New Majestic Hotel
Singapore, Singapore[view map]
Reviewed by Mr & Mrs Smith.
New Majestic Hotel
Mr & Mrs Smith
2009-11-20
5
As I write this, I am perched on a vast and beautifully ornate bed. A sea of billowing crimson gauze hangs elegantly above me. Blood-red lanterns sway by my side. The scent of jasmine hangs in the air, and the soft melodies of Chinese traditional music are wafting through the open window. This is, at least temporarily, my oriental boudoir. Mr Smith and I have just checked in to Singapore’s New Majestic Hotel and each of its 30 rooms is completely individual, designed by a local creative. In fact, you could almost describe the suites as works of art themselves, with one to suit just about any mood. Although perhaps not: women are complex creatures after all.
Travelling down Keong Saik Road earlier as we taxi towards the hotel feels like going back in time. There are no malls lining the streets or workers in their grey and black business best, Blackberries in hand. Instead, in this part of Chinatown, the footpaths are flanked by colourful and historic shophouses, their vivid façades striking in the midday sun. People are going about their daily chores, except for the old men sitting outside the kopitams (coffee shops) and watching the world go by.
On arrival at the New Majestic, Mr Smith and I are ushered into the white gallery – I mean lobby – of the hotel. It’s adorned with a mix of mid-century and modern furniture, statues, pop art, rustic old lamps, candy-coloured baubles hanging from the ceiling, and a sweeping centrepiece of a white spiral staircase suggesting further promise above.
Once in our room, we take time to admire the special touches. Kiehl’s toiletries, check. Decadent bedding, check. Nespresso machine, mammoth bath, fluffy bathrobes, check. (Mr Smith informs me I looked like a big teddy when I fell asleep in one). While he samples the boys’ toys, I read the lifestyle section of the newspaper, and study the information on Wen Luxe Spa, located in a shophouse over the road.
The Majestic Bar, a multi-level venue next door to the hotel, feels a little Alice in Wonderland with an emphasis on nature – luxe timber fittings, wreaths of felt leaves decorating the walls, curiosity cabinets and stained glass lighting. It’s surprisingly petite, making it feel all the more intimate. We opt to sup alfresco – even after years of tropical living, we still act like ang mos (Westerners) and the night is too beautiful to stay inside. Icy kampong freezes, a concoction of dark rum, advocaat and Cointreau blended with orange and banana, are the perfect way to beat the Singapore heat.
Feeling a little breezy after our pre-prandial cocktails, Mr Smith and I enter the dazzling Majestic Restaurant helmed by the wonderful Yong Bing Ngen. We look up to see three oval windows in the ceiling offering a view of the swimming pool. Someone’s wearing a nice bikini. Staff are amiable, not too stuffy and even laugh at Mr Smith’s musings about why we’ve not been offered Chinese tea. I am ravenous and get stuck into the foie gras, duck and wasabi prawn entrée. The whole world stands still for a minute when I try the foie gras. Why do all the things that are bad for us taste so good? Mr Smith opts for crispy pork. He then suggests that we are served the Peking duck at the table. The staff is more than happy to do just that, and neatly parcel the pancakes in front of us. We leave floating on a fine-dining cloud.
The next day we decide to explore the ’hood, and unearth some hidden treasures. I stumble across the annual Singapore Wine Fiesta on Duxton Hill while Mr Smith is in the hotel gym. Winemakers from across the globe are tempting punters with tastes of more than 250 fabulous wines, but I don’t have time to linger. Later on, Mr Smith’s exercise session complete, we wander past temples and discover new cafés that have just sprouted up in the area. At 25 Degree Celsius, on Keong Saik Road, we stop for lattes and I pour over a copy of the El Bulli cookbook but, at SG$590, decide that browsing is best (the café sells a selection of foodie tomes). We potter around a few markets on Temple Street, inhale the incense, and watch the boisterous dragon dance weave its way through the streets. Eventually the siren call of the New Majestic is too much and we head back.
Donning our teddy bear-style dressing gowns, we head to the mosaic pool and blast the Jacuzzi into action. Looking around the tiny area, it does feel like we are staying at the home of friends – albeit ones with impeccable style and taste.
As we pack to leave, I look around the room and think about my neutral apartment. It doesn’t seem to have quite the same appeal any more – as if a colour television has suddenly converted itself to black and white. But that’s the New Majestic – even if you live in Singapore, you step inside and, just like Alice, you’re transported into a new, technicolor world.
