The valet took the car before Tim had even finished asking the question. Standing outside the Beverly Hills Hotel on Sunset Boulevard, he handed over his keys mid-sentence, the ballet of arrival unfolding exactly as it does in the movies he had watched this place in for years. What follows is the honest account of a solo overnight stay at one of Hollywood’s most storied addresses, and a final bill that landed somewhere between jaw-dropping and genuinely educational for any British traveler who has not yet reckoned with American tax culture.
Room 219 and the mini bar you probably should not touch
The famous banana-leaf wallpaper in the corridor was, Tim admitted, doing his eyes in a little. Room 219 opened to a lobby area with a mirror so large and so lit it looked like a gifted present. The bed was, in his words, ridiculously big, with a Beverly Hills Hotel embroidered at the center. The remote control carried the hotel logo. The in-room phone was, puzzlingly, very old. What was missing entirely was a coffee machine, a gap that felt significant given the $12 room-service coffee on the menu.
The mini bar offered Patron, Jack Daniels, champagne, two varieties of chocolate, and tonic. A Kit Kat was priced at $7. A Coca-Cola, also $7. The shower fit, by Tim’s count, a good six people. There was a television inside the bathroom mirror that took a long time to come on but did eventually come on, which he found genuinely cool. The towels were exceptionally fluffy. The bath was enormous but had a non-slip texture on the base that was, he noted, uncomfortable to sit on. One stain was visible on the throw at the foot of the bed. Small white scuffs along the carpet suggested a recent hoovering session had clipped the skirting board.
The pool at 7 a.m. and a breakfast worth getting up for
The pool opens at seven. Tim was there at seven exactly, and one other guest had already beaten him in. The sun had not yet risen. The water was warm. The sky above Beverly Hills was doing something quietly extraordinary with its colors, and for a few minutes the famous pool, usually the place to be seen, belonged to almost no one.
Breakfast in the restaurant offered two modes: diner-style at the bar with endless coffee, or table service with a menu that included a 24-karat gold option and two eggs at $31. Tim ordered the two sunny-side eggs with hash browns and bacon, alongside bottomless coffee and an ultra-fresh orange juice. He made a point he has made before about American coffee: it simply does not turn bitter the way a British blonde roast does, and he will keep saying it.
Complimentary coffee and muffins were available downstairs each morning, a detail he discovered only after his first night. The bath the previous evening had drained very slowly and made, he said, a noise like someone going to the loo.
A celebrity was spotted during check-in. Tim recognized him from Friends. The name appeared briefly on screen.
The bill, broken down
The overnight parking cost $60. The room rate was $1,415. An occupancy surcharge for a solo stay added $28. An employee health and benefits surcharge added $61. The City of Beverly Hills occupancy tax added $210. Breakfast came to $65. The grand total was $1,842.
Tim put it plainly: ‘If you are British, you have got to understand about tax. They like to add tax on, so a lot of the time when you look at a price, the tax is not actually added on until the end.’
The Beverly Hills Hotel notepad, still on the desk
A Beverly Hills Hotel notepad sat on the writing desk near the makeup mirror. On it, someone had written: ‘champagne and straw for myself.’ The handwriting was Tim’s.
The car came back from valet the next morning. The wallpaper in the corridor was still doing something to the eyes. The pool was already warming up for whoever arrived next.
