The Hoxton, Edinburgh

You couldn’t call Haymarket the forgotten side of Edinburgh. There is a significant train station for one, some grand and beautiful sandstone tenements, and it’s just a short trot to the brilliant Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art. But it’s surely less visited than the ceramic shops and waterways of Leith, the cafés and grandeur of Stockbridge. I have only ever passed through the area. Still, I suspect this new Hoxton outpost will put an end to that. There’s nothing like some gilded familiarity in an unknown neighbourhood to make you want to visit it. 

This is Scotland’s first Hoxton hotel — it opened last summer, in what is effectively a row of superbly maintained Georgian townhouses smooshed together into a restaurant, a sprawling bar and a 200-plus-bed hotel. 

Even if you haven’t stayed in a Hoxton, you’ll probably be familiar with its concept. These are hip, vintage-inspired spots with low ceilings and textural furnishings, which focus as much on the communal areas (dispensing fries and cocktails, with a lot of curated music) as the rooms themselves. The MO is being the most sleek and chic chain you’ll ever stay in, somewhere for a nightcap as well as a bed. 

This might sound off-putting if you simply want somewhere to stay. But the group has become pretty canny at setting up camp in the right place at just the right time — the original hotel in Noughties London was arguably the first grown-up place with proper beds and a dirty martini in Shoreditch, a then up-and-coming area. In short, they're usually the perfect gateway to a new area. They’re relatively affordable, too. And the beds are terrifically comfortable. 

This particular Hoxton is a case in point. The moment you walk in — up some steps, which helps with the grandeur — you are confronted not by a row of receptionists, but a curving pot plant, rust-coloured sofa and some happy-looking families waiting for mum. For the couples, to your left is an enormous bar area that spills out into nooks and crannies. To your right, the smooth-edged reception, which sells jolly merch and snacks, and is manned by one of the most familial receptionists I’ve met. 

Indeed this is the vibe throughout: plush sofas, vintage Murano chandeliers, record players and a hodgepodge of abstract low lighting and mid-century furnishings. It has the feel of somewhere trendy, somewhere that throws money at its interiors, yet doesn’t align itself with that particular traveller. As the adage goes, the moment you name something hip it dies. Yes, the offering of a flat white comes on a black and white peg board, but on a Thursday evening in April, I spot two families, a couple of dates, a father-daughter reunion, several Europeans and one tasteful hen party. 

I’m here with my son, and while I wouldn’t describe it as a family hotel (nor would I want that), it is family-friendly-adjacent. The following morning, the staff are happy to accommodate his pickiness over breakfast (chocolate sauce on the side, not on the pancakes themselves). Guests eat breakfast in the lobby, which becomes quieter in the morning, strewn with laptops rather than martini glasses. The menu includes modish spins on eggs and fruit bowls, wacky enough to match the interiors but heavily informed by its global clientele. 

We don’t spend all that much time in the room, what with the uncannily good weather and space downstairs. But we enjoy its comforts when we do. The corridors are lined with sound-absorbing carpets and the rooms themselves are big and grand, with high ceilings, sash windows and capacious monochrome bathrooms that fit two people. The heavy curtains do a solid job of blacking out the spring light. The shower works brilliantly (not always a given in a city) and the toiletries, the hotel’s own, are generous. I always appreciate a headboard, sockets that allow for USB cables and fun little details such as a Roberts radio, and I heard talk of Tunnock’s Tea Cakes on the pillows. From the window, we spy the ornate spires of St Mary’s Episcopal Cathedral. 

I expect big things from Haymarket — and the Hoxton's presence will help. As will the newly extended tram line connecting Leith with the centre and beyond, demonstrating the perpetual cycle of restoration; and this quarter’s best restaurant, The Palmerston, which is just round the corner. 

That night, we head to bed early, passing through the bar to the lift. The people drinking in the lobby are not staying here. But that people will come out of their way to drink Negronis here is surely a good sign.