The Windsor by Jamie Dunford Wood

The Windsor is something of an institution. Well known amongst seekers of budget chic, it announces its subversive intentions right at the door, where a British royal coat of arms is,on inspection, nothing of the sort. Inside, the manager sits in a room signed ‘Chambre du Philosophe’. The reception area is light and filled with interesting things to look at – an antique Chinese day bed, for example, and a large Buddha. To the right is a rich dark wood colonial style planters bar, to the left an overgrown garden, bamboo swaying around a small, walled pool. The success of this hotel, and the rates they charge, is a testament to what an be done with imagination, attention to detail, and judicious spending on high impact items – in this case the lighting, and the artists who have decorated the rooms.

For at least half the rooms have been used as canvasses for individual artists. Some are graphic, some representational, all are challenging. Lighting is modern and atmospheric, and rooms are simple and cool. A couple have large sit-out balconies, though those on the ground floor are amongst three here which lack a/c. Bathrooms are basic, but adequate. A small elevator rockets you up to your floor, a dismembered voice on the soundtrack mimic-ing ground control. It’s all quite fun.

The garden is a real gem here. It’s the sort of place you would fall on after a week in the jungle in Vietnam, a few tables and loungers set around a pool, a menu of affordable and inventive cocktails, a parrot in a cage… and birdsong and high walls screening guests from the road outside. Whether thebirdsong is real or not is unclear – we would put nothing beyond the charming and inventive boys who run this place. It hardly seems to matter.