Eccleston Square Hotel Review: Luxury Boutique Pied à Terre for Belgravia Chelsea & Knightsbridge
Eccleston Square Hotel: A Bijou Bolthole in the Heart of Victoria. Nothing says luxury London quite like sweeping into Victoria in a BMW Z4 M40i and checking into Eccleston Square Hotel, a boutique gem perfectly placed for Belgravia Chelsea and Knightsbridge mischief.
Eccleston Square Hotel
Our visit to Eccleston Square Hotel formed part of International Excellence Magazine’s BMW Z4 M40i Grand Christmas Tour of London, which is an excellent excuse to indulge in refined hotel comforts while sweeping through the city’s most elegant neighbourhoods in a machine that encourages irresponsible levels of enthusiasm.
There are boutique hotels, and then there is Eccleston Square Hotel, a place so resolutely bijou that one feels it must have been designed by a committee of Parisian fashion editors who all agreed that anything larger than a boudoir is an extravagance. It is a stylish pied à terre in Victoria, perfectly placed between Belgravia, Sloane Square and the Kings Road, and ideal for anyone who enjoys the civilised pleasure of stepping out into London’s loveliest neighbourhoods with minimal effort and maximal smugness.
Our room was a masterclass in spatial efficiency. One enters through what might generously be described as a hallway but is in reality a short pause before one encounters the bed. The room is not small; it is compact, curated and rather proud of it. Think warm grey and soft brown tones, rich wood veneers, a pleasing high ceiling, and that sense of luxury that whispers rather than shouts. It is the sort of room that encourages you to stand still and murmur approvingly. If you have ever wanted to experience the sensation of living inside a very refined jewellery box, this is your moment.
The architects must have used the word bijou in every meeting until it lost all meaning, then carried on using it anyway. Yet what a delightful little sanctuary it is. The shower is excellent, the lighting flattering, and hidden in the mirror is a television that exists purely to make you feel like an oligarch even if, like me, you are more viscount than billionaire. It is wonderfully unnecessary and therefore entirely joyous. You can only watch it while standing in front of the loo, of course, which adds its own peculiar sense of theatre.
Our window overlooked Eccleston Square and its small, elegant park. At night, it glows with that quiet Belgravia charm that makes you instinctively lower your voice and walk with better posture. It is all very tasteful and soothing and precisely the sort of scene that encourages one to believe one lives a better life than one actually does.
Naturally, we wandered out into Belgravia almost immediately. The Christmas decorations were in full, glorious excess. Every luxury shopfront had clearly been told to dress as though the Duchess of Cambridge were popping by at any moment. Shimmering wreaths, forest-sized garlands, and fairy lights so bright one could almost hear the National Grid whimpering. The air was alive with the scent of pine, perfume, and the unmistakable hum of lips that have been recently enhanced. I say this with affection. Belgravia’s trout pouts are as much a part of its festive landscape as the Bentley convertibles and tiny dogs in cashmere jackets.
From there, we followed the gravitational pull of nostalgia to Sloane Square, my old stomping grounds. A rather lively Ralph Lauren Christmas market had erupted across the square. It was charming in that spectacularly overindulged, champagne-on-ice kind of way, all alpine chic and rugged preppy fantasy. The queue for the coffee stall was extraordinary. At least a hundred people waiting patiently for the privilege of clutching a branded cup of hot something. People will queue for anything these days, but never underestimate the power of a beautifully designed Christmas cup in Chelsea.
After soaking up the atmosphere and realising that we would prefer not to spend forty minutes acquiring a latte, we drifted back to Eccleston Square to prepare for dinner. Eccleston Yards, just a brief stroll away, houses the energetic and effortlessly friendly Jones Family Kitchen. It is one of those rare restaurants where everyone genuinely looks as though they are happy to be there. The food is lively, delicious, and served with the kind of cheerful gusto that pairs perfectly with a second glass of bubbly. Possibly a third, but I shall maintain plausible deniability.
The beauty of staying in this part of London is the abundance of activities within a fifteen minute radius. Eccleston Square Hotel functions as an ideal launch pad for exploring Belgravia, Chelsea and Knightsbridge, as well as all the shopping, dining, culture and people-watching opportunities they offer. If you have even a passing appreciation for theatre, I must insist you drop into the Royal Court in Sloane Square. They produce some of the finest work in the UK and occasionally the sort of play that leaves you wandering out afterward in a thoughtful haze, convinced that your life requires immediate improvement. Art should provoke, and the Royal Court seldom misses.
Buckingham Palace, or Buckingham Place as many tourists accidentally call it, sits only ten minutes east. There are splendid bars and restaurants in the area and if you ever want to feel truly metropolitan, try walking past Buckingham Palace on your way to dinner. It is marvellously diverting to witness tour groups gasping reverently at the gates while you are merely attempting to reach your reservation on time.
The next morning, bright and suspiciously early, I visited the Saatchi Gallery with celebrated French painter Bernard Tirouflet. The Saatchi is always worth a visit and Bernard improves any cultural outing with his discerning artist’s eye and his ability to say precisely what he thinks in a way that sounds charmingly poetic if you are French and mildly outrageous if you are British. The surrounding gardens brought back a wave of nostalgia. I used to do my sports days there as a child which explains absolutely nothing about my current aerobic abilities.
Returning to the hotel, I appreciated exactly what Eccleston Square has to offer: a polished London pied à terre for sophisticated shoppers, gallery wanderers, food lovers, and anyone who enjoys drifting between neighbourhoods rich in culture, luxury boutiques, and cosmopolitan charm. The bijou bedroom boudoir in Belgravia is compact yet brimming with thoughtful detail, as comfortable and inviting as any weary traveller could wish for. A special mention goes to the handcrafted Swedish Hästens massage bed, which kept us entertained for far longer than is strictly reasonable, letting us put our feet higher than our heads and feel utterly ridiculous while doing so—immensely relaxing and oddly addictive all at once.
For refined city breaks, romantic weekends, culture-filled itineraries, or elegant dining escapes, Eccleston Square Hotel is an outstanding choice. This discreet, beautifully tailored boutique stay blends effortlessly into the lifestyle of anyone exploring London’s finest districts.
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