Crowne Plaza Edinburgh - Royal Terrace An Ihg Hotel

So there I was, soaked to the bone after Edinburgh decided to remind me that "summer" is just a suggestion here. I had a map that was more of a wet napkin, and my phone was screaming at 2% battery. I practically crawled into the lobby of the Crowne Plaza Edinburgh – Royal Terrace, dripping onto the fancy floor, looking like a drowned rat who lost a fight with a bagpipe.

A guy at the front desk didn’t even flinch. He just handed me a towel and said, “Happens about five times a day here. Welcome.” That, my friend, is when you know a hotel has its act together. This is the story of how a rainy disaster turned into one of the comfiest nights of my life.

The "Royal" in Royal Terrace is not just for show

First off, the location is stupidly good. You’re perched right on the edge of the city center, but you’re also staring at the actual Calton Hill. You know, the one with the unfinished Parthenon that looks like Scotland’s architectural “whoopsie.”

It’s a five-minute walk downhill to Princes Street, but up here? It’s quiet. Eerily quiet for a capital city. You get the roar of the city without the chaos of sleeping above a kebab shop. (Trust me, I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.)

Rooms that don't yell "corporate beige"

I know what you’re thinking: "Crowne Plaza" sounds like a place where you’d negotiate a merger while eating a sad salad. But the Royal Terrace is different. It’s a Georgian townhouse that’s been gutted and rebuilt, so the ceilings are ten feet high and the windows are massive.

My room had a bay window overlooking the terrace gardens. I sat there for an hour just watching people walk their dogs. Very rock and roll, I know. The bed was that perfect level of firm where you don’t sink into a crater, but you also don’t feel like you’re sleeping on a yoga mat.

The breakfast: a love letter to your hangover

Let’s talk about the real reason we travel: bacon. The breakfast spread here is what I imagine a Scottish grandmother would serve if she had a five-star budget. There’s the full Scottish fry-up, obviously, but they also have this weirdly addictive haggis bonbon thing.

Edinburgh - Hotel Packages - DHTour

I’m not going to pretend I’m a haggis expert—it’s basically oatmeal with guts, which sounds gross but tastes like freedom—but these little fried balls of it were fantastic. The coffee is strong enough to wake a hibernating Highlander, too. Just don’t ask for oat milk unless you want the waiter to side-eye you.

Let’s get ironic for a second

Here’s the funny part: the hotel feels posh, but not in a “don’t touch the curtains” way. The lobby has these massive chandeliers and marble columns, yet the staff are all wearing sneakers and cracking jokes. It’s like your cool aunt decided to redecorate a Victorian manor.

Also, the bar. The bar is called “The Bonnie Badger,” which is a terrible name for a cocktail but a great name for a pub. They do a mean Old Fashioned. I had two. Maybe three. I stopped counting when the barman started telling me about his cat, Mr. Whiskers. (Hi, Dave, if you’re reading this.)

The secret weapon: the terrace itself

If you book here, beg for a room overlooking the Royal Terrace Gardens. It’s basically a private park for the residents, but hotel guests can use it too. I saw a bride taking photos there at 7 AM in full dress while a pigeon stole her croissant.

Crowne Plaza - Royal Terrace - Edinburgh - GoHen

It’s that kind of place—just chaotic enough to feel real, but polished enough that you don’t feel robbed. The Wi-Fi is free and actually works, which in 2024 should be a given but somehow isn’t. Seriously, Marriott, I’m looking at you.

The verdict? You’ll want to move in

Would I stay here again? Absolutely. But only if you’re the type of traveler who wants a bit of history with their air conditioning. This isn’t a party hotel—the walls are thick, so you won’t hear the nightlife from the city below, which is a blessing if you’re over 25.

It’s perfect for the solo explorer who wants to feel fancy without the pretension. Or for couples who want to argue about which direction Arthur’s Seat is while looking at a gorgeous view. (It’s that way. No, the other way.)

And the best part? When you finally leave, you’re right next to the bus stop that takes you straight to the airport. So your terrible, rainy arrival becomes a smooth, dry departure. Irony is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?