The late 1960’s was a great time to be an art student. I found steady vacation employment as a labourer for an agricultural contractor maintaining the grounds of an army base in Oxfordshire that was also a ‘Polish Displaced Persons Camp’. The guys there were the remnants of Sikorski’s army, unable to return to Poland after the Communists seized power. The Home Army resistance in Poland continued fighting the occupation into the fifties – the identity of the occupier, German, Russian or puppet Polish regime, being of no importance beside the desire for freedom

These proud Poles didn't bother to learn English (they expected to return one day to a free Poland), worked in the army stores and never became part of British society. Every so often their sorrow for their homeland would become too much and they would go on a 'bender'. I was driving my mower past their Nissen huts on one of these days and was offered a large glass of refreshing orange squash. It was a hot day, so I eagerly drank it down. I woke up in a ditch some time later – the squash had been diluted with vodka instead of water!

Ever since then, I have had an enormous respect for the stubborn guts and bravery of a people who saw one war replaced by another, and who could drink Vodka by the pint! Warsaw is a place to where all those who believe in freedom should make pilgrimage and acknowledge the spirit of this people whose soul and endurance deserve our utmost respect. The monuments to the Warsaw Uprising of 1944, and the resistors of communist dictatorship erected after 1988 move one to tears.

Their spirit is shown in the restoration of the old town. Reputedly a lecturer at the School of Architecture in 1936 had a dream of Warsaw in flames. For three years he had his students recording the buildings of the old town – they must of thought of him as obsessed, but they nevertheless made meticulous records that were hidden throughout the German occupation.

These drawings and surveys have allowed the old town to be faithfully reconstructed, the Poles having sorted through mountains of rubble, and found each brick, pilaster, carving or capstone and related them to the 1936 surveys. Colour is faithful to the originals, and the old town now throbs with life.

Those parts of the city not subject to the survey are not being reconstructed, and a flood of new hotels is filling the need for regeneration. Some buildings are dominant, some are not. Many, like the Intercontinental, try to compete with the Soviet built Palace of Culture. The Westin occupies a prominent but very restricted site, and the designers have made the most of this both visually and in the way the layout has been planned; yet this temple of the Starwood global brand manages to be discreet. Externally the building has a striking glass elevator column, the glazing giving spectacular views as guests ascend to their bedroom floors.

Internally it has the usual western idea of opulence, plenty of marble, glass and lighting, yet has strangely characterless public areas. Partly this is due to the constricted horizontal space that cramps the ground floor layout. Entrances are placed in either side, the one off the main road leading into the bar area through which arriving guests must pass to reach the reception desk. The ‘main’ entrance is in a side street and is to the side of the Reception desk making it slightly disorienting on arrival. There is no dominant visual feature, although the reception desk itself is imposing.

Despite this the large space seems to link a series of disconnected spaces – cramped lounge area, a narrow entrance to the restaurant, the bar which also acts as an entrance and exit route, and also a strong statement in the form of a spiral staircase which links the ground floor to the conference and meeting rooms on the floor above. The impact of the spiral is lost however because against its base nestles a shop and magazine sales area.