Diamant Hotel

I can now confirm that the Diamant Hotel in Sydney is the coolest place in which to spend a heatwave. To be specific, the coolest spot is somewhere on the ridiculously comfy seats in a room up on the sixth floor, perhaps right in front of the large, wall-mounted plasma-screen TV.

That was where we stayed, of course. A glance out of our window showed the city’s Central Business District reaching up into the cobalt sky and wobbling gently in the 40-degree heat. Littered around and below were the red- and black-roofed terraces of fashionable Darlinghurst, and behind us (though we couldn't see them) were the Harbour Bridge, the opera house and Circular Quay. If Mrs Smith and I could have been bothered to leave the blissful air-conditioning of our room behind and turn left at the hotel door, we would have soon stumbled across some of the best ocean beaches in the world.

A few hours before we arrived at the hotel, we were out in all that worst-since-records-began heat. We had just driven down from northern New South Wales and found ourselves engulfed by Sydney’s disastrous weekend traffic, which threatened to eat us alive – but only after roasting us first. Just as I was starting to think about sticking a sprig of rosemary on the back of my neck, Mrs Smith spied the turning off the main drag we’d been looking for. Seconds later, we were cruising up the gentle rise in front of Diamant Hotel’s glass doors, and smugly returning the envious glances of other drivers.

First impressions of the Diamant? Well, I never thought I’d see the day when I’d get worked up about a hotel corridor, but I firmly believe all travel-weary souls should come and see this one. The walls and carpet, both equally soft to the touch, were neither deep-blue nor black; just dark. A muted silver beam of light jetted upwards towards the midnight ceiling, and downwards to the floor outside each room door – thoughtfully illuminating the keypad and the threshold of each. The resulting half moons of light were repeated all the way down the corridor, the end of which was indiscernible.

There could have been 20 rooms in front of us – or there may have been just two and some cleverly angled mirrors. The overall effect was one of approaching the VIP lounge in a space station circa 2099. It was no surprise, then, as the door to our room sighed open, that the effect inside was equally relaxing and intriguing. Wherever we looked, there was something we would have liked to copy, adapt or simply steal for our own home back in the UK. One chrome and black-leather chair was so substantial that Mrs Smith was utterly unable to shift it.

The aforementioned TV screen was meant to double as our internet-access point, except it didn’t seem to work. Downstairs at front desk, though, was Daniel. And, while every big-city hotel has a Daniel, this Daniel was The Man. ‘Do you know anything about the internet?’ I asked. ‘A little…’ he replied. This, of course, meant he was an IT expert. Daniel explained everything, wiped our bill clean of the internet-via-TV charge and gave us a WiFi user ID and password for Mr.Smith’s iPhone. His colleague Adrian, a man who’s clearly used to making problems disappear, then stepped out from behind his 747-sized concierge desk to offer us use of his own computer.

Dinner on our first night was at the hotel’s Penny’s Lane Restaurant. Although it may have had the air of a casual bistro (just what we liked), Penny’s Lane is very serious about its food and its service (just what we needed). We spent a lovely evening watching the early wanderings of Kings Cross’ nightlife appearing tentatively in the neon-lit streets outside, while tucking into British-born chef Robert Crichton’s excellent Burrawong chicken and pan-fried king salmon with poached egg and asparagus.

The Diamant is at, or pretty close to, the centre of practically everything in Sydney. A short stroll across the top of Rushcutters Bay takes you to Paddington, the city’s first planned suburb. ‘Paddo’ is a charming tangle of terraced houses with iron-lace balconies. At its nadir in the early 1900s, it sank to a slum status so profound that the police wouldn’t venture there after dark – even in pairs. Today, we walked past an elegant, five-metre-wide property in Hargrave Street carrying a price tag of $2.2 million.

In the evening, we looked up an old friend (always a good idea in a new place) who took us to Phamish, a Vietnamese restaurant in Darlinghurst that won’t appear in any guidebook. You can’t book (you can’t even find it unaided); you just give the staff your mobile number and go off for a drink until they call you to announce your table’s ready. Then you join the fray of in-the-know Sydneysiders to eat the freshest, most interesting and most delicious Southeast Asian food this side of Ho Chi Minh City.

It’s an understandable – and forgivable – human pattern that when you come away from a memorable location, whether it be a house, view, resort or hotel, you often wish you could take something of it home with you. In the case of the Diamant Hotel, it would have to be the people – the Daniels, the Adrians, even our old friend with the insider dining knowledge. The heatwave-warm welcomes and the extra kilometres that everyone went for us during our stay would make them all perfect near-neighbours back in the less sunny climes of home. If only…