One&Only One Za'abeel

Off the back of a long-haul flight, is there anything more welcome than discovering your hotel is a mere 15-minute drive from the airport? After eight hours cramped sausage-meat-style into our seats, beside a couple with persistent coughs (Covid-19, your severity may be gone, but you are not forgotten), Mr Smith and I hauled our bags off the luggage belt and made for the taxi queue. 

I’d anticipated a long drive and the hint of a tickle in my throat but I’d barely adjusted my watch to local time and sent the obligatory text to my mother to say we’d landed safely (surely I’m not the only one still doing this in their forties), before we were pulling up to the One&Only One Za’abeel in Dubai.

The approach to this resort in the sky is an experience in itself. Suspend belief for long enough and you'll think your taxi is pulling up into the future. 'Ooohh,' went Mr Smith, as a pair of asymmetrical towers came into view, both connected via a cantilevered podium, and beneath which a beautiful waved canopy structure stands. 

This One&Only outpost, one of three in Dubai, is located at the edge of Zabeel Park and in front of the Dubai World Trade Centre. In contrast to the others, it is all city, no sand. Check-in happens in a light, airy atrium and a few floors up was our suite, with its wall-to-wall glass window. Off in the distance was the Burj Khalifa, the world’s tallest structure, and to the right, not far from the hotel, was the beautiful torus-shaped (always good to discover a new shape post-kindergarten) home of the Museum of the Future. 

The interiors were in soothing greys and taupes with pops of yellow, and there was a sleek drinks cabinet, home to a varied collection of wine and spirits, and the coffee machine. In keeping with the futuristic theme, all sorts of functions were performed without me lifting a finger. On entering the room, the shutters automatically motored upwards and the curtains slid back to allow the sunlight to flood in. In the bathroom the self-flushing toilet had heated seats. I have never loved a bathroom fixture so much. 

Like the Burj, our suite had epic proportions. The sofa stretched the length of the room and could comfortably fit 10. It was there on that sofa that Marianna, the concierge, prepared me for the delights on offer in Dubai. Half an hour of frenetic scrawling on the map, with circles appearing over parks, restaurants and shopping malls, and I had my three-day itinerary. 

Marianna had given me a number, which connected me on WhatsApp to the team. I’d been adamant that I would have no need for it, but she had barely left the room before I was texting furiously to say I’d forgotten to pack a charger for my depleted headphones. This drama was compounded by the fact that the book I had brought with me was utter rubbish. She was straight back to me, all calm and reassuring. 

Within minutes a charger appeared at the door and, given my inquiry about the closest bookshop, she wanted to know the names of the books I was after so she could have them delivered to the hotel. Luckily, with Audible now pumping Patti Smith’s memoir through my newly charged headphones, I could offer her some respite — temporarily. I soon discovered tickets to the Museum of the Future, one of the buildings circled on my map of Dubai, were sold out. It was Marianna to the rescue again. She swiftly produced two for that evening. 

Finally feeling holiday-ready, Mr Smith and I headed to the pool on the fourth floor. Attendants placed leather zip bags loaded with cans of still and sparkling water by our loungers and hovered in anticipation of any requests. The pool has a swim-up bar so, despite all the staff on hand and the option to scan a code to have drinks and snacks delivered to our sunloungers, Mr Smith and I couldn’t resist paddling over to order a cocktail. Then it was time to suss out the clientele. Given the hotel is located in Dubai's financial district, I expected to see lots of suited-and-booted types. There were definitely a few milling about reception, but by the pool there was more of a family and couples mood. 

A word of warning as you make your way to one of the pools. Don’t be like me and forget your newly charged headphones. Returning to your room requires high levels of concentration as you work out which lifts go where — not to be recommended post a blast of midday sun and a cocktail slurped down on an empty stomach. But there is always a friendly staff member on hand to steer you in the right direction.

After our swim, we headed to the Museum of the Future. It is honestly one of the most architecturally stunning buildings I’ve ever seen, so even if you don’t have Marianna on hand to rustle up a sought-after ticket, do go and admire its beauty from the outside. Of course, if you are a philistine and it's solely pampering you’re after, the hotel’s souped-up spa is the place to go. And if you’ve the kids in tow, you can do either, thanks to the kids' club.

The following morning (pre-10am to avoid the sun-bed charge), we stopped off at the cantilevered podium to inspect Dubai’s longest infinity pool for ourselves. I can confirm that despite the accolade, a single lap is achievable — probably more than in fact — but I didn’t want to give myself a heart attack. I quickly changed my tune about the heart attack over breakfast at Aelia, where I tucked into artery-clogging meats, cheeses and pastries. 

On our second day at the breakfast buffet, I sampled my first mangosteen, lychee-like in colour and texture but sweeter and less floral. After that mouth explosion, we ordered a shakshuka, as well as green juices, which had a pleasing ginger kick. There was also a drinks trolley, from which you can grab a cheeky Bloody Mary or Mimosa. Service throughout was exceptional. Even my (non-designer, rice-cake-encrusted) handbag got the five-star treatment; it had barely touched the ground before a waiter scooped it up lovingly and delicately placed it onto a stool. 

The Link houses three floors of restaurants. There are several to choose from, including La Dame de Pic, by multi-Michelin-starred chef Anne-Sophie Pic. But on our second day, with Marianna’s map in hand, we opted to visit the souk. It was an easy taxi ride to the old town, where we stopped off at the gold stores. If we’d known Donald Trump was going to ignite a trade war, we would have stocked up. 

Then we took a boat across the creek to buy everything from cinnamon and sumac to za’atar and saffron at the spice market. Mr Smith was the voice of doom in the background, reminding me that we had racks of the stuff at home but when in Rome… or rather Dubai. And at Marianna’s recommendation, we enjoyed dinner at the Arabian Tea House. The houmous, falafel, tabbouleh and lamb kofte were as good as you’ll ever find.

The return to London on day three was a bit of a downer, not least because I had a dozen friends insist I pick them up slabs of Dubai chocolate, the pistachio-filled treat that had just gone viral. In the airport, the authentic version was nowhere to be found, so I have been a social pariah ever since. Even worse, the weather was as grey and miserable as could be. The only thing to lift my mood was the discovery that most of the spices in my cupboard had expired in 2015, so with these now relegated to the bin, there is plenty of room on the racks for our souk purchases. Take that, Mr Smith.