Leave everything at home, this London hotel’s got you

The doorman at the hotel is the first sign that I will be well taken care of during this trip. From the minute I arrive in London, a sharp, jovial 30-something, who doesn’t wish to be named, becomes my gatekeeper and planner, helping me with my luggage and a side of local gossip. In the morning, he lets me in on a secret: “The keys to the Cadogan Garden, across the road, are at the reception, and it beats a walk at Hyde Park”. If you know London, you’ll probably know how prized its private gardens are to its residents. So to be living in a posh, residential street, where locals can only flit between stores like Chanel and Hermès (Sloane Street is densely populated with designer boutiques), and get a peek into that? Try and stop me.

In the evening, I tell him about my dinner plans at Harry’s, the kind of place you visit for comforting Italian food. “Order the Toadstool, it’s all over Instagram,” shares the doorman as he conjures a black cab out of thin air. He’s right; I’m so smitten by this mushroom-shaped raspberry dessert, I take 50 unnecessary photos of it, which I haven’t gone back to until today.

At Jumeirah Carlton Tower, it’s easy to forget you’re just a guest. The staff is so courteous, you feel like an undeserving celebrity. I kid you not—if you took a shot of tequila every time someone greeted you here, you’d be drunk by the time you reached the 18th floor. The topmost floor is where I get a peek into the Royal Suite, which introduces me to a London I’ve never seen: Outsized rooms with expensive-looking everything—the tables are decked with Assouline tomes and a backgammon set, the magazine stands look straight out of Hermès, and there’s a functional kitchen with a well-stocked pantry for long-stay residents (three months has been the record so far). I’m told this is the preferred room for the Dubai royal family, and I don’t have a hard time believing that. There’s even a monogrammed silken robe with peacock motifs to put on while you let it all sink in.

Rooms, even outside the Royal Suite, like mine, are big by London standards. A pink square key that resembles a foundation sponge, embossed with my initials, is my gateway to other personalised touches. Tucked in a box near the bedside are slippers, also with my initials, which have become Instagram bait for hotel guests. Anywhere else in the world, it would look like a good marketing gimmick, but Jumeirah devotees know they don’t do gimmicks. For this group, it’s a service available to all, regardless of your room type or duration of stay.

When Carlton Towers first opened in 1961, it was London’s first tower hotel (and thus the tallest, then). Now a £100-million renovation later, it has a 20-metre swimming pool under a glass ceiling, which is said to be the largest in a London hotel. With the facelift, the Jumeirah group downsized from 216 to 186 rooms, making them more spacious and allowing for half of them to have private balconies. Naturally, the first thing I do is to open the windows and let the chill in—which is totally expected of you to do, if you live in hot and humid Goa.

While the rooms here have every gadget of the 21st century you could ever want, the tech is not overwhelming. You don’t fumble, that’s how intuitive the design is. The side table has a vintage-looking Oliver Hemming alarm clock with a Bluetooth speaker that connects like a long-distance friend you never lost touch with. As you make your way to the marble-clad bathroom, there is a powder room with a Dyson Airwrap and all its fittings. Inside the bathroom, the toiletries by holistic brand Grown Alchemist smell so divine that you’re likely to talk about it incessantly, even after you leave. What catches my attention last is a small grey hand towel—once again embroidered with my initials. “The hotel began personalising items since the refurbishment in 2021, partnering with brands and local artisans to offer bespoke, high-quality amenities for guests,” says the hotel’s PR, Charles Jones, who will be my local guide through this trip. He checks off a list that includes “pillowcases, caps, scarves, packing cubes, bathrobes, water bottles, phone holders, passport holders, card holders, jewellery boxes, eyeglass cases, wallets, coasters”—all of which can be customised with just two hours’ notice. It’s clear this idea to personalise is a step to make guests “feel at home”—though to me, it feels like I’m crashing at the home of a particularly wealthy relative.

In my three days at the hotel, the staff at the all-day eatery, Chinoiserie, lures me with its hot chocolate every day; the servers at the sky-lit Peak Lounge, next to their outstanding fitness club, know that I like my coffee black; and the amicable face behind the concierge desk addresses me by name every time I pass by. “It’s like coming to your mum’s home, where you don’t have to lift a finger...we’ve sorted it for you,” says Yuliana Ukrainets, my guest relations manager. The customisation extends to the in-house Talisa Spa as well, where every treatment is preceded by an iPad questionnaire that figures what music you like (classic, new-age, nature sounds, and more) to the intensity of pressure you desire. Ukrainets knows the tired life of a journalist, so she has already booked me a session to relax my jetlagged muscles.

Besides such off-the-charts personal touches, Jumeirah, like most luxury hotels today—from Aman to Four Seasons—is blowing out on merch. Forgot to carry a shopping bag? There’s an embroidered tote (though for a price) that will remind you of your time here long after your Instagram Stories are gone. Didn’t carry swimwear? The hotel has that, too, plus a Theragun, which is the best thing to use after one of their HIIT classes on offer.

As you’d expect from a brand that is synonymous with Middle Eastern luxury, almost everything here is either bold or branded. The rooms are in a cooling palette of grey and beige with small hints of gold, so they are not at all attention seeking. But look closely, and the flatware is by Wedgwood; the cutlery is Arthur Price; the 300-count thread sheets are by French brand RSK; and the tub with a leather headrest is Victoria + Albert. The playful glass chandelier you see when you enter the hotel? It is the handiwork of Czech design brand Lasvit. And the floral décor in the lobby? They are by Moyses Stevens, which is known to provide flowers to the Buckingham Palace. There is grown-up sexiness everywhere you look.

But the best luxury of all is how central it is. Sharing walls with a murmur of luxury labels, the hotel is a stone’s throw from the shopping district of Sloane Square. Also around the corner are Harvey Nichols and Harrods, where day-long private shopping experiences (with a personal stylist) can be booked by the hotel concierge. The Saatchi Gallery is just a seven-minute walk away; L’eto, with its exceptionally edible display window, is just a street away; V&A is 10 minutes by foot; Scott’s, where you can order the whole damn sea on a platter, is a short taxi ride; Hyde Park with its medley of swans, ducks and coots sunbathing, is across the road. All of which is to say, there’s a whole Londoner life right here, and it’s got your name on it.