Review of King David, by John Borthwick

Jerusalem's King David Hotel has the dubious distinction of being probably the only luxury hotel in the world to be blown up by a future Prime Minister of its own country.

In 1946, Israeli P.M-to-be, Menachim Begin and his accomplices demolished a wing of the hotel, which was serving as the British Army's Palestine headquarters. The bombing hastened Britain's withdrawal from the mandated territory and, after repairs, the return of The King David to its former role as Jerusalem's premier hotel.

They don't make towns like Jerusalem anymore. Its stones stand like bookends to history. They were there in the beginning with Abraham, David and Solomon, and in the middle with Christ and the Romans. They're still there, now grafitti'd with more recent tags: Ottoman Turks, Eichmann, Ben Gurion, PLO, Hamas ... even The Life of Brian. And they don't build hotels like the King David anymore, either. This grand gingerbread palace that sits above the city will never remind you of "some big hotel" you once stayed in, somewhere else. With a room facing the walls and domes of the Old City, you can watch as a full orange moon rises plump and holy as Moses above Jaffa Gate and the battlement walls built by Sulieman the Magnificent.

Beside echoing history, the King David has most of the mod-cons you expect of a five-star inn: gym, pool, tennis court and shops. Beyond the pool are large, pine-shaded gardens and spectacular flower beds. The high-ceilinged lobby can test your art history knowledge as, from one of the deep leather armchairs, you examine the decor's eclectic blending of Hittite, Assyrian, Phoenician and Greek motifs: "Now, which one is Hittite?"

The King David is the pride of the line of Israel's Dan Hotel group, and its 237 guests rooms and 36 suites have been frequently renovated. The staff is a family of both veterans and newcomers, Arabs and Jews alike. Leaving my heated room without a coat and heading towards a wintery Jerusalem, I found myself gently advised by my room-maid, a definite Jewish Mama, saying, "You'll get cold out there in just your shirt-sleeves."

Israeli food, with its Middle Eastern, North African and European heritage, is much more than chicken soup, bagels and gefilte fish. The hotel's Kings Garden restaurant offers a buffet lunch fit for a sultan (try the duckling), with salads almost too intricately arranged to disturb. And those flavour-bomb Israeli strawberries must be the best in the world.

The Gan Dan Cafe has floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Old City's contending spires and domes. The La Regence Grill Room menu brings the Biblical theme indoors, with Artichoke Jerusalem and cream of Galilee mushrooms. There's even a piano bar called David's Slingshot Bar.

At times the King David has seemed more like Camp David. Since it opened in 1931, the hotel has hosted the likes of Churchill, Haile Selassie, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Sadat, the ever-shuttling Kissinger, and many more. It's not just blurb when the King David calls itself "the Jerusalem home to kings, presidents and prime ministers".

Bouquets: The King David's unsurpassed location and history are self-evident. Equally rich are its other traditions: spacious rooms, attentive, intelligent staff, great food. Brickbats: The room rates.

Just minutes from the hotel, you can walk the limestone paths of the Via Dolorosa in the Old City or Ben Yehuda mall in the new town. You pause for a moment, struck by the disproportionate influence that the stones below you have had upon the world far beyond Jerusalem. The feeling is like standing at the epicentre of an ongoing tremor of the human spirit.