Tuve

So you’ve already been to Croatia, Malta, Morocco and Iceland in your quest for a Game of Thrones-inspired adventure. If you’d like a taste of what entering the Wall might be like (you know, the big northern ice wall where the Night’s Watch live), well, entering the Tuve Hotel in Hong Kong might be the closest thing to it.

That’s what I think anyway. Mr Smith begs to differ, citing the brick construction of the cave-like entrance, but I mean, how many times have you entered a hotel through an arched cave? Anyway, aside from the bricks, the sub-zero temperatures at the entrance to the Tuve are surely what GoT (and, ahem, Jon Snow) dreams are made of.

It’s the most minimal hotel I’ve ever stayed in – so minimal, in fact, that it doesn’t even have a sign, just a small metal plaque embedded into the sidewalk. You’d be forgiven for thinking it was a sidewalk grate. And the befuddlement doesn’t end there: there’s no reception desk waiting for us at the end of the corridor, just a set of elevators, inside of which are two sets of buttons, and not a single sign.

Common sense kicks in and, once we’re on the first floor, we find we’ve been transported from one fantastical world to the next: gone are the Seven Kingdoms, and in their place is a more sci-fi world – one inspired by Interstellar, or even The Matrix. The reception area, essentially a huge concrete table with a smooth, copper top, is manned by two members of staff in dark matching blazers. I think I spy a Rick Owens retrospective in the stack of books with charcoal and black spines in the corner – though my eyes are still adjusting to the low light, so I can’t be sure. It’s all grey marble and textured concrete, and it’s cold. A welcome cold (especially after the stickiness of Hong Kong outside), but also cold in an emotional sense – like the stare you might get from someone much cooler than you.

The staff are super friendly, though, but it’s so unlike any other check-in experience we’ve ever had that we’re a bit out of our depth – not in a bad way, mind. New experiences and all that, right? Regardless, determined to show just how cool we can be, Mr Smith and I nonchalantly head upstairs to our 25th-floor room.

The hotel was named after a set of photos depicting a Swedish lake swathed in mist, taken by Danish photographer Kim Høltermand. We’d already experienced the moodiness of these photos, but in the rooms another version of Scandi minimalism emerges – a slightly warmer, more homely version (albeit designed to the nines), complete with steel beams, wood accents, chic amenities by Fresh, and glass-bottled fizzy water by Antipodes. There’s a box in the corner of the room that opens into a small desk-cum-bookshelf and a king-sized bed with crisp, white sheets, down pillows and a glorious mattress. Shimmery gold paint has been injected into deliberately chiselled crevices in the otherwise-smooth concrete walls – a detail that epitomises Tuve’s approach: a little goes a long way, and everything is there for a reason.

There’s no bar at the hotel (Mr Smith says the cocktail list would only serve one drink, a Rusty Nail; I say it would list vodka, soda optional, lime impossible), but this is Hong Kong, so outside choices abound. A few blocks away is a branch of the world’s cheapest Michelin-starred restaurant, Tim Ho Wan, which serves incredible dim sum with the fast, no-eye-contact, no-frills service Mr Smith and I love. We also head to Kowloon and eat a whole box of pan-fried soup dumplings standing up at Cheung Hing Kee.

If you fancy modern Chinese food in a cool environment, head to Ho Lee Fook (get it?) in Soho Central – the lettuce wraps are crazy delicious and we leave vowing to install a row of gold waving-paw cats in our own front entrance. The Tuve also has its own restaurant, an Italian joint called Silver Room, but when we head there for dinner the next night – our last – we’re told it’s closed on Tuesdays. Oops. We splurge on foot massages instead (though again, this is Hong Kong – land of good food and good foot massages – so while it’s definitely an indulgence, it’s not really a splurge), then, because it’s a crisp, clear night, head out to the Grey Café at Upper House for cocktails and views of the Hong Kong skyline.

When we come home a few hours later, I realize that the Tuve’s pared-back approach is mightily welcome in a chaotic city like Hong Kong. Entering the frosty, cave-like foyer is the equivalent of being handed a glass of ice cold water on a muggy day; its minimalist palette of greys, a breath of fresh air against the colourful cacophony outside. So, while elements of the Tuve may feel like a fantasy (Game of Thrones vs Interstellar – we’re still undecided), its sense of cool, calm collectedness is really what provides the escapism here.