Hedgie Stays at The Halkin
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When Christina Ong came to London, she couldn’t find a hotel she wanted to stay in. So she created one. The Halkin is the perfect combination of Asian sensibility and Italian style, an ode to serene chic.
It is simply the best hotel I have stayed at in a city.
If you’re the type of person who likes to be seen spending your money, this isn’t for you. Really. Go somewhere else. But if you’ve travelled enough to understand what those maligned words 'style' and 'cool' really mean, this is the place.
Hedgie, of course, has no understanding of any of this. Inviting him along to share my suite was, at the very least, a great risk.
We walked down a corridor of curved, black corrugated wood paneling where you could just make out the achingly, discreet room numbers, pinpointed by tiny red lights. Very James Bond. Hedgie patted his Kilgour suit jacket.
"You know Daniel Craig wears the same brand."
"Yes, you copied him as I recall."
The rooms are uncluttered, but very generous in every way. The cream fabrics, warm Pomele Sapele veneers, dark slatted blinds, the sculpture in the entrance hall, elegant chaise longue in our bedroom and the fine Egyptian cotton sheets, all whispered luxury. This kind of comfort without pretension is hard to achieve, but Ong knows what she’s doing.
The result is a space that bestows an immediate sense of peace.
That is, unless you’re the Hedgie and you haven’t had any decent hotel visits for at least six months. So overwhelmed was he that I eventually had to close his mouth for him. The hotel’s Como Shambhala toiletries proved the final straw for a man who had clung on to his last mini bottle of Molton Brown cocoa butter since December. He burst into tears.
"Stop crying. The Russians aren’t after you anymore."
"They’re so smelly and nice," he sobbed. "Look at these little bottles."
I put him in a bubble bath and sat at the desk to do some work. Two hours later it was time for dinner. He was still there, albeit shrivelled up.
The Halkin is home to Nahm, the Michelin-starred Thai restaurant. The ambiance is relaxed, with pale gold walls and wooden slatted screens. Upon entering you are welcomed by the scent of lime leaves, lemongrass and coconut coming from the kitchen. I imagined the food might be exquisitely pretty in appearance, but actually it wasn’t overly so. There were loads of flavours - the standout dish being the shredded red mullet in coconut curry. It was good food, some parts more memorable than others and the service, like elsewhere in the hotel, was personal and unobtrusive.
We returned to our room where Hedgie spent an hour playing with the control console in the wall before finding the breakfast menu.
"I want it all," he said.
"That’s why this country is in a mess," I reminded him, and ordered us muesli and fruit for the morning.
We got into bed and as we fell asleep under a dreamy goosedown quilt, I saw that Hedgie was clutching a bottle of Como Shambhala body lotion to his chest.
If you’re the type of person who likes to be seen spending your money, this isn’t for you. Really. Go somewhere else. But if you’ve travelled enough to understand what those maligned words 'style' and 'cool' really mean, this is the place.
Hedgie, of course, has no understanding of any of this. Inviting him along to share my suite was, at the very least, a great risk.
We walked down a corridor of curved, black corrugated wood paneling where you could just make out the achingly, discreet room numbers, pinpointed by tiny red lights. Very James Bond. Hedgie patted his Kilgour suit jacket.
"You know Daniel Craig wears the same brand."
"Yes, you copied him as I recall."
The rooms are uncluttered, but very generous in every way. The cream fabrics, warm Pomele Sapele veneers, dark slatted blinds, the sculpture in the entrance hall, elegant chaise longue in our bedroom and the fine Egyptian cotton sheets, all whispered luxury. This kind of comfort without pretension is hard to achieve, but Ong knows what she’s doing.
The result is a space that bestows an immediate sense of peace.
That is, unless you’re the Hedgie and you haven’t had any decent hotel visits for at least six months. So overwhelmed was he that I eventually had to close his mouth for him. The hotel’s Como Shambhala toiletries proved the final straw for a man who had clung on to his last mini bottle of Molton Brown cocoa butter since December. He burst into tears.
"Stop crying. The Russians aren’t after you anymore."
"They’re so smelly and nice," he sobbed. "Look at these little bottles."
I put him in a bubble bath and sat at the desk to do some work. Two hours later it was time for dinner. He was still there, albeit shrivelled up.
The Halkin is home to Nahm, the Michelin-starred Thai restaurant. The ambiance is relaxed, with pale gold walls and wooden slatted screens. Upon entering you are welcomed by the scent of lime leaves, lemongrass and coconut coming from the kitchen. I imagined the food might be exquisitely pretty in appearance, but actually it wasn’t overly so. There were loads of flavours - the standout dish being the shredded red mullet in coconut curry. It was good food, some parts more memorable than others and the service, like elsewhere in the hotel, was personal and unobtrusive.
We returned to our room where Hedgie spent an hour playing with the control console in the wall before finding the breakfast menu.
"I want it all," he said.
"That’s why this country is in a mess," I reminded him, and ordered us muesli and fruit for the morning.
We got into bed and as we fell asleep under a dreamy goosedown quilt, I saw that Hedgie was clutching a bottle of Como Shambhala body lotion to his chest.
Here Is The Writer : Ms Robinson
Ms Robinson was once a copywriter who wrote award winning ads and had eight hour lunches. Weary of the sex, glamour and lavish parties, she switched to corporate communications where she held the hands of executives and banned them from writing this execrable sentence: "In this ever changing world, the only constant is change itself." These days she writes for an increasing variety of people and has ghostwritten several books but if she told you who for, she'd have to kill you. Click here to read her blog, Woman of Experience.
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