Claris Hotel and Spa, an SLH Hotel

Barcelona’s Eixample is a grid of ambition, a sprawling testament to 19th-century ego and architectural muscle. In the middle of this stone-and-mortar labyrinth sits the Claris Hotel and Spa. It’s housed in the Palau Vedruna, a former palace from 1892 that looks exactly like the kind of place where a Catalan industrialist would have plotted his next move over a glass of heavy red. But step inside and the narrative shifts. You aren't just paying for a thread count that could stop a bullet; you’re paying for the privilege of sleeping in a space that doubles as a tomb for Egyptian royalty.

Let’s talk about the elephant—or rather, the sarcophagus—in the room. The owner, Jordi Clos, is a man obsessed with Egyptology. Most hotels give you a generic print of a sunset or a blurry abstract over the bed. The Claris gives you genuine Roman mosaics, Hindu sculptures, and a dedicated museum on the first floor filled with funerary masks and statues that have seen more history than your entire family tree. It’s weird, it’s specific, and it’s a middle finger to the bland, beige minimalism of modern luxury. You’re staying in a museum that happens to have a very good bar.

The rooms are a collision of worlds. You’ve got the heavy, neoclassical bones of the original palace mashed up against mid-century modern furniture and glass-walled bathrooms. It shouldn't work, but it does. It feels like the private residence of a world traveler who has more money than sense and a very good eye for detail. It’s dark, it’s moody, and it smells like old money and expensive candles. If you’re looking for a bright, airy IKEA-inspired loft, you’ve come to the wrong neighborhood.

Then there’s the roof. La Terraza del Claris was one of the first spots in this city to realize that people want to drink outside even when it isn't August. It’s a glass-enclosed sanctuary where the Eixample skyline stretches out in every direction. The service here is what I’d call 'attentively indifferent'—they know they’re good, they know the view is better, and they’ll get you that gin and tonic when the timing is right. The food up here, currently leaning into Mediterranean roots with a modern edge, is solid, but you’re really here for the vibe. It’s the sound of ice hitting glass while the city hums three stories below.

Downstairs, the Mayan Secret Spa tries to transport you to the Yucatan. It’s a bit of a trip—literally. You’re in a basement in Barcelona, surrounded by Egyptian gold, getting a ritual treatment inspired by Pre-Hispanic Mexico. It sounds like a fever dream, but the steam and the scents are real enough to make you forget you’re a five-minute walk from the chaos of Passeig de Gràcia.

Is it for everyone? No. If you want the predictable, sanitized experience of a global chain, go elsewhere. The Claris is for the person who wants their luxury with a side of historical weight and a dash of eccentricity. It’s expensive, it’s a little stiff-collared at the front desk, and the lighting is sometimes so moody you’ll trip over a 2,000-year-old statue. But in a world of cookie-cutter hotels, I’ll take the palace with the mummies every single time. It’s a reminder that travel should be about more than just a place to park your suitcase; it should be a bit of a haunting.