The foyer in London’s Zedwell Hotel is blissfully laid back: soft lighting, honey-coloured wood, people talking quietly as they check in on iPads. Outside is the traffic, noise and neon of Piccadilly Circus; in here all is calm. Downstairs there’s a cafe with low-level couches and people tapping softly on laptops. How is it possible to stay here for only €34 a night?
I soon discover it isn’t; I’m in the wrong place. This is the Zedwell cocoon hotel, I’m booked into the Zedwell capsules. I go back out into the crashing glare of Piccadilly and arrive at the Capsule Hotel 20 seconds later. This is an even better location I think, spotting the Lindt chocolate shop opposite.
Capsule hotels are not a new concept; they’ve been around for decades in Asia, offering individual bed-sized capsules instead of traditional rooms. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to stay in a space so compact you can’t even stand up. Now I’m about to find out.
Inside the Zedwell capsule hotel, there’s a livelier vibe and a smaller foyer, the design is more industrial, a mix of slate grey walls and wood. There are more people and fewer iPads, but helpful staff mingle to speed up the check in process.
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Even though it couldn’t be simpler – type in your name and activate your key card on the pad alongside – a man has to help me because it appears I’ve been trying to activate my key card on the wall.
I’ve pre-booked a towel (€5.50) and buy a padlock (€9) from the vending machine so I can keep my belongings locked in the capsule. The machines sell all sorts of useful items – slippers, water, eye masks, fake nails and chocolate – and, ambitiously, given the size of the sleeping space, condoms.
It’s the biggest capsule hotel in Europe, according to Zedwell, with almost 1,000 pods in this five-floor building. Capsules are set out in dorm-style spaces, with two to four dorms on each floor. Some are mixed, some are single sex; you can select your preference when you book.
I push open the door of my dorm and am plunged into semidarkness, the walls are deep grey, the lighting muted. It seems busy, there are suitcases and shoes outside several capsules, but the atmosphere is hushed.
I find my pod, slide open the shutter and peer in. At 2m long by 1m wide and 1m tall, there’s only space for a mattress, kitted out with duvet and pillow. There’s a mirror with lights at the far end and wooden ledge with socket, charging point and switch for the air purifier. The space is lined with wood that I try desperately not to think of as coffin-coloured. There are two hooks by the shutter for hanging stuff.
Stepping back out into the bustle of Piccadilly, I think “€34 for this location, unbelievable”. Everything’s on the doorstep: West End theatres, bars, restaurants, shops. The National Gallery and National Portrait Gallery are a short walk away, both free to visit, or I could splash out on cocktails in a fancy hotel in Leicester Square next door – the rooftop terrace bar at The Londoner or Miradora, London’s first rooftop Tequileria.
I have dinner in Masala Zone in the 19th century grade-two listed Criterion Building across the road. It’s a magnificent room, with gold ceiling, marble walls and grand arches.
After the hushed tones of the Zedwell, my eyeballs feel like they’ve danced into a party. There are many London restaurants where you’d pay through the nose to eat in a room like this, but here it’s about value, good food and authentic Indian dishes (curries around €20, small plates under €10, Zedwell guests get a 10 per cent discount).
If it looks familiar – and you’re a Downton Abbey fan – then it is. It’s where Lady Edith Crawley met her tragic lover Michael Gregson to plan the life they would never share, though they at least managed an arch-framed kiss.
The building also houses the Criterion Theatre and after dinner I go to see Titanique, the Olivier award-winning comedy musical, where “Celine Dion” tells the “real” Titanic story (until June 2026, tickets from £29.50). It’s hilarious and the singing is wonderful.
Back in the Zedwell, there’s a sociable buzz in the communal bathroom with its lines of shiny white sinks. Everyone’s in pyjamas brushing their teeth, as though we’ve all strayed into an Enid Blyton boarding school book. The shower cubicles have dressing spaces with lockable doors where I change into pyjamas, then climb into my capsule with my handbag and rucksack.
The mattress is comfortable, and the bedding is crisp – Hypnos and Egyptian cotton I later find out. It all feels less claustrophobic than I worried it might. I can sit up easily and there’s lots of room above my head. Finally, being 5ft 4in pays off.
I experiment with the light. On, it’s bright enough to read; off, I’m plunged into darkness so deep it feels like I’m underground – not a great vibe in the circumstances. A dimmer switch turns it down low, and this seems to be the best option. I flick the switch to lock the door and settle down.
I wake up a few times, sometimes hearing footsteps or soft whispers, but I’m a frequent night-time waker and this doesn’t bother me. I have a few false alarm starts in the morning; with no natural light I wake at 4.30am, 6am and 7am wondering if it’s time to get up, and eventually at 7.30am reverse myself out of the capsule on all fours, glad there’s nobody behind me to witness that little manoeuvre.
The bathroom is lively, hairdryers blasting, showers running, a lot of mascara being applied. Most people are in office wear, presumably the tourists are all still asleep. The shower seems massive after a night in the capsule, with wall-mounted soap and shampoo and the luxury of standing up.
With no windows anywhere in the building, stepping through the front door is a revelation – it could be snowing for all I know. Indeed, it’s sunny, so I head to St James’s Park, a short stroll away. It’s quiet this early, myself and the park’s pelicans hang out for a while by the lake.
I have a browse in Hatchards on Piccadilly, London’s oldest bookshop, then go for breakfast to the Hard Rock Cafe beside the Criterion (from €8; 15 per cent discount for Zedwell guests). Under Pressure by David Bowie and Queen is blasting out as I walk down the stairs to the neon glowing room and sit under Noel Gallagher’s red guitar to order buttermilk pancakes. Don’t talk to me about pressure, David, I’ve just spent the night in the equivalent of a pull-out drawer in a morgue.
I can’t fault the Zedwell, it’s a slick operation in one of London’s most vibrant locations at a mind-boggling price. You do need to book early to get it, though, as rates can rise with demand. Capsule guests also have access to the cafe in the Zedwell Hotel around the corner, where cocoons cost €112 a night for a double bed, bathroom and floor space. And the luxury of being able to stand up.
Capsules from €34 a night, Zedwellhotels.com; Bernadette Fallon was a guest of Zedwell Capsule Hotel
