Capella Shanghai

White tablecloths, high rafters, perfectly crisp, buttery little croissants, Serge Gainsbourg echoing around an exuberant display of hydrangeas, orchids and tree peonies, soothing tones of grey and beige: over a lavish breakfast at Capella, it occurs to me that a certain conception of the past remains alive and well here in Shanghai. In fact, over the course of our three months travelling through China, I’ve been thinking a fair bit about memory and the past. In particular, as somebody with a terrible memory (at least in comparison to the photographic — as well as photogenic — Mrs Smith), I’ve been thinking how the strongest memories are physical: they are formed, held, lost and reformed in relation to people, places and objects.

Capella Shanghai is also a place inspired by memories, specifically its location in the city’s historic French Concession. Amid the 19th-century opium wars, European powers imposed upon China a series of unequal treaties and installed their own districts across Shanghai. Established in 1849, the French Concession continued until the 1940s and is today an area of embassies, luxury shopping and avenues of plane trees (grand, but terrible for hayfever). The hotel engages with the area’s past through the soft-focus glow of 1930s glamour. It is set across a series of converted Shikumen houses (lanes of brick and wood residences that combined local craft traditions with Western influences), reconfigured with precise elegance by the late Jaya Ibrahim. We enter our handsome five-storey villa via a small secluded garden. The gold walls of our entrance hall and breakfast room gleam beside the polished wood parquet. Upstairs, wood gives way to soft carpets underfoot. Tasteful greys and oatmeal predominate, with accents of dark wood, chrome, wooden fretwork and rattan. The bedroom, complete with a chaise-longue, is muted metallics and pale jade.

As with all excellent hotels, it’s the little flourishes that make this Capella outpost special. You can’t help but be charmed by the celadon-glazed tea set; the blue and white porcelain by Legle; the bathrobes by Frette; the excellently stocked drinks cabinet; the ranunculus and potted white orchids; or the welcome gift of a half-bottle of 2020 Chapter and Verse merlot from Huailai. In the lounge are candies and a pair of Chinese graphic novels, laid out to encourage us 'to escape the hustle and bustle of the digital world', ideal for Mrs Smith to improve her language skills. Petits fours appear at turndown. Platters of nectarines, lychees and blueberries are replenished daily, and few things feel more lavish than feasting on all those delicious fruits from Imperial-style ceramic pedestals while lying on the sofa watching ice hockey.

Le Comptoir de Pierra Gagnaire takes the plaudits with its Michelin stars, but the rest of the hotel’s restaurants are solid. The classics are covered, both Chinese (spring-onion pancakes, steamed bao buns, crispy youtiao for dipping in warm soy milk) and European (eggs Florentine, granola, club sandwiches). French-style breads and pastries are a major highlight. In the library, tea and a platter of complimentary afternoon snacks (crispy mahua twists, moon cakes, palmiers and almond thins) are a welcome treat, too. But, if you’re in Shanghai, I’d definitely recommend eating out. Jianbing (picy, crispy, stuffed crepes) from a hole-in-the-wall, for example, make the perfect follow-up to the ingenious and expertly crafted cocktails at Pony Up, a half-hour's stroll from the hotel.

Even in such a splendid place as Capella Shanghai, it’s the staff who make your stay special — from the super-friendly porters lugging our absurdly heavy luggage up our villa’s multiple staircases to the cute handwritten notes from no less than three different members of the team. We chat to Mike about reading and Ronan offers us advice on mushroom foraging in Yunnan Province, where Mrs Smith and I are heading next.

Thinking again about memory, I find myself especially enamoured at Capella by the presence of not one but two shoehorns — one hanging by our front door, ready and waiting to help ease the transition from shod city hubbub to relaxing, beslippered privacy; the other tucked away in a ground-floor closet. I invariably associate shoehorns with my grandfather (an elegant, if difficult gentleman) and I travel everywhere with a small metal version, one of two I inherited from him (along with some splendid tailoring and various pairs of loafers). Capella Shanghai is a beautiful place, where formality is reassuring rather than stuffy. I think it’s the kind of hotel my grandfather would have approved of, and I can’t give much higher praise than that.