Establishment Hotel

The evening sky was suddenly filled with thousands of flying foxes making their dusk migration across central Sydney, from Hyde Park to Centennial Park, a few kilometres away. My own sunset journey was taking me from Tamarama Beach (‘Glamarama’, as it is known locally) to Establishment Hotel, in the heart of the business district, fighting against the tide of workers streaming out of glass skyscrapers.  

Establishment is an upmarket and stylish ‘leisure emporium’ with a multitude of restaurants, bars and clubs as well as the hotel. Mrs Smith was not arriving until later, so I had plenty of time to check out the various drinking dens popular with smart-suited, post-work professionals. I perched myself at the 42-metre-long marble bar and admired the contrast of modern lighting and angles with classical pillars and globe chandeliers. ‘Can you recommend your finest Australian beer, please?’ I asked Brooke the barmaid, who poured me a schooner of chilled Hahn Premium. 

I decided to savour my beer and some tasty Thai curry snacks in the Gin Garden, a steel-girdered, glass-framed miracle of modern architecture, incorporating the vestiges of an equally impressive heritage building that once stood here. You are surrounded by soft green ferns, and the eye can’t help but be drawn upwards towards the imposing 100-storey skyscraper looming above the glass ceiling.

Still no sign of Mrs Smith. I slipped from the bar into the incense-infused, modern-natural reception, to be greeted by smiling Belinda at the front desk. The welcome was so warm, and the atmosphere so relaxed, that we chatted like old friends and swapped ideas on meditation retreats. I was booked into the loft penthouse; after eventually sussing out that the room numbers were illuminated on the floor in front of each door (it only took me about ten minutes), I opened the door to room 56.

The door opened into an Asian-style spa-retreat space, complete with stone garden, marble vanity area, steel-mesh wall panelling, and an aluminium and glass staircase rising to the main area. On a raised platform at one side of the long room was a magnificent bed smothered with oversized crisp white cushions. Halogen lighting darted in small beams from the walls, floor and ceilings, and hidden speakers piped music from the most unexpected places. I was later to discover through the in-room touchscreen technology panel that ‘Mood 2’ was most in tune with my new-found sense of relaxation.

Sleek modern chairs and sofa encircled a gigantic marble coffee table sitting on a Friesian cow-hide rug. A Bang & Olufsen stereo nestled next to the flatscreen TV; I chose some Leftfield and Afro-Cuban All Stars, and made myself at home. It was all so effortless: even the drawers closed with the graceful fluidity and smoothness one would expect from the finest German engineering. The bathroom was bigger than my house. In fact, it was not one but two rooms, with central Jacuzzi, twin sinks and Bulgari bathroom products.

At last, Mrs Smith arrived and I met her in reception, where she was standing with the same look of amazement I’d had when I first walked in. This is certainly a place for impressing the ladies, and would make a mighty fine post-club party for two, three, four or many more. We would have been tempted by the delightful est restaurant, a grand, pillared room reminding us of a sophisticated Raj tearoom, but it was too late in the evening to sample a 10-course tasting menu. We jumped in the lift up to Hemmesphere, on the top floor, instead.

Hemmesphere has subtle table lamps, sleek leather banquettes and lattice mirrors – perfect for an intimate rendez-vous with your lover of choice. Hundreds of drinks lined the menu: tempted by the Vodka Plate, we settled on a dance with the green fairy, aka absinthe. The Northern Lights and Czech Punch slipped down a treat, bolstered by some kingfish sushi, an enormous antipasta plate, and finally the Absinthe Flambé, flamed at our table until all the hot, decadent fluid had dripped from spoon to glass and caramelised. After sampling the Jacuzzi, and an impromptu yoga lesson balancing on the furniture (Mrs Smith is a yoga teacher, you see) we sank into the bed.

We arose gently, cushioned in acres of white softness, a bright sunny Sydney day streaming through the thin blinds. We were finding it difficult to move, so we ordered pancakes, fruit salad and eggs for breakfast and, after placing the waiters’ silver cloches on our heads and playing beautiful tunes (try it – it’s like being in the most amazing auditorium!), we showered under the recessed oversized showerhead, never quite sure whether the full-length window between us and the busy outside world was one-way or not. (My exhibitionist streak was disappointed to discover it wasn't.) At 1pm, we received an ever-so-polite phone call, asking if we would like to stay an extra night or not…

We said our goodbyes to our lovely room and sat at the Tank Stream Bar, an intimate affair adjacent to the hotel's lobby, that also acts as a feeder bar for Tank nightclub at the weekend. It was sad to leave the hotel but, outside, Sydney was gloriously lit, sun bouncing off the glass buildings. We took the short stroll to Circular Quay and jumped on the ferry to Manly, soaking up the harbour views on the 30-minute journey. By lunchtime, we’d hung out with a small group of Port Jackson sharks: wow – what a city.