effort. You need more clarity. You can't make good decisions when you're permanently reacting. Understand first. Then decide what deserves your energy. “Sometimes you don't need more effort. You need more clarity.”

What's the strangest or most curious object you own?

My tumbleweed. It's literally a big ball of tumbleweed sitting proudly on a plinth in our home as though it's an extremely expensive sculpture. It isn't. I adore it. It's blonde, sun-bleached, slightly wild, incredibly fragile and somehow architectural. Totally my vibe…
Craig probably wouldn't describe it quite so romantically. But I think that's why I love found things. Nobody designed that tumbleweed to be beautiful. It just is. Sometimes we spend so much time trying to manufacture beauty that we forget to notice what's already there. That's true of properties too. Sometimes the thing that makes a place special is already sitting right in front of you.

What colour, or set of hues, feels like your soul?

Neutrals. Whites. Off-whites. Oat. Sand. Stone. Warm taupes. Yes, I said taupe! And then, every now and again, a little seafoam green. That soft, washed-out colour where the sea almost disappears into the sky. Just enough to make all those neutrals breathe.
And yes, I can see the difference between the twenty-seven whites you're telling me are identical. They are not identical. I love colours that don't need to shout. They give texture and light somewhere to go.
My wardrobe is basically the same. Linen. Oat. Stone. White. Repeat. Seafoam occasionally makes an appearance. If I ever turn up wearing bright purple, Craig should probably check whether I've been replaced…

How has your idea of success changed, and what does it mean now?

Gosh, enormously. There was a time when success was easy to measure. Build the business. Hit the milestone. Earn more. Achieve the next thing.
Now, it feels much more personal. I'm incredibly proud of what we're building with azulomo. It brings together so many things I'm passionate about, but what excites me most is knowing that the thinking can genuinely help someone else build a better hospitality business and, hopefully, a business they love running too.
For me, success now is purpose, passion and freedom. Doing work I care deeply about. Creating something meaningful. Seeing an idea I've developed change the way someone sees their property or makes a decision. And still having the freedom to live where I want, travel, spend time with Craig and Freddie, and actually enjoy the life we're working so hard to create.
I don't want to build a successful business that creates an unsuccessful life. But I haven't become less ambitious. Quite the opposite. I'm more passionate about azulomo than almost anything I've worked on because it feels incredibly me, and because its success can create value for other people too.
Perhaps that's what “slow” means to me personally. Not less ambition. Ambition with purpose, passion and the freedom to enjoy what you're building along the way.

If you could sit down with someone the day before they opened their first hospitality business, what would you ask them?

I wouldn't start with the logo. Or Instagram. Or which coffee machine they've bought.
I'd ask: Who do you want to walk through your door, and how do you want them to feel when they leave? Then I'd probably make another coffee because I'd have lots more questions. Why them? Why here? Why you? What will they tell someone about afterwards? What can they experience here that they couldn't simply get from another lovely property down the road?
If you can get clear on those things early, so many later decisions become easier. I wish more hospitality businesses asked those questions before they started buying things.

What does all of this have to do with building a stronger hospitality business?

Everything, really.
This is where my experience-design brain and hospitality brain completely come together. I don't see guest experience over here and commercial performance over there. People create the commercial outcome. Relevance can influence choice. Trust can influence conversion. Distinctiveness can influence perceived value. Perceived value can support pricing confidence. Memory can contribute to recommendation, return and direct demand.
The connection I'm interested in is:
Guest Fit → desired state → Stay Identity → experience → perceived value → commercial performance.
When you understand who you're creating for and what matters to them, you can make better decisions about the property, photography, listing, direct website, pricing, operations and marketing.
That's why I believe human value and commercial value belong in the same conversation. They're not competing ideas. Very often, one creates the other. “Human value and commercial value belong in the same conversation.”

What changes when a host starts applying Slow Living Hospitality™ to the business, not just the guest experience?

You stop making decisions in isolation and start building a stay with a much clearer sense of who it's for, what it stands for, why it deserves to be chosen and what makes it worth more.
That's the transformation behind The Slow Living Hosting Masterclass™.
Across nine connected phases, you apply the Azulomo methodology to your own business, connecting Guest Fit and Stay Identity with experience, perceived value, property, photography, pricing, visibility, operations and commercial performance.
But the biggest shift is in how you see the business and the quality of the decisions you make. You become more discerning about where to invest, what to elevate, what to remove and where value is quietly being lost. Instead of adding more or following what everyone else is doing, you understand what will make your stay more relevant, distinctive and valuable to the right guest.
Your property, experience, brand and commercial decisions begin to work as one. And that's what I want someone to leave with: the clarity to understand why the right guest should choose you, why they should value you and how to build more value into the business because of it.
The result isn't simply a better stay. It's a more distinctive, desirable and commercially valuable hospitality business, with stronger reasons to choose it, greater confidence in its value and a clearer path for where to take it next.
→ The Slow Living Hosting™ Masterclass