The New FIVE LUXE JBR in Dubai Lets You Sleep Right Where the Party Is

As a Berlin-bred party girl (a claim supported by a mountain of blurry visual evidence outside various clubs/warehouses wearing dubious shades of lipstick) who’s on the New-Year-New-Me path to reform, I recently decided to take a break from the underground techno labyrinth of the German capital city, and…swap it out for the wild, wild world of Dubai-based debauchery. 

And yes, this counts as “reform” because I’m hanging up my super comfy but demolished Docs and buying some ankle-and-bank-breaking heels instead.

If you’re wondering what brought this sudden and drastic change about, it’s not because “I’m over Berlin” (the concept doesn’t exist) but it’s actually all due to one specific party establishment that I just couldn’t resist trying out for myself—the new FIVE LUXE JBR in Dubai. 

A party hotel with one of the world’s best bars, one of Europe’s most famous beach clubs, and suites that come with their own private spas, hot tubs, saunas, steam rooms, DJ sets and/or dancefloors. I mean…

Surprisingly, though, what sold me on this place had nothing to do with the insane amenities (private dancefloors??) but the fact that, at the end of a night/day of all-out partying, I would only need to walk a few steps in my brand-new torture devices in heels form before reaching my king-sized bed. 

Now, considering that the newly opened hotel’s main policy is, quite literally, ‘All-You-Can-Play’, and it’s “playing” (sorry, I had to) host to Ibiza-born beach party concept Playa Pacha, I definitely expected the hotel’s interiors to be dripping in the iconic Pacha cherries (and I wasn’t disappointed), but what I wasn’t expecting was how Poseidon’s-palace-chic the lobby would turn out to be. 

A white marble and crystal space that feels colossal in size thanks to mirrored ceilings and a window wall overlooking a massive party pool (with cherries!) and a cosy private beach, the lobby ushers the Arabian Gulf inside, with the whoosh of its waves echoing through various grand artworks—a glass piece capturing a water splash in motion, crystal droplets of water cascading down the walls leading to the two reception desks, and the centrepiece of the entire space: the chandelier. A whirlpool frozen in time, glistening under Dubai’s warm winter sun and casting shadows on the marble floors that almost make you feel like you’re underwater. 

Honestly, even for someone who has a phobia of any and all bodies of water—including certain blue-tiled pools—the lobby was surprisingly calming and, if I’m being honest, even a little bit magical. The best part? The aquatic elegance didn’t stop there. 

As soon as I was done checking in, Hassan—my designated butler for the duration of my stay—led me up to my room, which mirrored the lobby’s aesthetic through blue-shaded paintings, a massive marble bathroom with a bathtub (in which I would soon soak and rewatch Finding Ola while gulping down everything in the minibar), and a private terrace with sunbeds and a seating area overlooking Playa Pacha and the Arabian Gulf. 

Needless to say, I was probably more excited about coming back to the room than I was about venturing outside of it. 

“This is a complimentary snack we prepared for you,” Hassan said, pointing at a white-clothed table with a selection of cut-up seasonal fruits, a champagne bottle, and delicious French pastries, compliments of the hotel’s pâtisserie. Later on, I would notice that the pastries, which came in a container that resembled an open book, actually had my picture printed on the “cover”. I’m not joking. 

The hotel actually had a member of its staff source an image of me, and design a magazine cover with headlines about my profession, life and general “vibe” (which, apparently, they had pieced together from my public Instagram page), and had the chef turn it into an edible chocolate concoction that was far too cool to eat. I did eat it in the end, of course. 

If that wasn’t enough, when I turned my gaze from the table to the bed, I noticed a golden silk robe and a pearl-coloured silk pillow, both of which had my name embroidered on them. 

“You can message me anytime you need anything at all,” Hassan smiled, handed me his number, and left me to quickly put on my Ibiza-inspired and influencer-friend-approved beach outfit before running down to the VIP sunbed waiting for me at Playa Pacha. 

Within minutes (forty, to be exact) I was crossing the blue-and-white lobby and heading towards the beach club’s cherry-red entrance.  High-heeled models with cocktails in hand dancing on the edge of the pool, off-duty parents splashing about on floats while their mini-mes stay distracted at the kids’ club, businessmen in their after-hours shorts smoking shisha at the beachside Cielo Lounge, and remote workers fully taking advantage of their freedom of mobility, as they sip on mojitos and bob their heads to the beats two DJs were spinning at a nearby elevated booth. I swear, there were people there I didn’t even know had a single party cell in their bodies, but they were running (or dancing) laps around me by the beach.

Naturally, the next few hours involved an obscene amount of lounging, far too much munching on Mediterranean bites, and a pleasant chat with the resident DJs—Jixo & Danz—who were all too happy to let me film them playing next to a screen the height of a ten storey building. 

Honestly, that energy, that music, and that view could have held me captive for hours if my stomach hadn’t started rumbling in anticipation of the Japanese delicacies I would soon be having at Ronin, the hotel’s irezumi-inspired restaurant. 

One quick shower and outfit change later, I was standing in front of the intimidatingly beautiful hostess. After she rang a ceremonial Japanese gong to announce my arrival like the empress I’ve been trying to convince people I am, she led me through the seductively dim lit “rebel warrior” restaurant, decked out in samurai murals and wall art depicting traditional yakuza tattoos. 

As I walked past private pagodas with red mood lighting, all-black tables with metallic detailing and a glass room filled with what I imagined was some of the best sake in the world, I started feeling more than a bit disappointed that I wasn't going to be sitting indoors. Up until I reached my outdoor table overlooking The Palm and Ain Dubai, that is. 

While a DJ provided some background music with electronic flair (the party is literally everywhere), the courses just kept coming, one right after the other: chicken yakitori with teriyaki sauce, California rolls from the Teppanyaki and Sushi Bar, BBQ spicy lamb rack with eggplant yuzu miso, and a selection of mochi ice cream. Oh, and a couple of their signature passionfruit cocktails with “vanilla clouds” to wash it all down, of course. 

Yes, it was 100% as delicious as it sounds. 

Surprisingly though, by the end of this absolute feast, I was nowhere near done with my nightly escapades around the hotel. I mean, if the party isn’t planning on stopping, then why should I? 

So, after thanking the waiters and hostess, I rushed right across the corridor to Paradiso Dubai, crowned ‘Best Bar’ by World’s 50 Best and cooked up (or, I guess, mixed up?) by ‘The Best Italian Bartender Abroad’ and the ’Best Barman of Spain’, Head Mixologist Giacomo Giannotti. 

I know what you’re thinking: how did she manage to find an outfit that could possibly work for both places? The answer is: I didn’t. I spent an hour and a half rummaging through my suitcase and stress-snacking on minibar items Hassan had graciously restocked. 

From the moment I entered the circus-like space with zebra swirls on the floor, striped black and yellow orbs hanging from the ceiling, and more lightbulbs than a cabaret, I immediately understood what they meant by “inspired by magical surrealism”. And I’m not talking about the interior design; I’m talking about my chance encounter with a certain Dubai Bling star grabbing drinks (and spilling some tea) with a friend. 

Obviously, I would have more than loved to stay and grab a few more crunchy octopus crackers, downed a couple of extra Great Gatsbys (that wasn’t even the most creatively named drink on the menu), and casually glanced over at the gossiping session I hoped was about Kris Fade leaving the show. But, it was finally time to put on my personalised robe, snuggle up with my new favourite pillow, and sleep without an ounce of FOMO because I could still hear the party, which I would be rejoining in a few hours and after a few strong coffees, raging on the beach right outside my window.