MISE-EN-SEINE

JON WALL checks into the splendid and historic Shangri-La Hotel Paris, and quickly finds himself settling into a quiet yet congenial corner of the French capital

SO LITTLE HAS Paris changed in recent decades that the drive into the city from Charles de Gaulle Airport feels like a rerun of the opening scenes of the movie Frantic, though without Ennio Morricone’s haunting score. In fact, it’s only when we exit the Boulevard Périphérique and I spot a rooftop sign advertising made-in-China Haier electrical appliances that I’m reminded of the global transformations that have taken place since the late 1980s, when Roman Polanski filmed his sleekly executed homage to Alfred Hitchcock. Not to mention the fact that the palatial Paris hotel I’m headed for – one of the newest and most luxurious in the city – is owned not by old Gallic money but by a Malaysian-Chinese family based in Hong Kong.

Fortunately, unlike for Harrison Ford’s increasingly bewildered celluloid protagonist, no unwelcome surprises await me when I arrive at Shangri-La Hotel, Paris. As is revealed when the Mercedes glides through its ornate iron gates, the hotel occupies a handsome, stone-faced, beaux arts edifice in a quietly plutocratic corner of the 16th arrondissement, just a stone’s throw from Place du Trocadéro and the Seine – and as such, it’s less the setting for some white-knuckle thriller than a lavish historical epic.

Met at the porte cochère, I’m taken straight up to my seventh-floor room, where I’m flabbergasted to be greeted by a stunning vista of the Eiffel Tower set against the cloudless blue sky of a midsummer day and, off to the left and sparkling in the sun, the gilded, spire-topped dome of Les Invalides. Bienvenue à Paris, indeed. It gets even better when I climb the stairs that lead straight up from my vestibule. Instead of finding the living room that I’d expected, I step out onto an open-air terrace: my terrace, in Paris. It’s 7am and I’m ridiculously jetlagged, but I haven’t felt so elated about arriving in years.

Opened in December last year, Shangri-La’s Paris hotel is the company’s first European property (a second, in London, is expected to open in 2012), and elevates a brand already synonymous with service excellence and facilities at least a notch higher. Created within the fin de siècle Palace Iéna, the former home of Prince Roland Bonaparte, a great-nephew of Emperor Napoléon I, yet ingeniously modernised by architect Richard Martinet through a complex reconstruction programme that took several years to complete, it exudes every ounce of the grand style and character that’s expected of a heritage Parisian “palace” hotel. Thus, while the rear of the building, which extends several floors beneath ground level, is entirely new, key public areas – including the central staircase, the grand salon and the salle à manger – have been retained not only with all their exquisite, empire-style opulence intact, but enhanced through the subtle addition of carefully selected chinoiserie.

Comprising just 54 guestrooms and 27 suites, the property could almost be considered a boutique hotel, though that appellation hardly seems up to the task given the extraordinary levels of luxury and attention to detail that confront you at almost every turn. In keeping with the intention to preserve all the ambience of this 115-year-old structure, the hotel is riddled with secluded nooks and crannies, short stairways, narrow corridors and cupboard-sized lifts that quirkily open onto mezzanines, and make coming and going to your room an adventure in itself.

Accommodation is divided into an astonishing 18 categories, meaning that few rooms and suites are the same. The top-floor Suite Shangri-La, a virtually self-contained space that inhabits a glass-fronted modernist construction added to the building in the 1960s, is occupied for the duration of my stay, and it’s clear this would be a sensational (and, it must be said, sensationally expensive) base for any stay in the French capital. Yet I could hardly be more impressed by my own quarters, which are somewhat more than a mere room, rather less than a suite, but so close to perfection I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Classically furnished yet uncluttered in a contemporary kind of way, my room is decorated in shades of blue that contrast nicely with each other, as well as with the unchanging sky outside. Splashes of warmth are provided by a yellow headboard and cushions, not to forget the lush flower display and shield-sized fruit plate, the latter replenished daily with a generous supply of red-gold apricots that instantly disappear into my stomach. Facing the bed is the bright, marbled bathroom, the tall window of which curves upwards into a semi-skylight and offers a bird’s-eye view of the Eiffel Tower direct from the tub. Of course, all the requisite gizmos are in place, from the Nespresso machine and complimentary Wi-Fi in the bedroom to the rainforest shower and the large bathroom mirror concealing a flat-screen TV. Thoughtfully – and essentially considering the amount of shopping I manage to accumulate – there’s also a spacious walkin closet off the vestibule.

Much as I revel in sequestering myself in these supremely cosy surrounds, or in relaxing on the terrace, binoculars in hand to observe the sightseers atop the tower watching me, there’s more to the Shangri-La than the rooms. The hotel’s discreet La Bauhinia restaurant and lounge has already established itself among Paris’ favoured meeting places (former French prime minister Laurent Fabius was spotted breakfasting beneath its magnificent glass cupola during my stay), both for its menu of classic oriental and Western dishes, and for its elegant Asian-inspired decor. Under Executive Chef Philippe Labbé, who previously helmed the two-Michelin-starred restaurant at Château de la Chèvre d’Or Hotel in Èze near Nice, great things are also expected for the Shangri-La’s garden-facing gourmet restaurant, L’Abeille (“the bee,” named for the Bonaparte family crest).

A devotee of the tomato, which he prepares in every possible way imaginable, as well as several that aren’t, Labbé is mild-mannered and self-effacing (unusual for a top chef), and fortunate that his hotel stands mere footsteps from Place d’Iéna, the entry point to one of Paris’ best-kept secrets: the farmers’ market on Avenue Président Wilson. Here, twice a week, he and his team can be spied picking up the best and freshest produce for his kitchens. Flowering yellow courgettes, doughnut peaches and heirloom tomatoes all disappear into their boxes to be fantastically worked, seemingly on a whim, into absurdly delicious starters, salads and desserts.

A 15-minute amble brings you to the Champs Elysées; five minutes less in the other direction and you’ll be across the Seine and under the latticework arches of the Eiffel Tower. Closer still are the Musée Marmottan Monet, with its permanent collection of works by the 19th-century Impressionist, and the treasure trove of Asian art at the Musée Guimet. Tony le Goff, the hotel’s gregarious chief concierge, will point you in the right direction. Or simply slip out into side streets and join locals for an impromptu coffee, wine or beer in this pleasantly retiring residential neighbourhood. All too soon you’ll be thinking you’re at home.

www.shangri-la.com