On the afternoon of 24 November, the drive east from Hanoi reached Ha Long Bay just after two. The InterContinental resort had opened on 9 July 2025, barely four months before this stay, and stands right on the bay. The first thing through the car window was its entrance sign, half-hidden in tropical planting.

The Lobby: Framing the Bay

The lobby makes its point immediately: a full wall of glass faces the bay, the karst islets unrolling like a scroll, and expectations are set before you even sit down. Woven lantern chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, the marble floor mirrors the daylight, and a wall installation of golden pieces swirls like a school of fish.

The Club Lounge's Own Indoor Pool

This is the Club InterContinental lounge's own pool, indoors yet anything but enclosed: glass on three sides pulls the bay in, and the infinity edge runs into the water outside until pool and sea are hard to tell apart. A sofa gallery runs along one side, loungers line the windows, and one corner is fitted with hydrotherapy jets. In late November Ha Long Bay turns cool, and an indoor pool that ignores the weather is exactly right.

The Room: A Suite Split in Two

The stay was five days, in a Junior Suite — living room and bedroom properly separated, both facing the bay and each opening onto the balcony. The king bed looks straight at the view beneath a wave-motif artwork; the living room has a full sofa corner and TV console, and by afternoon the whole space glows warm.

The minibar hides inside the cabinetry: espresso machine, kettle and glassware all present. The nicest touch waits on the marble round table — a plate of fruit, a bottle of red wine and three petit fours, a welcome laid out before you even arrive.

Bathroom and Details

The bathroom is the room's second act: a freestanding tub at its centre, double vanities and mirrors, black-and-white geometric tiles underfoot. Slide the panels open and bathroom and bedroom become one space, with the sea still in view from the bath. In the wardrobe, robes, slippers and hangers are neatly kept; side tables, lamps and pendants all hold the same quiet tone.

Sunset on the Balcony

After half past four the sun begins to sink toward the water. Watch it sheet the bay in gold from the balcony, then turn back to see twilight settling over the living room — the room's finest half hour. The day ends there; the club lounge and its afternoon tea earned too many photographs, and get an article of their own. Five days in, my verdict is 93 — that was the resort in its opening days, arguably the ceiling of the InterContinental brand. Word is it has slipped since; let this piece stand as a record of it at its best.

The previous article covered the hotel; this one is only about its lounge. On the same five-day Ha Long Bay trip we sat in the Club Lounge twice, once in the afternoon and once in the evening. In November 2025 the resort had been open barely four months, and to my eye the lounge was the most finished part of the whole property.

The Space: A Wall of Glass Above the Bay

The lounge takes a whole wall of floor-to-ceiling glass on a high floor: a communal table with turquoise chairs, a bar island that always carries fruit, and a row of two-person round tables along the windows. Afternoon light bounces off the water into the room, and the space needs no further decoration — the karst islets outside are the wall art.

Afternoon Tea: Two Three-Tier Stands

Afternoon tea arrives as two three-tier stands at once: macarons and petit cakes on top, seafood and beef savouries in the middle, scones below — including a charcoal-black one. It is generous for two; we took it slowly with white wine while the light outside turned from white to gold.

The Evening Buffet: Small, but Every Station Tidy

In the evening the lounge switches to a buffet: the dessert station leads, the cold station carries cheese, cold cuts and salads, and at the far end a whole ham leg stands with bread and olives. Hot dishes come out on long plates — skewers, big prawns and beef — just right with white wine. The selection is not large, but every station is kept immaculate, which is rarer at a buffet than it should be.

Judged on its own, the lounge gets 90: not dazzling, but steady and complete. I gave the hotel itself 93 — that was the resort in its opening days. I hope the lounge's composure outlasts the rest.

The InterContinental Taipei has been making headlines since before it opened — most recently over a trial-stay controversy that had everyone talking. None of it changed my mind: with a new hotel, you book a paid stay and judge for yourself. On October 13, 2026, I checked into a corner Junior Suite at my own expense. Bottom line up front: the hardware impresses, the software is still warming up. Worth revisiting — with caveats.

Lobby and Public Spaces: Everything a New Hotel Should Smell Like

The double-height lobby, anchored by its crystal chandelier installation, sets a grand tone from the first step. Upstairs, corridors run black-and-white geometric carpeting and the elevator halls are properly designed — the new-hotel smell, figuratively and literally, is everywhere it should be.

The Room: A Corner Junior Suite with Two-Sided Views

Our suite sits on a corner, and the layout shows it: light and views on two sides, the room's single best design decision. The king bed faces floor-to-ceiling windows, and sunset from the window — watching the light sink into the city skyline — was the highlight of the room.

The living area holds the TV and the minibar cabinet, with an espresso machine and kettle provided. A pull-out tea tray keeps glassware, porcelain cups, spoons and tea bags in perfect order; the fridge drawer stocks Coke, beer and Evian; the bar tray adds gin, an Evian mist spray and mixed nuts. The TV boots to the IHG welcome screen, a card by the bed explains the smart voice assistant, and the closet holds bathrobes and slippers. As a hardware checklist, nothing is missing.

The welcome amenity is the hotel's own pineapple cake gift box with a welcome card — a thoughtful local touch. And yet: no welcome fruit. At this price point and brand level, that absence genuinely surprised me.

Bathroom: A Soak with a City View

The bathroom pairs a vanity and mirror with a standalone soaking tub set right by the window — after dark, a bath with the city lit up below is the room's second-best hour. Toilet and shower are separated, the flow works, and nothing practical was sacrificed to design.

Club Lounge: The Best Service in the House

Hands down, the club lounge is the best-served space in this hotel. A circular bar with SMEG fridges, desserts that hold their standard, champagne and then a cocktail against the night view — the atmosphere is superb, and this team is clearly the most settled in the building. Small oversights remain, and the staff's familiarity with member benefits is still incomplete; but the flaws don't overturn the verdict. This is currently the most finished room in the hotel.

Lobby Bar: Serious Process Problems

Now the main event. At the lobby bar we ordered two desserts and a pot of tea. It took three reminders and nearly an hour for everything to arrive — and when it did, the tea was the wrong one. Growing pains at a new opening are understandable; a failure in the most basic order-to-table flow is not, and it should top the fix-it list. This is where the score takes its biggest hit.

Verdict

The hardware is genuinely sincere: dual-aspect views in the corner suite, a complete in-room setup, a window-side tub. The software is a tale of two extremes — the lounge already leads the house, while the lobby bar is still fumbling the basics. Sharp Index 70 (3.5 out of 5). We'll be back — and we hope the service has caught up with the building by then.

InterContinental Taichung, the Midtown Suite — the kind with a rack rate of NT$65,000 printed on the evacuation plan behind the door. This post gives the room the whole stage: from the living room all the way to the bathroom, every detail a suite should be judged by, looked at properly.

The rack rate is one thing; the going rate that day was a different set of numbers. On the booking page the Midtown Suite ran from US$441 to US$645 a night; the member flexible rate with breakfast was US$571 a night, and with fees and taxes the checkout total came to US$659.36 — NT$21,019. A different world from the rate printed on the escape map.

The living room: a living room first, a bedroom second

The layout is the honest, old-fashioned kind: living room at the front, bedroom inside, bathroom in its own zone. A dark grey ribbed sofa with two orange leather stools, a black stone coffee table on pale wooden legs, and by the corner windows a small round table with two round stools facing the Taichung skyline. Big suites often fail by being big and empty; this one does not — every corner knows what it is for.

The TV sits in a dark stone wall and boots up to the IHG welcome screen, with a row of live TV, hotel information and facility thumbnails underneath — a hotel eager to introduce itself, written all over the screen.

The bedroom: the rug is the star

The star of the bedroom is not the bed. It is the rug under it: huge orange and slate-blue flowers, echoing the orange leather stools in the living room. The headboard wall is pale leather; the lighting refuses symmetry — an amber glass table lamp on one side, a cluster of slim tube pendants on the other. A woven bench sits at the foot of the bed, the TV is set into the dark wall opposite, the desk takes the corner window, and at the far end the bathroom light spills out from behind its door.

Desk and bedside: the small things give it away

On the desk, a cream leather portfolio holds the hotel's letter paper and envelopes in perfect order; in the matching leather box beside it sits an invitation card for THE VERTICAL MUSEUM — the hotel's conceit of running the whole building as a museum, delivered to guests from the desk onwards. Open the stationery box and it gets better: highlighters, a ballpoint pen, a pencil, a ruler, binder clips, paper clips, sticky notes and a STABILO eraser, every item in its place. That is not an amenity spec; that is a small stationery shop.

The bedside tables are just as serious. One side gets a BOSE Bluetooth speaker and the TV remote; the other, a smart-assistant tablet named "Xiaomeixi" that first asks which language you would like — English, Traditional Chinese, Simplified Chinese, Japanese or Thai. The touch panel on the wall splits lighting into night light, reading light, soft and bright, and the curtains into sheers and blackout drapes.

The minibar: open the drawers, one by one

The minibar cabinet stands at the edge of the living room. On top: a Nespresso machine, capsules and tea bags in a leather box, the tea set and the welcome drinks, and a no-smoking card resting quietly against the wall. The tea service goes Chinese: a bamboo tray, a white porcelain teapot and two Luzerne cups, brand marks turned up as if to say they come from somewhere. The welcome drink is two bottles of YOI alkaline water, pH 8.5, each wearing a white "Welcome Drink" collar, with two upturned glasses — ceremony first.

Below the counter, the drawers are the main event. Drawer one: electric kettle, ice bucket, glasses and cutlery. Drawer two: champagne flutes, wine glasses and RAK Porcelain coffee cups in a single row, all facing the same way. Drawer three is the liveliest — a Shin cup noodle, potato chips, peanut crisps and popcorn crowded together, and below them a row of miniatures: Absolut vodka, Johnnie Walker Black Label, Bombay Sapphire gin, Chivas Regal 18, plus a miniature sparkling wine. The fridge does not hold back either: Coke and Coke Zero, Schweppes, Heineken, Taiwan Beer, Evian sparkling water, juices and Toblerone, all present. The conclusion writes itself — this hotel is not afraid you will wake up hungry at midnight; it is afraid you will not wake up at all.

The welcome: a members-only snack formation

There was also a welcome set waiting on the table by the window: three glass jars in a row, all wearing the hotel's orange InterContinental labels — dark sandwich cookies, round biscuits, and mixed nuts with dried fruit — with two bottles of EIRA water behind them, one sparkling, one still. The acrylic sign beside them is admirably direct: a selection of refined snacks, presented as an exclusive privilege for members, with the IHG One Rewards mark underneath. A welcome card lay in front, beginning with the words "Welcome back." None of it is large, but from jars to bottles to card, everything wears the hotel's own packaging — uniform and considered, and a good first impression.

The wardrobes: there are two, and one holds an umbrella

There are two wardrobes, both glass-fronted with pale wood interiors that light up when opened. One holds a black garment bag and a full row of wooden hangers above its drawers; the other, besides hangers, keeps a long grey umbrella — no need to call down for one when it rains; the umbrella waits in the room. On the open shelves and luggage rack below, a wooden tray carries a pair of cedar shoe trees, a wooden box bearing the InterContinental mark, a fabric shoe bag, and white slippers embroidered with a gold "I". Slippers finished to this standard have left the disposable-amenity logic far behind.

The bathroom: unapologetically large

The bathroom is the most self-assured part of the suite. Double sinks in a single run, two oval mirrors on a pale wood wall lit by a row of slim pendants, open shelving below with towels rolled and ready. The space is big enough for a deep-blue round stool in the middle, somewhere to sit while drying your hair; the toilet and shower sit behind frosted glass as two separate rooms, and nobody gets in anybody's way.

The freestanding tub is pushed right up against a full-height window — bathing comes with a Taichung city view. On the bath caddy: two bath-salt jars and folded towels. The two Shiba Inu plush toys in these photos, for the record, are my own travelling companions, not hotel amenities. By the sink, a pot of pink phalaenopsis orchids and hand towels folded into a leather tray; the amenities are BYREDO's Blanche line — hand wash and body lotion in two white pump bottles behind the taps, good-looking before they are anything else.

Two bathrobes hang on the grey stone wall, thick and white. The shower pairs a rain head with a handheld, amenities lined up in the niche. The toilet is its own room, with a washlet; and at the other end of the suite there is a second washroom, sink and toilet complete — two people, no queueing, which is a very practical luxury. Even the hairdryer has a uniform: a grey fabric bag in a drawer, embroidered in gold with "Hairdryer" in two languages.

The bathroom also hides my favourite control in the whole suite: four copper physical keys on the stone wall — Bright and Soft for the lights, Open and Close for the blind by the window. With wet hands, soaking in the tub, there is no guessing where the touch panel is. Physical keys are the truth.

Closing: tea by the window, and the skeleton of the building

Tour over, sit down by the window: a pot of tea, two coffees, and Taichung in the mid-afternoon. The skeleton of this hotel reads best on the elevator panel — lobby, Il Limone and Leaves & Vines on 1F; Ming Juan Lou and Caiyue Hot Pot on 2F; the grand ballroom and meeting rooms on 3F; Rolling Bar and the fitness centre on 5F; and Club InterContinental up on 17F.

Bonus: a different kind of breakfast — Il Limone

The next morning we also wandered down to the ground floor. The hotel's all-day restaurant is Il Limone （沐檸）, its entrance a dark stone sign with a bowl of white and yellow flowers; inside, the scale is nothing like the lounge's — a full restaurant breakfast buffet: display shelves tiered with plates, flowers and fruit, and a salad chiller with greens and toppings in neat rows.

The most Taiwanese corner is the live-cooking station: a small blackboard says danzai noodles, with a choice of vegetable or beef stock. Next to it stands a green-tiled pizza oven, firelight showing at its mouth; in the open kitchen the steamers are stacked in piles and the chefs' prep counter sits right in front of the guests. The hot chafing dishes run in a row, each with its name card; and at one end of the counter hide four flavours of ice cream — Jin Xuan oolong, Nantou vanilla, pineapple sorbet and chocolate, very Taiwanese flavours indeed. The restaurant also keeps a whole wall of chilled wine cabinets, white and sparkling wines packed in tight — that is an all-day restaurant's capital: noodles here in the morning, and by night this room wears a different face.

Two lattes on the table, clinked before we started. Il Limone's breakfast is the lively kind: more people, more choice, and a live station with real kitchen fire. The lounge's breakfast, by contrast, is quiet and unhurried. We had both — the buzz first, then the slow one — a small indulgence of staying in a suite.

Bonus: Rolling Bar, on the fifth floor

The building has one more stop. Rolling Bar, on the fifth floor, is the hotel's bar: a dark marble wall at the entrance, its sign lit, and a small host stand by the door.

The menu runs a curated line: the Sommelier Timeless Collection pours InterContinental Selected red and white wines, and the beers are Taiwan Gold Label, Heineken and Asahi Super Dry; if you are not drinking, TWG teas, coffees and fresh juices are all there. We ordered two glasses of red and sat by the window, Taichung at night outside — room, lounge and restaurant all seen, the stay closed with a glass of wine.

Verdict

The hardware of the Midtown Suite is finished to a high standard: a proper layout, good light, a seriously large bathroom, and not a single careless note in the minibar, the stationery or the wardrobes. At a rack rate of NT$65,000, the room itself justifies the InterContinental name. Sharp Index for the room: 90.

The other half of this stay is the club lounge: its afternoon tea, its dusk cocktail hour and the next morning's breakfast are in "Club InterContinental Taichung: From Afternoon Tea to Next-Morning Breakfast". The two pieces together are the whole stay.

The Midtown Suite article took the room apart; this one moves to Club InterContinental. Over the course of a day the lounge wears three faces: afternoon tea at three, the cocktail hour at dusk, and breakfast the next morning. One night's stay catches all three — so this piece follows that order and watches the lounge fill up a whole day.

Afternoon tea: sweet first, savoury after, window seats to finish

The afternoon-tea counter is white marble with a bowl of flowers in the middle, sweet on one side and savoury on the other. The sweet end has cakes, mousse cups and small tarts, a raised glass plate holding a whole mille-crêpe cake sliced into a fan, and croissants and assorted puff pastries on the other side of the glass stand; the fruit is cut and lined up on a long platter — grapes, melon, guava and passion fruit, a cheerful row of colours.

The real afternoon tea starts when the three-tier stand reaches the table: cakes and savoury bites stacked tier upon tier, with a separate plate of small bites alongside. Our seats were by the window; the foam on the iced latte sat right at the rim, and outside was Taichung in the mid-afternoon — not too high, not too low, just the most comfortable angle this building has to offer.

The cocktail hour: hot dishes more serious than expected

A little after five, the counter changes shifts. The cold side is salads, cold cuts and fruit; the hot side is where the real weight is: beef-flavoured vegetable soup, mushroom cream soup, fish roe and shrimp siu mai steaming in whole baskets, black gua bao skins resting in a bamboo steamer, glossy braised pork belly, seasonal vegetables with bell peppers and baby corn, and a whole pan of beef fried rice. This is no longer "snacks to go with drinks" — it is the scale of a dinner. Nobody hurries you, and you may go back as many rounds as you like.

The drinks are at the other end of the counter: beer and sparkling water chilling in an ice bucket, sodas and juices lined up neatly in the fridge, the coffee machine in the same zone. Tuck the pork belly into a black gua bao skin with some lettuce and you have a black gua bao. When we raised our glasses the sky was not yet fully dark; by the time we had settled by the window, the window was a night view.

At the end of the hour we poured no more wine and ordered two hot lattes instead. The orange flowers on the table were still standing, the lounge lights had dropped a notch — an evening closed with coffee, at exactly the right pace.

Breakfast the next morning: slowly, with no checkout to chase

The next morning the lounge is in breakfast mode. Fresh flowers on the marble counter, and the hot dishes in a row: bacon and hash browns, beef ribs braised with tomato, Italian braised vegetables, braised tofu, bamboo steamers stacked high. On the Chinese side there is sea bass and lobster congee — slices of fish and lobster meat laid over the congee — with a wooden grid of nine small side dishes for the porridge. The Western finish belongs to eggs made to order: the hollandaise on the eggs Benedict still glossy, and an omelette cut open with its filling steaming.

Closing

A club lounge does not sell any single meal; it sells a rhythm: come in during the afternoon for coffee and the city view, eat the hot dishes slowly as dinner at dusk, sleep, and then have a breakfast with no clock on it the next day. The Midtown Suite was already good enough on its own; add the lounge's three acts and the night is complete. The other half of this stay is that Midtown Suite — the living room, the bedroom and a bathroom large with nothing to apologise for — in "InterContinental Taichung Midtown Suite: A Living Room, a Bedroom, and a Bathroom with Nothing to Apologise For". The two pieces together are the whole stay.