High Life : November 2004

The sexiest hotels in the sexiest cities – we name Europe’s best

Stockholm
It doesn’t get sexier than Stockholm

Mark Jones checks in to the hippest hotel in the world’s most seductive city.  Plus, Sophie Dening of travel guide Mr & Mrs Smith on what makes a city sexy – and the perfect day in Stockholm.  Photography by Graham Kuhn.  Styling by Tobi Cohen.

It is a subdued rainy night…
…as we coast along the empty fir tree-lined freeway from Arlanda airport.  Stockholm approaches – or seems to.  Some capital cities announce themselves with a splurge of tower-block lights, the sudden revelation of a skirting bay or an eye-bulging plunge into neon downtown.  Not Stockholm.  You east into the place and there are no signs to warn you that the quiet suburb has stopped and the slightly less quiet city centre has begun.

In the cab, we are a bit subdued ourselves.  We’ve come here because our friends at the swish and sexy guidebook Mr & Mrs Smith have told us that, in their unanimous view, Stockholm is currently the swishest and sexiest city in Europe.  They should know:  they’re just finished researching a comprehensive guidebook to the hotels in Europe best suited for naughty weekends away.  And if Stockholm was the sexist city on the sexiest continent then what was the sexiest hotel in the sexiest city?  Mr and Mrs Smith didn’t hesitate:  the Lydmar (Sturegatan 10;  tel:  +46 8 566 113 00;  www.lydmar.se).

A couple of our regular writers made brow-knitting noises when we told them about our mission.  “I know the Lydmar,” said one.  “It’s a very plain 1930s office block in the business district.”  A pause.  “I suppose some people might find that sexy.”

The taxi pulled up on an ordinary street opposite a typical park.  “Hotel Lydmar?” said the driver.  We looked up to see a grey tower block.  “Hotel Lydmar,” we said, and I’d be deceiving you if I said our spirits were very high. 

Nor will I deny that a couple of other candidates for the sexy European city title were making complaining noises in our ears at this point.  Sure, Paris would have been the easy choice – but like Venice, it’s more romantic than sexy – and, well, it’s Paris.  Naples?  Phwoarr.  Seville?  Rarely less than scorching.  Prague, Berlin, Amsterdam, Barcelona?  Hell, even dear old London does elegant and louche better than anywhere else.  Still, here we were in Stockholm.  Might as well give it our best shot.

We pushed through the heavy municipal-feeling front door.  And – what can I say? – wow.

Here’s the scene.  A DJ on a raised platform at the far end of the room is playing at the far end of the room is playing a Cuban dance track at full blast.  Four or five couples are salsa-ing in a tiny space between the tables.  Their amazing bodies flick precisely to and fro and there are beatific smiles on their shiny, happy faces.  Behind, some chilled-looking souls surf the internet, oblivious to the gorgeousness over their shoulders.

People are eating and drinking and partying around the edges of the room.  There’s a group of budding supermodels at one table;  at least they have the looks of budding supermodels, but you can tell they don’t plan to do a day’s modeling in their lives.  They’re just normal Stockholmers.  A couple of blokes who could get out of their student togs and straight into an Armani ad perch on a side table.  In every corner there are stunning people.

Before we left for Sweden, I told a vicariously drooling editor in the office not to worry:  Swedes aren’t as blond as people make out.  I think my actual words were:  “They’re quite mousey, actually.”  After 10 minutes at the Lydmar on an ordinary Tuesday night, I see I told a bad lie.  You can’t spill a plate of gravadlax without it landing in the lap of a very beautiful blond person of either sex.  But there’s no posing, no voguing, no look-at-me, look-at-my-clothes attitude.

Time to check in.  I’m in the bar, so the check-in desk must be through the back.  No, that’s an empty room.  A separate entrance, then.  No, they’re apartments.  Then I notice that the chilled people surfing the internet are the only people in the bar wearing black suits:  they’re the hotel staff.

My room is the smallest one in the hotel.  Imagine a tiny cabin on an old-fashioned cruise liner kitted out with flowery wallpaper with a big picture of a model wearing a dress in the same material as the flowery wallpaper.  There’s a single bed and a side table, fashionable Swedish magazines and not much else.  The last time I slept a room this small I was in the Quartier Latin busking in university holidays.  Is it sexy?  Sure is.

Room 700 is another matter:  a top-floor suite with a pink and green glass bathroom, a huge bed, an expansive view over the city, and a lingering air of all-night post-gig parties.  Nest door, 702 is a dark boudoir, all chaises-lounges, velvet drapes, chandeliers and naughty black lace curtains.  Still rock’n’roll:  but definitely more Roxy Music than Led Zeppelin.

We get out and bout to find the secret of Stockholm.  It’s this:  inside and outside, body and mind, it’s a fantastically balanced city.  You get the candlelit cellar restaurants in Gamela Stan, the old town, followed by a clear blast of colour and blue air on the waterfront.  You get the funkier bars and backstreets of Sodermalm, then the wooded haven of Langholmen.  And no Stockholmer, however urban and fashionable, waits too long before escaping to the archipelago in pursuit of tranquility and even cleaner air.

And the Lydmar hardly has the monopoly on atmosphere.  The Berns Hotel and the Nordic Light Hotel are quintessentially clean and Scandinavian.  (The clock room at the Berns Hotel is one of Europe’s quirkier suites.)  The Grand is, well, as grand as anything within 300 miles.  And Benny from Abba has a stake in the new Riva Hotel.  Benny wasn’t the sexiest of the quartet, true, but the rooms have a definite touch of Agnetha.

Definitions and tastes in hotels and sexy destinations change.  What you get in Stockholm is a sense that the people feel entirely comfortable in their own skin.  No that’s sexy.

What makes a city sexy?

Europe’s great cities have been acting as sexual stimulants at least since Petrarch and Laura locked eyes in a church in Avignon.  The corset-loosening effects of Florence and Venice on the Victorians have not been exaggerated.  And, of course, we’ll always have Paris.  But 21st-century sweethearts deserve their own romantic clichés:  so, where is sexy now?

Everyone agrees that the old favourites are still wonderful:  Paris is an inexhaustible mystery;  and a little local knowledge can make Venice more than just a tantalizing mirage.  It’s just that we’re no longer seduced by cities that are too well-trodden.  The heritage of a great city is never the spur that makes us grab one another and run for the airport – it’s the here and now of a living metropolis:  its people, its buzz, its architecture, its theatre.  By which we don’t just mean plays on stages, but the theatre one finds on the street:  the way people dress and carry themselves, the way they act.

There’s a conspiratorial feeling about finding yourselves adrift in a foreign city.  Although you might be surrounded by crowds, you’re alone together.  Everywhere you turn are stimulating sights, sounds, smells, yet you’re free to ignore it all and concentrate on one another.  That sense of urban dislocation doesn’t hurt.

To be sexy, a city must be able to tick a number of boxes.  It must be fairly relaxed and tolerant.  New York and Milan may be industrious but they are also given to unrestrained partying, whereas Frankfurt never switches its mobile off.  Looks definitely matter.  If Gaudi’s Barcelona, fairy-tale Prague and perfectly proportioned Paris win points for their photogenic faces, and Rome and Venice even have picturesque underbellies, the drabber belles of Europe (London, Hamburg, Lyons) are lookers in their own ways.  A city whose sons and daughters are graceful and good-looking, such as Stockholm or Helsinki, has more of a claim to straightforward sexiness then most.

The point is, though, that sexiness is anything but straightforward.  It is about your expectations.  It is about your mood.  It is about atmosphere, rhythm, food, culture, climate and style.

Assuming you’re not a complete slave to style, you’ll plan your own sexy spree in a destination that pleases you.  Oneupmanship is the enemy of relaxed romance:  you’ll have a happier honeymoon if you decide you’re more comfortable up a mountain in Asturias drinking cider than feeling like schmuck because everyone else is St Barts seems to know one another.

The sexy/stylish nexus doesn’t mean being suckered into falling for an image.  It’s about sampling the classic, the quirky, the institutions that give city its personality.  It’s breakfasting at the Fischmarket Hamburg among club kids and jazz musicians;  launching in the Oxo Tower in London after a morning in Tate Modern and a walk along the Thames;  finding the real pubs in Dublin or Galway;  taking flirting lessons in the bars around Alameda de Hercules in Seville.

A sense of discovery is still possible, even in touristic meccas like Rome, Barcelona (try the Hotel Neri) or Paris (Pershing Hall is well worth a visit).  The key is to have some insider knowledge of the latest clubs, cafes and bars.  Try in some way to live as the locals live, for instance:  eat at ten in the evening and siesta in the afternoon if that’s the norm, take part in the passeggiata, and other city rituals.  Shop in the markets, and watch what locals buy.

According to the team (of which I am one) behind the travel guide Mr & Mrs Smith:  Europe, this year’s destinations of choice are Florence, Seville and Stockholm.  Co-editor Juliet Kinsman explains:  “Each is a city whose current incarnation is a match for its cultural legacy, where lovers can dig in and out of amusements both traditional and cutting-edge, and where we found the very best hotels.”

Mr & Mrs Smith publisher James Lohan was almost swayed by the sheer change he had seen in Florence:  “Instead of resting on its laurels as the home of all that Renaissance art and tradition, it has moved on.  New design hotels such as JK Place – my personal favourite of the hundreds we’re researched – are catering for a very contemporary, arty crowd.”

The appeal of Seville is more escapist.  It’s not hard to be seduced by long, hot, jasmine-perfumed nights wandering its slow-paced streets.  But for 24-hours culture, uncontrived hipness, and the beauty and friendliness of its people, Stockholm is Mr & Mrs Smith’s idea of the sexiest city in Europe.

It is the proof, in bricks and mortar, that nothing is more attractive than being comfortable with yourself.  It also has the scope to compete on the London-New York-Paris axis.  Swedish enthusiasm and social consciousness lend themselves to an international outlook.  The final factor that swings it is the city’s distinct lack of suburban sprawl.  Slung between the mainland and a largely wild archipelago of 24,000 islands and islets, Stockholm is handsome wholesome:  very 21st-century sexy.

A perfect day in Stockholm

Head first for the waterfront, since Stockholm’s retail zones can exercise a powerful suction effect, even on committed non-shoppers, and the salty sea air will clear your head and brighten your eyes.  If you’ve got time you can arrange a boat trip to one of the many islands in the archipelago.  Otherwise cross the water (by bridge or ferry) to Gamla Stan, the medieval old town, stopping for a sitdown in Kaffekoppen (Stortorget 20:  tel:  +46 8 20 31 70), a tiny café within ancient walls.

Should you be grabbed by the idea of the world’s most middle-class theme park (pre-industrial rural Sweden reconstructed), take a walk round Skansen, on the entirely green island of Djurgarden.  Otherwise, to clothe yourselves and your house in the style to which you’d like to become accustomed, walk down Gotgatan in Sodermalm, or head for the Stureplan area in affluent Ostermalm.  Don’t leave without seeking inspiration in Svenskt Tenn (Strandvagen 5;  tel:  +46 8 760 16 00;  www.svensktten.se), the favourite shop of design editors and furniture buffs.

There are two Mr & Mrs Smith – approved hotels in Stockholm:  the Lydmar and Berns hotel, both very cool, neither restricting itself to the simple business of merely providing travelers with a room for the night.  They Lydmar Hotel is a super-trendy temple to the unholy union between style and sex.  While the Berns Hotel (Nackstromsgatan 8:  tel:  +46 8 566 322 00;  www.berns.se) is a veritable entertainment palace, with more bars than the average country town, a gilded dining room and a terrace where summer nights are played out to a hip-hop soundtrack.  Stockholmers have loved and revered the Bern since it opened in 1863;  guests can eat, drink, dance and sleep there.  The rooms are either cabin-like in cherry wood, or light and bright, with terraces (the Clock Suite also has a sauna big enough for 10 people).

Sunday brunch is a Stockholm tradition.  Whatever else you eat, herring and bleak roe at Tranan (Karlbergsvagen 14;  tel:  +46 8 527 281 00) or Sturehof (Stureplan 2;  tel:  +46 8 440 57 30;  www.sturehof.com) is a must.  So is a romantic dinner a deux at a window-side table in Eriks Gondolen (Stadsgarden 6;  +46 8 641 70 90) – a crane-like structure where the dining room is 100ft up, and the city, Lake Malaren and the Baltic are spread out below you.  The food in Stockholm’s best restaurants is world class, and you can pretty much eat your way around the world there, as well as feasting on traditional meatballs and game.

In summer, Swedes tend to stay up all night partying – in a civilized and socially aware fashion.  That’s not to say they don’t give it all they’ve got, just that things tend to stay happy:  no brawls, no binge-drinking.  There’s everything a pair of lovebirds could wish for, including more joie de vivre than the chilly north should decently be allowed.

Perhaps, as Europe’s borders get ever more elastic, the Swedes are getting more Mediterranean in their manners.  Next time you’re in the mood for love, consider herring rather than oysters;  “hej baby” rather than “ciao bella”.  The streets are less likely to echo with the sighs of old flames, and the Eiffel Tower won’t fall down without you.

Mr And Mr Smith’s Latest Sex Bombs

Barcelona
Hotel Neri (calle San Sever 5;  tel:  +34 93 304 06 55;  www.hotelneri.com.  18th-century palace with modern-day movie-star interiors.

Florence
JK Place (Piazza Santa Maria Novella 7;  tel:  +39 055 264 5181;  www.jkplace.com.  Lily-and rose-scented anti-corporate townhouse in an unbeatable central location.  Sexissimo.

London
Baglioni (60 Hyde Park Gate, SW7;  tel:  +44 20 7368 5700;  www.baglionihotellondon.com.  Italian glamour overlooking Hyde Park.

Milan
Bulgari (Via Privata Fratelli Gabb 7b;  tel:  +39 02 805 8051;  www.bulgarihotels.com).  Streamlined monastic elegance with a spa.

Seville
Las Casas del Rey de Baeza (calle Santiago, Plaze Jesus de la Redecion 2;  tel:  +34 95 456 1496;  www.designhotels.com.  Colonial-meets-contemporary private galleried patios.

Sophie Dening is on the editorial team at Mr & Mrs Smith.  Mr & Mrs Smith:  European Cities (£24.95, Spy).