The Calile Hotel

On a sultry Sunday afternoon just days after our household had endured two weeks of the flu, and having left les enfants with the best kind of friend one can have (one that offers to take your children overnight), Mr Smith and I gleefully checked into the Calile. We really needed this.

Famous for its legendary pool, we were desperate to offload our bags, sink into its glorious depths and put memories of sniffles and snotty noses behind us. Zeus had other ideas. As we emerged from the lift to our poolside room, the heavens opened and rudely gave rise to another kind of aquatic adventure, one which we were glad to observe through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the room we’d be calling home for the next two nights.

I find few things more alluring than the silent luxury of a good hotel room. The design aesthetic at the Calile conjures up Miami or Palm Springs vibes, offering pleasing quarters for our mini escape, with sumptuous arched doorways that mirror the shape of the balconies flanking the external façade. The bathroom design and fit out, with pink marble and brass tapware, was just as inviting as the giant bed, minibar stacked with boozy and teetotal delights, and the most sublime chocolate brownies you’ll ever devour. Apparently, Ashton Kutcher once ordered a batch of these to be flown from Brisbane to Paris for his birthday. Whatever one might think of Ashton, he’s evidently got good taste.

With the storm directly over us and the pool off limits, Mr Smith thought it reasonable to suggest we make the most of the boudoir. I can confirm the bed was more than accommodating for Mr Smith’s six-foot-two-inch frame and my diminutive proportions. The rain finally let up, so we raced downstairs to jump in the pool. After finally enjoying that sweet dip, we slunk down to the Lobby Bar for an aperitif. I was immediately taken by how diverse the clientele was: ladies goo’ing over a sweet baby girl; a group of friends playing Uno and sipping their Calile Spritzes; gents talking shop; and older couples clearly enjoying the best years of their lives.

Mr Smith ordered the sexiest cocktail on the menu – Slightly Sloe – a mix of sloe gin, Chambord, crème de violette, Davidson plum, lavender, lemon, and egg white served in a coupe glass. Utterly sublime. The Lobby Bar offers an extensive selection to delight your palette, including an impressive array of gins and whiskey. The latter featuring selections from Scottish, Irish, and Japanese origin.

With several restaurants on its doorstep, the Calile is a food-lover’s paradise. Our choice was SK’s Steak and Oyster, which serves arguably the city’s best steak and can be a tricky place to snag a reservation. Props to the hotel’s concierge, who secured us a table. Not my first SK’s rodeo, I was wildly excited to return. We slid into our table and the maître d’ delivered our menus. Dining out, minus the mental curfew of a babysitter, was pure magic. We. Took. Our. Sweet. Ass. Time. Indulge me as I pour over the gastronomic delights of the evening: spanner crab, mushroom risotto, mouth-watering steak (you can choose from Black Angus, two grades of Wagyu, or Kiwami), rosemary and garlic roast potatoes (there is a ‘potato’ menu), honey-roasted carrots, creamed spinach and leek, accompanied by Rhone Valley Domaine d’Ourea. Satiated, we rolled out of SK’s with no space for dessert, not even a cheeky Messina (cult gelateria with the longest late-night queues, you’d think it was a club).

I had grand plans of sipping a peppermint tea and gormlessly watching a movie, but sleep came too easily. Mr Smith activated the automatic blackout blind, and I was out cold before he could say goodnight.

He had to work the following day, so was up and out early. The day was mine. Still full from the previous night’s gluttony, I decided to sweat it out in the hotel’s well- appointed gym, before prepping myself for a visit to the onsite Medispa, Kailo. I’m admittedly clueless when it comes to spa treatments. My idea of a good time is a Thai masseuse stretching my limbs in directions I thought not possible. Perusing the Kailo treatment menu, I was overwhelmed by the options: Vitamin Therapy, Intramuscular Booster Shots, Laser Treatments, PRP, BBL, DMK…so many acronyms! This basic bitch just booked a remedial massage and a sauna; both very satisfying. The spa personnel struck the perfect balance of being friendly and accommodating, yet unintrusive. I will be back to explore the acronyms. Time to hit the shops. James Street has become a mecca for local designers, and boutiques offering international brands. Gail Sorronda and Carmargue are my pick. I fell in love with a Marques Almeida party dress and a beaded bomber jacket that weighed about three kilos. I was hunting for a new pair of jeans, so these fanciful items were regretfully returned to their racks for now.

The sun bore down as I set myself up poolside for the remains of the day. I casually observed it was school pick-up time (haha – not today). Different crowd here now – young couples with babies occupying the cabanas, while the sun seemed to attract a bevy of Instragrammable couples, smooching in their barely-there swimwear. I ordered a fruit platter and sparkling water to my shaded lounger. Mr Smith took one for the team and headed home that night to solo parent. As luck would have it, German electronic supergroup, Moderat, were in town, so I met my friend for an evening of dancing. Exhilarated and exhausted, I melted into the bed (more giant with Mr Smith’s absence) for one last night.

In the days since, I’ve been reflecting on my stay. Local architects Richard and Spence have managed to successfully create an inner-city resort, with a quietly brutalist yet charming aesthetic. It’s a welcome change from the uninspired mediocrity that typifies inner-city hotels. Staff were warm, attentive, and intuitive, and while the experience extends beyond the walls of the hotel, I’d have happily remained confined to that room. I’m sure you’ll feel the same.