Palihouse Santa Monica

Boutique hotel Palihouse Santa Monica is probably not anybody’s idea of ‘the usual kind’ of stay. Our initial approach is unpromising: off the beaten Santa Monica track, in a residential area without any obvious parking and with no view of the ocean – which seems rather brave for a hotel in a beach town. We arrive a little sceptical.

We soon realise – despite a few years of visiting and living in Los Angeles – we’ve discovered a gem, nestled in a quiet neighbourhood of grand boulevards lined with huge, mature shade trees. One road is lined with Seussian palms at the very end of their lives, towering to fragile heights made more lovely for their precarity; the next has Mission fig trees so huge that they practically touch in the middle. We drive past traditional Santa Monica deco-apartment houses, names in vintage cursive across their fronts, to pull up on the corner of Third and Washington where the valet tells us that he'll take care of everything: thus begins our ‘Palihouse orientation’. ‘It's an old building, and the parking's four blocks away, so be sure to call down from your room 15 or 20 minutes before you need your car.’ Right then.

‘It's an old building’ (or ‘a very old building’) is a phrase we hear several times over the weekend, always spoken with a kind of rueful pride. It's old and rare by American standards, a residential hotel in a European style dating to 1927: beautifully maintained and a designated Santa Monica historic landmark. Three stories tall, the hotel has a discreet sign at the door warning that the building is in a state of compromise between California-mandated earthquake standards and historical preservation, inviting you to somewhat take your life into your own hands inside its elegant environs. 

The lobby is full-bore Old Hollywood: Moroccan patterns wrought in the floors and ceilings; a little coffee bar; elegant sofas; a roaring fire; and the hotel's design motif of books turned spine-in, displaying their fore-edges. It's empty; the Palihouse is a smallish hotel and our room is only one flight up. The walls are bold-painted plaster hung with quirky scenes of vintage Santa Monica, the carpet is patterned in taupe and chocolate, the lift is an ancient, clanking machine. 

On check-in, the Palihouse is also the kind of hotel that upgrades you, just because. We had booked a King room, but Amanda at reception cheerfully informed us that we were to have a suite instead. Our room(s) are revealed to be enormous, European apartment-sized, with a full mid-century kitchenette instead of a minibar (a legacy of the building's residential hotel years). There’s also a butler's closet, a walk-in wardrobe, a vintage vanity, a balcony down one side and windows down the rest, all open to catch the breeze. Fabulous. ‘It's a really old building,’ the porter reminds us when he delivers our bags and a tea kettle, explaining the lack of air-conditioning (in late October this is fine, but in July or August we might wonder…?) and that there are extra fans to be had. The sea breeze blows across the courtyard, where a fountain bubbles next to a Pétanque court.

The Palihouse is defined by these compromises. It has no restaurant; but the staff will run out to a local restaurant, fetch dinner, plate it and serve it in the cosy, candlelit lobby for you. There’s no bar – a hotel with no bar! – but the Palihouse charges no corkage: bring your own champagne or drinks and they will happily bring you appropriate glasses and ice. 

There is no pool or beachfront access, either. Instead, it’s a 10-minute walk to the superb Annenberg Community Beach House, a local favourite, where the Annenberg Foundation runs a café, pool and playground, at the front of the groomed and impeccable beach with a view of the Santa Monica ‘pleasure’ pier. 

Because of Palihouse’s unusual string of differences and its divergence from the noisy, poolside competition over at the Matador or the Standard, there's no scene at the Palihouse. No one goes to see or be seen. At night, it's so beautifully quiet that you can hear the fountain gurgling in the leafy courtyard. You couldn't ask for a more discreet place to pretend (or not) that you're sneaking away with a secret lover. 

In the morning, the lobby serves a delicious free breakfast: yoghurt and berries, granola, pastries and hard-boiled eggs. Or choose from the full menu (via room service, if you prefer), which offers egg-white and scallion scramble, heirloom tomatoes on toast and smashed avocados with pepitas. The coffee is good, plus there's artisanal coffee down the road that'll do you a Kyoto-drip cold-brew or a slow pour-over.

The Palihouse explains (‘an old building’, indeed) but never apologises. It's unlike anywhere we've stayed; a mix of luxury, vintage and compromise that is one part Chateau Marmont and one part time machine, in the salt air of otherwise mid-century Santa Monica. It’s not for everyone, given its distinctive quirks – but within the commercial beachfront zone of Santa Monica, the Palihouse is a discreet and secretive place with which to fall in love.