There comes a time in every English summer when posh friends take off for the countryside, for long weekends in mansions they refer to as “cottages.” Luckily, there’s a place for the rest of us longing for storybook getaways, too.
It’s called Gleneagles.
About an hour outside of Edinburgh, it’s a luxury hotel, one built in the manner of the great Scottish castles and billing itself as “the Glorious Playground.” It’s the mix of lush adventures by day and elegant dinners by night that we began dreaming about from the moment our stay was booked. A lot of high-end hotels offer beautiful rooms, gorgeous views and fine dining. But the breathtaking setting of the Scottish Highlands, a fleet of Land Rovers at our disposal and all its sporting spaces makes Gleneagles a splurge I keep returning to.
Indeed, the approach to Gleneagles — with its 205 bedrooms and 28 suites, its acres and acres of hills, its carefully tended forests and gardens — feels like stepping onto the set of some great historical drama, like the swoon-worthy backdrops in “Outlander.”
When the hotel opened in 1924, the pure scale and opulence of it led London newspapers to hail Gleneagles as “the eighth wonder of the world.” Its Jazz Age concerts were so popular that they were broadcast over the new BBC “wireless” radio network. It wasn’t long before the hotel became a favorite retreat for royals and celebrities like Princess Margaret, Vivien Leigh and Sir Laurence Olivier.
The Draw of the Glamour
To capture that 1920s magic and to celebrate our wedding anniversary, my husband and I took the overnight train earlier this summer from London to the hotel’s station.
I was already tired and cranky when we left at 11 p.m., and would have much preferred not to sleep on a train car, even a really, really nice one. In fact, the hotel was created by the Caledonian Railway as a way to capitalize on the growing popularity of train travel. “If you have the traveler in your pocket on the train, you might as well keep him,” the railway’s longtime general manager, Donald Matheson, had remarked.
But pulling up to Gleneagles — even at 6 a.m. — has always given me the feeling I was invited via hand-lettered invitation on heavy stock, instead of booking it online.
“You don’t arrive at Gleneagles so much as approach it — there’s a drive, and then a building that looks like it has been sitting there quite contentedly for a hundred years,” the actor Richard E. Grant, who co-hosts a podcast devoted to historic hotels, told me in an interview.
Invented in Scotland in the 15th century in its modern form, golf is still the hotel’s biggest draw. Jack Nicklaus designed the signature Centenary course, which hosted the Ryder Cup in 2014. During the hotel’s peak seasons, 11,500 rounds of golf are played a month.
And there are plenty of “pursuits” available: an equestrian school, as well as shooting, fishing, falconry, canoeing, kayaking, bouldering and rock climbing, among others. For the designer Rachelle Hruska, whose Lingua Franca clothing is sold on-site, the array of activities is the greatest draw. “Everything feels special without being overly fussy. It’s authentic and soulful — easier said than done,” she said.
Our celebratory visit began with a catered picnic. First we were driven to a reservoir in the hills in a Land Rover. Then a spread was set up like something out of a Nancy Meyers movie: fresh flowers, lobster, roast sirloin, an array of salads, fruit and a high tea selection of scones, jams and cream.
Despite the cost of £290 a person (about $360 each), the lunch didn’t seem to include any drinks other than water. We wanted wine, but we would’ve been happy with Arnold Palmers. The hotel later said we needed to have ordered additional beverages when we booked the picnic, but that hadn’t been clear to us. Next time, we’d opt for the basic picnic lunch to go (starting at £45 a person) and find a scenic spot on our own. But it was nice to try the fancy version.
On our previous trip to the hotel, I saved for six months to justify the splurge. Rooms average around £550 a night during low season and between £800 and £900 during the summer months and holidays. The New York Times, which does not accept free travel, paid about £4,000 for our three-night stay, which included meals and activities.
Basking in Peace
There was something distinctly upper class about how the hotel anticipated our every need and want. Fires blazed by the breakfast table when it was chilly, umbrellas appeared out of nowhere when there was a hint of rain.
And there was rain. To Mr. Grant, that only enhanced the atmospherics. “A misty day at Gleneagles isn’t a day ruined, it’s a day improved,” he said in an interview. “The hills go soft, sound comes closer, and the entire place turns the color of a photograph left too long in a drawer.”
Close to the reservoir sits a new sauna, where the view made me feel like I had been parachuted to the middle of nowhere. It’s housed in a beautiful Scandinavian-style cottage with the softest robes, a tea setup and lounge chairs. We had a lovely time in and out of the sauna, and relaxed on the deck without a person in sight. My husband even opted for a cold plunge in the reservoir, while I refrained.
When it came time to leave the sauna, I couldn’t stop staring out onto the reservoir and the miles and miles of hills beyond the property. I said something to Andrew Herd, the fishing instructor, about how the peace I feel in Scotland is really unlike anywhere else I’ve been. He smiled and said, “Well, Scotland is a country of 20 million acres and 5 million people. There’s just room to roam.”
His words stayed with me. The Gleneagles estate is spread over 850 acres, with 10 bars and restaurants, four pools and five outdoor tennis courts. A new indoor racquet club includes eight indoor tennis courts and three padel courts. We wandered in and out of the hotel, taking long walks through the fog after dinner and grabbing late-night drinks at the Art Deco-style American Bar, where Emilio, one of the bartenders made craft cocktails and told great stories.
During the day, we read books, took padel lessons and swam in the pool. We had a high-end whisky tasting with Krisztian Eke, the purveyor of the Still Room, a store featuring over 200 brands of single-malt whiskies. The most expensive? £45,000 a bottle.
My husband loved getting to sip some of the higher-end whiskies and learn about their stories. At the shops, I brought the hotel’s signature blueberry whisky jam as an anniversary gift. It only cost £8, but my husband adored it so much, you’d think I’d given him a vat of caviar.
I also swooned over the Lingua Franca sweaters, embroidered with Scottish-inspired phrases like “Don’t Give a Dram” and “Haste Ye Back.” But my favorite sweater said “Late Checkout Please.” I had just uttered those words that morning — it’s what I beg for at every hotel that steals my heart.
One morning I got up early to squeeze the most out of the day and tiptoed out of the room. As I walked down the long hallway, I couldn’t help but feel that I’d slipped into a scene from “Downton Abbey,” the 1920s edition.
The walls were a perfect shade of banker’s green, the ceilings were high with crown molding that looked like it went back generations. There were little velvet side chairs and benches every couple of hundred feet. As I approached the grand staircase to the lobby, I saw a pair of Chanel ballet flats strewed down the hall, as if someone had used them to play an impromptu game of horseshoes. The remnants, it seemed, of guests who’d had a much later night than we’d had.
I felt as I had when we first visited, that it wasn’t just hype: Gleneagles was built both for luxury and whimsy.
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