Here are few things more relaxing in this world than a good, long soak. For Pandora Sykes it’s the most important element of a hotel stay – her love for a luxurious tub being a holiday highlight. But what about getting that high-end spa-like feeling in your own home? We have collated the designs that will take your bathroom from functional to fantasy. Whether you favour Japanese-style ofuro bathing or all-out marble, these pieces are pure luxury.
ou can tell everything about a hotel from its bathroom: its attitude to cleanliness, its generosity, style, humility. For one tiny room, it can reveal an awful lot. I find this particularly true because I love a bathroom. I don’t have an ensuite at home, so it’s always a treat to be able to teddy-bear roll from my bed to the loo. In the words of King George V: ‘Always go to the bathroom when you have the chance.’
Now that I have small children, I like a bathroom even more. I am like Mrs Large, waddling there for a good soak. In a hotel, I marinate at least twice a day, since I will have rid myself of my tiny elephants (the finer things in life are wasted on them and, quite frankly, I baulk at booking a suite).
My heart sinks when I enter a beautiful bathroom without a tub, which happens more often than not these days. Baths are space-hoggers and distinctly old-school commodities. I’m a true Brit in that sense – I’ll always take a bath over a shower, something Americans find as baffling as we do their bathroom-to-bedroom ratio. (See Selling Sunset for more details.) ‘Soak in your own filth?’ many an American has said to me, alarmed, when I profess a love for steeping myself like a prune.
For me, quite clearly, what makes a bathroom is a bath. I don’t care how big the room is or if there’s wall-to-wall marble. But what makes a good hotel bathroom is, I have discovered, a distinctly personal question. Some don’t give two hoots about a tub. (Weirdos.) For them, it’s the freebies: the natty little shower caps (my mum collects them and pops them over leftover plates of food), the teeny-tiny toothpaste, the shower gel that somehow smells so much better than normal.
For others, it’s the proportions: a rainforest shower, a bathrobe so voluminous you need to turn the cuffs over twice. Others love the whimsical details: a towel shaped like a swan or rose petals in the bath - the bathroom equivalent of a note from the manager encouraging you to have a beautiful day.
At its most basic, people like their bathroom to be clean and functional. You'd think that was a given, but I just got back from a seaside rental where the loo seat was broken, there was mould on the shower wall and the paint was peeling off around the window in sheets.
Having canvassed around for bathroom anecdotes, it turns out I was getting off lightly. I have been regaled with some truly revolting responses, including duct tape in the honeymoon suite and a used condom in the basin.
Other smashers included a bathroom in Lima where dark-brown water gushed out of the taps, a ceiling yellow from cigarette smoke (RIP smoking rooms), shower grouting turned black with mould and a ‘show’ toilet in the Philippines that was not plugged into the plumbing - a bucket was provided instead.
I think often, mainly to torture myself, of my friend’s honeymoon horror story, where the loo was next to the bed (no door), which made for an extremely romantic bout of food poisoning. When the journalist Lauren Bravo stayed in an establishment dubbed
‘Britain’s worst hotel’, she found toothpaste smears on the curtain, woodlice crawling out of the broken bath and no soap. Honestly, given the tales I’ve heard in their droves, things could have been worse.
On the flip side, a glorious bathroom is something to behold (the bathroom selfie is a classic for a reason). My favourite is at Shutters on the Beach in Santa Monica, where there’s a little hatch you can open to chat through while your paramour slumbers in bed, and Ventana Inn, with its sensational views of Big Sur. Unfortunately, these are two of the most expensive hotels I have ever stayed at, which shows that a wonderful bathroom doesn’t always come cheaply.
Soho House’s proliferation of Cowshed products and outside baths are an oldie but a goodie, as is, I find, a bath in the bedroom. It sounds simple in practice, but only when you have gutted a bathroom yourself do you realise the complications of getting plumbing into the bedroom. I always appreciate it so much more.
I have been told that other gems include the Omni Parker in Boston, the Ritz Paris (‘gold swan taps and a television!’) and Anantara Naladhu in the Maldives (again, I’m noticing a theme here: good bathrooms cost hefty whack).
I think the best way to approach a hotel bathroom, to avoid disappointment, is to lower your expectations to knee height. Is there loo roll? A functioning loo? A basin? Hurrah! Anything on top of that is a delight.