Philippe Starck meets Ste Clotilde.
A former hospice that still bears traces of its erstwhile inmates. The cell-like (in size) bedroom, the spartan, sorry, minimalist, decor (especially the shower room - big enough to house a bath so why didn't they? Why didn't they spend a little less on the marble sink and shower tray and two different shades of grey marble tiles and provide a towel rail over the radiator and a shelf in the shower enclosure instead?). Why did I have to get out of bed to switch off the overhead light? And if you're thinking of using a laptop, forget it. You can't get a signal for a G3 card (they suggested I try the street - it had worked for guests previously!) because the walls are so thick, or from the alleged wi-fi and plugging into the phone didn't work either. The breakfast buffet was moderately well-stocked but below the standard of any other hotel of the same class I've stayed in. The OJ was, I swear, orangeade. And they don't do toast! More a penance than a holiday. 2 nights were enough - any more would have been a martyrdom.
On the plus side, the staff were charming and helpful and the public areas cool.










