PARIS THE HOXTON
Does a non-clichéd, romantic getaway to Paris even exist?’ my boyfriend asks, as we step out of the taxi in the city of love, late on a Friday evening. The Hoxton, the first French outpost of the hip chain that originated in London’s Shoreditch, is doing a good job of rewriting the rule book. The welcoming lobby of eclectic velvet sofas in mustard and turquoise hues gives the place a cosmopolitan buzz, juxtaposing the unmistakable Parisian grandeur of the 300-year-old winding staircase with a rustic cobblestone floor. Here, the vibe is definitely laid-back. The Hoxton plays down its hotel status completely (we find ourselves searching for the check-in desk, which is hidden at the back of the hotel), preferring to highlight its chic public spaces that attract as many locals as hotel guests.
The restaurant presides as a main focal point and serves a grilled octopus main course to rival any French cuisine, and Jacques’ Bar is a cosy six-table drinking spot where bartender Alex whips up personalised cocktails
(when your bed is a 10ft walk from the lift, that’s a win-win).
Tucked away on Rue du Sentier, The Hoxton perfectly masters luxury without the frills, from the jazz playing in our room as we arrive, to the complimentary juices and breakfast bags of granola and yogurt each morning. It’s also a great spot from which to explore the city. We tick off the Musée Rodin, home to The Thinker and The Gates Of Hell (how romantic), before venturing further afield to the lavish Palace of Versailles on Sunday morning. By the afternoon, we’re back on the Eurostar and home in time for dinner. Two days in Paris is just enough to make me feel like a local, and two nights at The Hoxton has injected a soupçon of romance back into our lives, too. JODIE DUNWORTH