A South Floridian’s Cigar Journey Through London: A Night at The Wellesley

There are moments in life that stand still — not because of where you are, but because of who you’re with, what you’re smoking, and how the moment feels. For me, one of those moments happened in London, on a crisp, golden afternoon, with a cigar in hand and my father-in-law sitting across from me.

I’ve smoked cigars in plenty of places — from the humid porches of Miami to mountaintop retreats in Tennessee — but London was different. It wasn’t just another city on the map; it was a mood, a rhythm, a blend of old-world charm and modern cool that makes every cigar feel like an occasion.

One thing I quickly realized traveling through Europe is how tolerant and even appreciative the culture is toward cigar smokers. In most cities, you can sit outside a café, light up a cigar, order an espresso or a whiskey, and enjoy yourself without being judged or hurried. There’s a sense that smoking isn’t just a habit — it’s a lifestyle, an experience, a personal ritual.

But London takes it a step further. It’s not just tolerance; it’s a kind of respect. The city has this understated sophistication about it. You’ll find people in suits and people in jeans, both enjoying a cigar with the same quiet confidence. There’s no rush. No noise. Just that familiar cloud of smoke curling into the chilly air, carrying the stories of old souls and new ones alike.

For a guy like me, coming from the year-round heat of South Florida, London’s weather was a welcome change. That cool bite in the air made every draw feel cleaner, crisper, more flavorful. There’s something about a cigar hitting your palate when the temperature dips — the smoke feels denser, the flavors richer, the burn slower.

When the sun decides to break through the clouds, London transforms. The city glows. It’s not tropical or loud — it’s beautifully reserved. The light bounces off the old stone buildings, the breeze dances through the trees, and if you find a corner table at a pub or café, you can sit for hours just people-watching, cigar in hand, soaking it all in.

One of the most fascinating parts of cigar culture in Europe — and especially London — is how they categorize cigars: Old World and New World.

Old World cigars are, of course, the Cubans — the legendary smokes from Havana that shaped the cigar world. Think Cohiba, Montecristo, Partagas, Romeo y Julieta. They’re luxurious, earthy, complex, and often treated like museum pieces by collectors and aficionados.

Then you have the New World cigars — everything that’s not Cuban. Nicaraguan, Dominican, Honduran, even some American blends. These cigars carry a different kind of passion — bold, experimental, flavorful, and more affordable.

In London, though, it’s clear: Cuban cigars are the stars of the show. Walk into any lounge, and you’ll see those iconic boxes proudly displayed behind glass. There’s a reverence for them, almost like they’re sacred artifacts.

But the true highlight of my London experience was the evening I spent at The Wellesley, a hotel that feels more like a private club from another era. Tucked away in Knightsbridge, The Wellesley is everything you’d expect from a luxury London spot — classic, refined, and soaked in history.

The moment you walk in, you’re greeted by the portraits of Winston Churchill and John F. Kennedy, two icons who knew the value of a good cigar and a great conversation. The air smells faintly of cedar and fine tobacco, and every detail — from the soft jazz in the background to the warm lighting — whispers old-school sophistication.

The Wellesley has a cigar lounge that’s something special. Rich leather armchairs, mahogany accents, and a glass humidor that houses some of the world’s most sought-after cigars. There’s also an outdoor terrace — the perfect place to smoke when London’s weather behaves.

That night, my father-in-law and I sat there for hours. We both started with Cuaba Distinguidos, a fine Cuban that burns smooth and even, full of creamy notes with a touch of spice. Later, we moved on to Romeo y Julieta Churchills, which felt appropriate given where we were. The draw was effortless, the aroma rich and inviting.

To complement the cigars, we ordered Macallan 18-year-old — a scotch that’s as elegant as the setting. Its balance of sherry sweetness and oak warmth paired perfectly with the earthy tones of the cigar.

What made that night unforgettable wasn’t just the cigars or the whiskey — it was the connection. My father-in-law and I talked for hours. No rush, no phones, no noise. Just two men, sharing life, faith, and stories across a table full of smoke and laughter.

The staff at The Wellesley made it even better. They knew their cigars inside and out — recommending pairings, adjusting ashtrays before you needed them, refilling glasses with quiet precision. And yes, it’s pricey — my Cuaba cost about £70, and the Macallan was around £16 — but honestly, that’s not the point. You’re not paying for a cigar and a drink. You’re paying for time — time well spent, time remembered.

London has a way of slowing you down in all the right ways. It’s a city that values tradition, but doesn’t suffocate it. Smoking a cigar there feels like stepping back in time, where the pace of conversation and the rhythm of the smoke are perfectly aligned.

Whether you’re walking through Mayfair, sitting by Hyde Park, or tucked inside a warm lounge like The Wellesley, cigars in London are more than indulgence — they’re culture.

If you ever find yourself there, take a few hours for yourself. Order a Cuban, pour something aged and smooth, and let the city speak to you.

Because in a world that moves too fast, a cigar — especially in a place like London — reminds you of the beauty of slowing down.