Story and photos by Shilo Urban
The thermometer above the ice bath reads 2° Celsius as I slip into the water, gasping at the cold. Somehow…it’s not as bad as I imagined. I actually kind of like it. Has London gone to my head?
I’m exploring three neighborhoods — Marylebone, Bloomsbury, and Kensington — on a quest to find my favorite. With historic streetscapes and leafy garden squares, these affluent residential districts are what London daydreams are made of. But each has a distinct personality, and I’m starting in Marylebone, the chic, sophisticated tastemaker of the bunch.
More a village than an urban neighborhood, Marylebone is full of stylish people and even more stylish shops — a meticulously curated collection of indie boutiques and eateries. Yet amid the artisan cheeseries and Parisian designers lies the quaint, unhurried charm of vintage storefronts and cobblestone lanes.
Rebase health spa, where I’m shivering in the ice bath, epitomizes Marylebone’s au courant cachet with its trendsetting treatments, from cryotherapy to a hyperbaric oxygen Chamber.
I’m warmed up by the time I join the lively lunch crowd at 108 Brasserie, a bright and polished space inside The Marylebone Hotel. I go for champagne with the highly recommended fish and chips, a crispy haddock fillet — and it’s heavenly. In danger of finishing off every last chip on my plate, I abandon the table to peek inside the hotel, a magnet for jet-setters and the impeccably unruffled.
I smooth down my dress and set off for shopping on High Street, where I discover my personal paradise: Daunt Books, a bibliophile’s playground with skylights shining on long wooden galleries of books. It’s obvious: Marylebone is the neighborhood for me.
Yet London is the land of indie bookshops — and the neighborhood of Bloomsbury is the city’s most illustrious literary enclave. Smart and slightly bohemian, Bloomsbury is known for its academic air and elegant Georgian townhouses. It’s right beside the theater district and anchored by the monumental British Museum, where I giddily gaze upon unearthed treasures from Ur, Egypt, and Sutton Hoo. My not-so-inner nerd wants to move in and stay forever.
But I’m meeting friends for cocktails in The Coral Room, just one block away at The Bloomsbury Hotel. I step inside the peachy-pink lounge and feel suddenly glamorous. The sexy marble bar, the Murano glass chandeliers…every inch drips with alluring exuberance.
A tiny red stiletto struts across my martini: The Devil Wears Prada musical is playing at Dominion Theatre next door, and the hotel is going all-out with themed eats and drinks. We have tickets, so we soon decamp to Dalloway Terrace for dinner.
Flowers and greenery tumble down the walls of the patio restaurant, where the decadent meal descends. Each course arrives camera-ready: burrata with ribboned rhubarb, buttery grilled trout, and amaretto pain perdu with whipped mascarpone…plus an affogato to keep me awake.
Caffeine, it turns out, is unnecessary. The show is a riot, the singers sensational, the outfits envy-invoking. Boss-shark Miranda Priestly is played by Vanessa Williams, who we see afterward casually walking her Great Dane. We nightcap at the subterranean Bloomsbury Club, ordering Egyptomania-inspired cocktails from a magnetic pendulum menu — and I know I’ve found my neighborhood: Bloomsbury.
It’s a short drive back to my four-poster bed at the five-star Kensington Hotel. Stately and refined, it feels like the comfortable patrician townhome of well-heeled, well-traveled friends. Indeed, the hotel occupies seven Victorian townhouses, a story-filled symphony of chinoiserie and chandeliers, open fireplaces and finely tailored drawing rooms. Every suite and guest room is one-of-a-kind.
It’s tucked down a side street in Kensington, a prestigious arts-and-culture epicenter crowned by Kensington Palace, residence of the Prince and Princess of Wales (aka Will and Kate). Its avenues are unapologetically grand, lined by luxurious townhomes with columned porches and pristine white paint — like The Kensington Hotel.
Three spectacular museums are a five-minute walk away: the Science Museum, Natural History Museum, and Victoria & Albert Museum. I’m headed to the V&A, world-renowned for design and decorative arts, to see centuries of haute couture, Renaissance sculptures, and jewelry galore. But what makes the biggest impression is a faded leather journal no bigger than a deck of cards: Leonardo Da Vinci’s notebook.
I stare at his scribbles so long that I must rush, tragically, through the museum’s treasure-trove gift shop. It’s time for my after-hours tour of Schiaparelli: Fashion Becomes Art, a temporary exhibition on the surreal, fantastical fashion house (now led by Dallas designer Daniel Roseberry). I’m already in the surreal spirit of things thanks to my Schiaparelli-style afternoon tea at the hotel, featuring hat-wearing pastries and opera cakes with keyholes. Salvadore Dalí would certainly approve.
With three landmark museums, I need many more days, nay weeks, in Kensington, which is definitely the neighborhood for me. Wait…have I said this before? Marylebone, Bloomsbury, Kensington — where will I live out my London daydreams?
Then I remember: I don’t have to choose. I can return to this magnificent, multi-layered metropolis again and again, exploring every neighborhood and living like a local in London.