It’s early Sunday afternoon, and we step out onto the pavement, dream-like and elevated. Would I say reborn? No, too pretentious. We inhale the fresh air, take in the bright late-summer sunshine and weave through the London throng towards home.

We’ve just emerged from 24 hours at the five-star, luxury, boutique hotel, The Mandrake.

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First Impressions of The Mandrake

Hop off the Lizzie Line at Tottenham Court Road and head towards Newman Street. Look carefully, and halfway down you’ll see a darkly painted hotel front with The Mandrake’s signature motif: an all-seeing eye, seemingly fanned with intricate mandrake leaves. Step inside the dimly lit passageway and approach a striking piece of art by the hotel’s resident artist.

Art is part of The Mandrake’s DNA, with an ever-evolving roster of contemporary artists blurring the line between hotel and gallery. Showcased during our stay was the work of South African artist Ryan Hewett. A Cubist-style, gothic zombie goblin-cyborg peers across one shoulder at incoming guests. You’re immediately drawn to its face, where a large, circular hollowed-out eye bores into you, while underneath, thick oil paint has been scraped away, giving the appearance of peeled skin and exposed muscle. It’s creepy, but not uninviting.

Follow the direction of the gatekeeper, and you’ll spot the courtyard to your right, dominated by two 158-year-old Tasmanian ferns. Coupled with a hanging garden of suspended jasmine and passionflower, the courtyard is a tropical rainforest nestled within the London bricks and mortar. To your left, there’s the hotel lobby where a wide-eyed golden owl guards the keys. And straight ahead, high above, is a harsh metal chandelier that’s been softened by an installation of human hair.

Wining, Dining and… Sleeping at The Mandrake

The Mandrake opened its doors in the summer of 2017 (though I only heard about it in 2020. Somehow, it’s taken me five years to go… maybe I just needed the right partner to go with.) Its 34 bedrooms include three opulent suites and an award-winning penthouse. Every room is bold, luxurious and hedonistic.

A receptionist who’s all blonde hair and eyelashes checks us in before we ascend to our floor in a glass and mirrored lift and unlock the door.

The walls are painted pastel pink, and above the bed’s headboard, various green, turquoise and hot pink concave and convex fabric sculptures appear to crawl into the room. Masks that wouldn’t look out of place in the costume cupboard for Eyes Wide Shut survey residents, and upon one bedside table is a retro Marshall radio with Bluetooth connectivity. At the foot of the bed, there’s a loveseat by a mirrored-surface coffee table. On it rests a copy of The Mandrake’s literal newsletter, The Mandrake Eye, Condé Nast Johansens’s Luxury Hotel Guide and a hardback book: Ten Days at The Mandrake by Harris Nukem (yours for £240).

Hidden behind a sliding mirrored door lies the bathroom, featuring a marble sink top, motion sensor low lights, and deliciously scented products by Grown Alchemist.

Opposite the bed, you’ll see a minibar. Beyond the expected tea and coffee facilities, there’s a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Ruinart champagne, a travel essential kit (with chargers, cables and an adaptor), plus a couple’s fun pot (with lube, condoms, a cock ring, a mini vibrator, naughty dice and a feather tickler). Open the drawer below and you’ll find a selection of Lelo sex toys to purchase…

Right, it’s time for a cocktail.

Waeska Bar

Back downstairs, next to the courtyard, there’s Waeska Bar. Its ethnobotanical theme (no idea) results in a menu boasting diverse cocktails infused with ancient herbs and botanicals. As for where to sit, take your pick: a booth behind a chainmail curtain, seats against or near the main bar, or the dark, cosy library.

The hotel is adorned with extraordinary pieces from owner Rami Rustok’s private art collection. Nowhere is this more stark than at Waeska Bar. Upon the shelves flanking the bar, curiosities, figurines, and sculptures compete for the attention of visitors, but none more so than the hybrid gazelle/kangaroo mythical creature decorated in peacock feathers leaping above the bar.

While it may be a sunny summer’s day outside, Waeska Bar suspends time. You feel disoriented in time and even place. Is it really 4PM in late summer? Are we truly still in London?

Staying and enjoying the hotel means that after drinks, we pop back to our room. Chiefly to get ready for dinner, but also to roll around having hot hotel sex.

YOPO Restaurant

YOPO is on the other side of the central courtyard. Like Waeska, there’s a taxidermy centrepiece – this time, a 6ft ostrich. The restaurant offers modern European dishes reimagined with South American flavours, and today, the plant-based set dinner menu appeals to me the most. Upon service, I realise I must have misread the description of the tomato soup, not realising it was actually chilled gazpacho. Not my favourite way to enjoy soup.

Take the lift down to the floor below and you’ll find the toilets (please, do find them). Sinks that look like Tibetan singing bowls are positioned underneath a constellation of golden pipes, so you think you’re observing a work of art rather than simply washing your hands. Later that evening, the bathroom was the place to be. As I took the lift back up to YOPO, I reminisced on nights in the Wild Corner at Hi Ibiza.

Speaking of music, you’re spoilt at The Mandrake. On Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, (primarily House) DJs perform at Waeska Bar – or go next door and try out CoOc; The Mandrake’s new ’60s-themed members-only night club.

Our time at The Mandrake reminded me of Mad Max, crossed with my night at Torture Garden. Dress accordingly – or don’t. I wore a fitted yellow dress and considered myself a splash of colour amidst the monochrome.

By 1AM, we hit the hay.

DAMU Spa

The next morning, we make the most of hotel luxuries and have room service breakfast in bed. A little later, we walk back through the entrance passageway, towards the Mandrake’s spa; DAMU.

Here, there are two standout experiences: the Mud Caves and the Origin Pool. To my partner’s disappointment, I veto the Origin Pool. The promise of “a deeply meditative state” through “the integration of low-frequency water haptics, immersive chromotherapy, and a bespoke 3D soundscape” isn’t tempting enough to ruin a blow-dry. With a bit of convincing, I agree to the Mud Caves.

Other spa treatments to indulge in: facial collagen-boosting laser treatment (£500 for a single whack), Sacred Thai Bodywork (£270 for 90 mins) and a Reiki Healing Ceremony (£240 for 90 mins) – to name a few.

The Mud Caves

Pack a skimpy swimming cozzie because you’ll want to make the most of this ritual by covering as much of your skin as possible with mud.

The ritual begins with a cup of herbal tea in the Tranquillity Space – an area that echoes the hotel’s courtyard with tall, lush foliage, featuring this time, Birds of Paradise, Beach Spider Lily and Maiden Head Ferns. Next, we take the stairs up to The Mud Caves (pinch your nose if the smell of seawater offends you). Dark brown earthen walls encourage full immersion into the experience. To detoxify, deeply cleanse and hydrate the body, it’s simple. Steam, exfoliate and slather mud enriched with your choice of Vitamin C or detox powder (we sprinkled both into our mud-filled bowls – wouldn’t you?) onto your face and body. Shower. Repeat. Dry off and experience a whole new level of baby-soft skin.

We leave DAMU and exit The Mandrake, back towards Tottenham Court Road. I’m sure we’ll return.