Mount Nelson is an icon and a treasure.
I’ve never been big on the color pink. For as long as I can remember, I’ve prided myself on being the alternative tom-boy type who would, to my grandmother’s despair, eat a beetle before wearing a pink shirt. And when my mother painted my room blue with decals of pink flowers for my ninth birthday, I packed my brother’s ruby-red wagon and ran away from home (to the backyard) in the middle of my party.
Since then, I’ve mostly gotten over my aversion to the frilly and feminine. However, if you were to have told me that a stay at a famously rosy hotel aristocratically nicknamed the Pink Lady would not only be one of my favorite hotels I’ve been to in years, but also have me shopping for a billowing floral dress just to match the space’s aesthetic, I’d have laughed heartily at your joke.
Cape Town’s ultimate grande dame, Mount Nelson, a Belmond Hotel, gained its now-iconic rose-glaze in 1918—about 20 years after opening as a hotel and more than 175 years after being founded—when the hotel’s then-manager, Aldo Renato, decided to repaint the exterior in celebration of the end of World War I. Up close, the shade is something like a bruised rose, but from the high up plateau of Table Mountain, its blush is subtle amongst Cape Town’s streets. No matter the altitude, it’s a color that undeniably feels celebratory, just like Renato intended. When the concierge tells me that the paint job inspired a trend among other grand European hotels to don pastel hues, I believe him.
But even if “the Nellie,” as her intimates know her, weren’t pink, I’m pretty sure she’d still hold the same grasp on her guests. Sitting under the glare of the slopes of magnificent Table Mountain, the estate is at the center of Cape Town, just off of Kloof Street, one of the most densely packed restaurant-and-boutique-shopping hubs in the Mother City.
Here, you’re tucked back just enough from the coast that there are no sea views—but that doesn’t matter. You’re playing royalty on nine acres of pristinely manicured lawns and gardens fit for a palace (or a meditating John Lennon, who found Zen among the hotel’s hydrangeas). Plus, Cape Town’s craggy coastlines and beaches are just a chauffeur’s ride away.
In all honesty, it was hard to pull myself away from my strawberries-and-cream striped towel at the very plush pool, dotted by people whom I told myself were very important, say, a CEO and his wife seeking R&R after going on safari, or producers from Hollywood taking a break after a day of location scouting. I made sure to position myself in the middle of the most symmetrical parts of the hotel—dramatically walking from the lobby to the fountain, choosing the lounger framed by palms—in case the latter was present, and, in fact, was working for Wes Anderson. (Seriously, how has he not filmed a movie at this old-world, pastel palace?!)
The vibe at Mount Nelson is palpably slow, despite the grandeur of it all—no rushing from one activity to the next, just relaxing. I made fast friends with almost every staff member I interacted with. It was white-glove service but with a refreshingly genuine—human—element that I find missing at many hotels.
While waiting for my room to be ready after arriving from the airport hotel at a super cool 5 a.m., I get chatting with Wellington at the front desk. He gives me a briefing about Cape Town as if I am an old friend from college visiting, giving me what feels like an honest introduction to the city. The interaction sets the tone for my entire stay in the city. Plus, he even gives me a fast pass ticket to Table Mountain that he’d been holding onto. Thanks, Welly.
I’m staying in a sweet garden cottage room, complete with its own rose garden and picket fence. I can see myself living here, waving at the neighbors in the morning from my front patio, coffee in hand as the sun peeks over Table Mountain. The decor, a sea of Earth tones and sparkly marble in the bathroom is toned-down glam.
It’s here, in the reflection of my room’s Venetian mirror, where I conclude that to walk the Nellie’s floral wallpapered, pink-outfitted corridors while wearing Nike Blazers, black jeans and a wrinkled black button-up is to insult not just myself but the entire establishment. I lowered my head and beelined to the first shop I saw selling floral dresses.
www.belmond.com; rooms from ZAR14,500
