Hotel Casa San Agustín

How many times can you Google a hotel before you find yourself, feet finally and almost surreally planted (after such anticipation, can it be real?), in the cool reception of your paramour? When it comes to Casa San Agustín in Cartagena's Centro Historico, the answer is: infinite clicks.

‘It is the best place to stay in Cartagena,’ a portly Glaswegian fellow told us in the rainy city of Medellìn, before Mr Smith and I embarked on our pilgrimage to the colourful, colonial town of eternal sunshine on the Caribbean coast. ‘Get a massage on top of the roof,’ another friend advised – duly noted and adhered to by myself (it was delicious. Firm, peaceful and invigorating all at once).

On arrival, a cool lime ‘mocktail’ is thrust into your hands, and a thankfully brief tour (the staff know that nothing is better than discovering a hotel yourself) reveals an impressive pool snaking around the courtyard. The pool, in a breath-taking historic setting, is set in the shade. Sunbathing is to be done on the small, hibiscus-framed solarium, where just two beds are to be hogged immediately by an English couple in want of a tan (ie. me and Mr Smith). The hotel has been sympathetically built within the Centro Historico's colonial walls, respecting the solid boundaries that pre-date the erection of this gorgeous 30-bed boutique hotel. The wall is dominating, beautifully marbled by a life well-lived. The effect is a swim in a spot that feels protected from the rest of the world, like you are a rare beast. And protected, you are from the hustle and bustle of the colourful Mochila bag-sellers outside the hotel; the men selling mango in sticky plastic packets on street corners; the women in colourful, tiered, ruffled dresses proffering watermelon; the tourists on bicycles (Casa San Agustín has some adorable sets of wheels that you may borrow, though we were a little too hot); from the dry heat of a city going about its day in a salsa dance of colour and noise.

No noise can be heard from Casa San Agustín's delicious, enormous white bed in our Deluxe Room, though. There is a quiet, leafy balcony; a bathroom with heavenly coloured tiles; a smart array of Ortigia shower miniatures. Is the sign of a great hotel the calibre of its miniatures? I'd warrant so. Just across from our room lies the drawing room, a chic and cool lounging space with an honesty bar that calls our name. Is it too early? ‘We are on holiday!’ we cry, pouring ourselves an amaretto for me; a whisky for him. Tiny biscuits are to be nibbled whilst we sip. No pushy waiter bustles in, service is discreet here. You are left to your own devices, and we were.

However, when we need a tricky internal airline called and boarding passes printed,  all is done efficiently by the concierge at reception: tricky airlines soothed, boarding passes neatly folded into a monogrammed envelope. Service is not showy here. Nothing at Casa San Agustín is showy. It is quiet, efficient, and more often than not accompanied with a cool lime drink. Or, should you want (or need) it, a jeroboam of Veuve Clicquot or Moët & Chandon on the solarium. On the subject of the solarium, an apology: we know we hogged the beds, but we couldn't help it; it was all too tempting to bake the day away, while peering nosily into the rooftop suite with its small plunge pool and four-poster day-beds. Who’s in that heavenly abode? we wondered.

Fortified by the honesty bar and a strong Hendrick’s G&T (in a glass the size of a modest fishbowl), after a day spent steaming in the sun and a long refreshing shower, we embark on a game of Scrabble, which I frustratingly lose. I may be a journalist, but my husband is a wily fox. My words are trumped by his numbers – or his manipulation of them. We move on to dinner in the hotel courtyard, where a medley of appetisers (lobster ceviche, ibérico ham and beef sliders) give way to traditional Colombian steak with chimichurri sauce. Before we move on (for drinks at El Barón or Café Havana; for people watching in the more robust area of Getsemaní) we take a minute to appreciate that we are staying in the best place in Cartagena. The pool’s warm lighting makes it shimmer, seemingly in agreement

The turndown service in our room has been completed by the time we return; the crisp inviting sheets and the towelling slippers by our bed await. There is a new day dawning soon; but for now, we have today at Casa San Agustín.