The slow staycation: How to take a tranquil city break in London

London, a famously frenetic city, might seem like an odd choice for a relaxing break, but it all depends on how you do it. Eilidh Tuckett headed down to the city for a slow staycation.

It’s not often that the sun splits the sky in Glasgow, but on this particular morning, it was. The cheerful yellow beams peeking through my blinds nudged me into consciousness before my alarm did. 

With the intention of enjoying a languorously slow morning, I’d set it extra-early. A cup of tea in bed was the first order of the day, before heading through to Edinburgh for my London train.

Anyone who knows me can confirm that I have a tendency to overbook, jumping from one thing to the next, thinking of two plans in advance and feeling predictably burnt out by it. It isn’t the most tranquil way to live, but being freelance (and restless) makes it hard not to jump at every opportunity. 

So, when an email marked ‘Slow Staycations’ slid into my inbox, I took it as a sign. A very luxurious one. Spend two days embracing intentionality, slowing down and taking stock alongside fellow lifestyle journos? Who was I to say no to that?

If you ask me, there is no more luxurious or less stressful way to travel than by train. You book your ticket; turn up to the platform (with any size of suitcase and any volume of liquids) hop onto your carriage and you’re off. No lengthy security or passport checks to go through, and certainly no hateful Ryanair baggage policies (is there anything less relaxing at the start of a holiday?) 

Travelling by train is also considerably kinder to the environment than flying, especially Lumo, as all their trains are fully electric. It was a real treat to switch off and bask in the glorious East Coast views without over-worrying about the carbon cost of my journey. 

The refreshment trolley soon trundled through the carriage, dispensing cups of tea and fruitcake slices to grateful passengers, myself included, to tide us over until arrival in the big smoke. 

London, a famously frenetic city, might seem like an odd choice for a chilled break, but it all depends on how you do it. Fortunately, the lovely Megan from PoB Hotels had drawn up an itinerary designed to make the most of our short trip. 

A cab from Kings Cross Station gave me time to take in the city’s buzz from a distance, before arriving at The Atheneum in Mayfair where my room overlooking Royal Green Park was ready. 

The cool blue colour palette was instantly calming, and the bathroom, with its marble fittings, vintage sink and plush towels warming on a heated rack, oozed old-world glamour. 

After a quick freshen up, I took the lift, wood-panelled with a crystal ceiling fixture, to the rooftop bar. As the sun dipped over London, I sipped a non-alcoholic Hugo Spritz, garnished liberally with fresh mint leaves. I’m not a huge drinker, and the height of the balcony was vertigo-inducing enough without adding spirits to the mix.  

Then it was on to dinner at il Pampero, a gorgeous Italian restaurant in the heart of Belgravia. Nestled below The Hari boutique Hotel, it serves up traditional Italian dishes with London flair.

In the intimate space, our table took up almost the entire length of the restaurant, though thankfully there was still room for the waiters to impress – and they did. My starter, Carciofi E Parmigiano, was mercifully light; a salad of finely sliced artichoke, crispy lettuce and aged parmesan anointed in extra virgin olive oil. 

I will admit to having minor food envy when Sophie, sitting directly across the table from me, received her calamari fritti, but I had a strategy. In honour of the slow, intentional pace of the weekend, I was ‘holding space’ for pudding. 

I washed down my starter with the house negroni (bitter, delicious) just in time for the main event. Megan’s cacio e pepe was prepared tableside; in the most obnoxiously giant wheel of parmesan I’ve ever seen. 

With silver tongs and deft flicks of his wrist, the waiter tossed buttery-gold pasta in the cheese until sufficiently coated. A crack of pepper finished off the dish. My ravioli (ricotta and asparagus, pecorino cream, confit tomato) may have been the more complex of the two dishes, but the panache with which the cacio e pepe was served made my plump little pillows of pasta pale in comparison, though they still tasted fabulous. 

Pudding was pure theatre. The majority of the table ordered tiramisu, and what happened next set the bar for all future desserts. A trolley was wheeled out, replete with Frangelico, Disaronno and a Dolce and Gabbana cafetiere. 

The waitress dipped ladyfingers in liqueury coffee before heaping generous ladlefuls of mascarpone on top and dusting with a puff of powdered cocoa. The slight crunch still left around the edges of the sponge was sublime. il Pampero’s is the tiramisu against which I judge all future tiramisus. 

After a leisurely stroll back to the Atheneum, I was glad to curl up in my immaculately turned down bed, after a bath to soak off (and revel in) the excesses of the day. I’m not always the best at sleeping away from my own bed, but the pillows and the crisp white linen did something to my brain, and I enjoyed a deeply restful night’s kip. 

Morning brought with it the sound of commuters outside, a gentle hustle and bustle I was aware of, but felt far away from, ensconced in my haven of a hotel room. I could have lounged for longer, but breakfast beckoned.

I found my friends from the night before in the airy eating room downstairs, ordering cappuccinos, orange juice and eggs royale, the morning unfolding ahead of us without agenda. Slow living indeed.

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