What does a hotel founded by a man who went down with the Titanic look like in modern Beijing? In this contributor feature, Priscilla Adegoke checks into The St. Regis Beijing, a grande dame in the diplomatic district where a sabre meets a champagne bottle at six every evening and the butler service is sharper than the furnishings. Between roast duck ordered by a local host, noodles in a hutong and an early start at the Forbidden City, she makes the case for a base that puts the city within reach.
A hotel with an older neighbour
The St. Regis brand began with a man who went down with the Titanic. Colonel John Jacob Astor IV opened the first St. Regis in New York in 1904, wanting guests to feel at home and putting a telephone in every room to prove it. Eight years later, sailing back from his honeymoon in Egypt, he boarded the ship that would sink just days later. The brand reached Beijing in 2000, taking over a hotel that had opened three years earlier beside the Beijing International Club. The club is older than both. It was founded in 1878 for the foreigners of the old Legation Quarter, and its Crane Hall once hosted the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ press conferences.
A grand fruit hamper and a personalised note were waiting for us when we arrived. Our Statesman Suite had a warm, classic feel, with soft lighting and traditional furnishings. The marble bathroom came with both a tub and a separate shower, and the powder room was a particularly thoughtful touch. The carpets, furniture and TV, though, all felt dated. Whether that’s a flaw depends on who’s staying. Some travellers will read it as old-money charm. Others will feel the room is overdue a renovation.
Where the room showed its age, the service didn’t. Our butler, Dhillon, came by twice a day to refresh the flowers and turn down the bed, and every turndown came with a new treat waiting for us. One evening it was a dense chocolate cake, gone before I thought to photograph it. Any question we had, for Dhillon or the front desk, was answered fast. We never once found ourselves chasing anyone.
The hotel’s signature ritual happens at six o’clock. Each evening in the lobby, a sabre is run along the neck of a champagne bottle and the top flies off in one clean motion. The tradition is usually credited to Napoleon’s cavalry, more in legend than in record, along with a line attributed to Napoleon himself about deserving champagne in victory and needing it in defeat. Guests can request a turn at the blade through the Butler Service desk. I was talked through it beforehand, but I barely took any of it in. One intrusive thought kept ringing in my head: you’re about to lose a finger for content.
It was far more nerve-wracking to hold the sabre than to watch, and much more satisfying to get right. In the end it came down to one instruction, to scrape the sabre along the bottle in one swift motion and stop at a set point near the top. I steadied my nerves, swung, and the top flew off first time. It happened so fast that it took the fizz of the champagne and a round of applause to snap me out of my daze. The team told me I’d done excellently, and they looked genuinely impressed.
Duck, noodles and handing over the menu
Peking duck is the cornerstone of Beijing cooking, and no amount of Chinese takeaway back home prepares you for the real thing. At Si Ji Min Fu, a roast duck restaurant I reached through a local introduction rather than a guidebook, a chef carved the bird in front of us and a waitress showed us how to fill and fold the pancakes properly. It turns out I’d been eating it wrong all along. There’s no going back.
Our host took the menu and ordered for everyone. Left to myself I’d have played it safe. Instead, duck intestines and duck heart arrived alongside the crisp-skinned bird, plates as far from ordinary as anything I ate in three weeks in the country. What stayed with me most, though, was the table. Half of it couldn’t speak English, and it didn’t matter. People were so eager to share their food and their culture that we got by on passing plates and a shared appreciation for what was in front of us. I doubt I’ll ever be in a room with all of those people again, and I’m grateful I was once. It was the best meal of my entire trip, and one of those nights I wish I could have immortalised.
Pangmei Noodle, tucked into Xiang’er Hutong, was another local tip. I had the fiery beef noodle soup, the kind of spicy that punishes you for eating too fast, and for the quality it was excellent value. By then I’d eaten at enough Michelin-recognised restaurants across China to have opinions. Some should hand their stars back, quickly. Others deserve more than they’ve got. Pangmei’s Bib Gourmand in the 2026 guide felt exactly right.
Back at the hotel, the slower hours settled in the Garden Lounge, where my friend ordered a classic cocktail and the room leaned fully into the kind of grandeur every luxury hotel likes to put its own spin on. It also serves afternoon tea, and Danieli’s covers Italian when you’d rather not leave the building.
Out into the city
Get to the Forbidden City early. Three hours in, we’d barely covered the outer court, and the scale of the place was only part of it. We couldn’t manage ten steps without stopping for an intricate archway or the detailing worked into the walls, and the murals came in colours we couldn’t walk past. The bronze lions put Trafalgar Square’s to shame. Then there were the people. Visitors of every age had come dressed as Ming and Qing dynasty empresses and concubines, dripping in jade and pearls, and posing in front of the very walls their characters would once have lived behind. The light that day was so strong it made photographing almost effortless. By midday it turns into heat you’ll want to avoid, so bring water.
I went to the Silk Market expecting a treasure trove of silk. Honestly, silk isn’t the draw. The pull for international visitors is the vast selection of counterfeit designer clothing, kept just out of sight, with vendors ushering shoppers into back rooms to stay clear of the authorities. Haggling felt closer to Lagos than London, and the vendors held their ground. Go for the theatre of the haggle, not the silk.
Mutianyu, roughly two hours outside the city by car, is one of several access points to the Great Wall and among the best for a day trip, with quieter stretches and space to take in the view without a crowd. After several hours on the Wall, we’d earmarked the toboggan for the way down. The queue was well over an hour long, and with evening plans waiting, that was a price we weren’t willing to pay. So we rode the cable car back down the way we’d come up, with tired feet but very little regret.
That’s the case for The St. Regis Beijing: a calm base in the diplomatic district, close enough to the Forbidden City for an early start, with a sabre waiting at six when you get back.Â
Rooms at The St. Regis Beijing start from ¥1,140 a night, depending on room type and season. You can book directly through the hotel or check rates and availability here. UK passport holders can currently visit China visa-free for up to 30 days, under a waiver running until 31 December 2026, so check whether it’s been extended before you book.
Photography by Priscilla Adegoke, shot on the Fujifilm X-H2 with the XF56mm F1.2 and XF30mm F2.8 Macro lenses, loaned by Fujifilm UK.
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