17 - Celebrating the holidays away from home

Christmas at The Negresco, La Cote St. Jacques, The Gritti Palace and The Millennium

   

Christmas rush at Union Station (1944) by Norman Rockwell

      Christmas used to be a time I liked to travel.  I never thought I minded being alone, but during the holidays, I often found it more satisfying and certainly more dramatic to be alone in a hotel.

     I stayed four days over Christmas in 1982 at the Negresco in Nice, never suspecting that I would one day be back so regularly, as Brenda and I now enjoy a rental apartment there (in Nice, not in the Negresco) as often as possible. 

The Negresco, Nice

     I chose Nice and the Negresco on that first visit because of its Chantecler restaurant.  I was then just beginning to get passionate about food, and the Negresco had one of the finest, most creative chefs of the day, Jacques Maximin.   I also chose it because of a particularly appealing Christmas promotion.

 Negresco mezzanine

     When I arrived around eight in the morning, the hotel manager who showed me to my room asked if my trip on the overnight train had been a pleasant one.  At the time, I couldn’t imagine how he knew I had taken the night train from Paris.  In retrospect, I realize that he would have been acquainted with train schedules, and no one else would have conceivably been checking in at such an early hour of the morning.

A faded self portrait from Christmas 1982

     My room, which was decorated with a lot of burgundy and French empire furniture, was quite splendid.  I regret terribly not having a better picture, because I recall it being so exceptional with a big bear skin rug by the side of my bateau bed.  Memory may exaggerate, but the fact remains that I was very happy with both the hotel and Nice.

That first trip to Nice (photo R. Franklin)

 I had an artist friend who had recently moved to the South of France, and I spent some time with her during that trip.  We lunched in the old town one day, and took in a traditional orchestral concert on Christmas morning at the Nice Opera House.  

Renée leaned politically far to the left, and invitations to tea or dinner at my elegant hotel were always rejected.  We saw each other every day, always with pleasure, but she steadfastly refused to put a foot into what she saw as my bourgeois den of excess!

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      I spent at least two Christmases in Burgundy at La Côte St Jacques, a charming country inn with one of France’s finest restaurants.  I first chose it because it was an easy two hour train ride from Paris.

 La Côte St Jacques 1991 (photo K. Horgan)

     One year, I was already on my way when the trains were grounded by last-minute strikes.  It was the day before Christmas Eve, if you can believe it, and I refused to give up. 

     Highly motivated not to have my yuletide plans stymied,  I found myself at the regional bus station.  (Contrary to travel in the U.S., the French train system is generally so superb that long distance buses had already pretty well gone the way of the steamboat.)  Because of the train strikes, a supplementary south-bound bus was about to leave. 
  
     I didn’t have time for reflection, and boarded what seemed an outmoded means of transport without knowing precisely where it was headed.  I knew that it would be going fairly close to my destination, and was prepared to hitchhike the last miles if absolutely unavoidable.

     As luck would have it, a very kind bus driver made a detour of quite a few miles, and in an extraordinary gesture of holiday goodwill, deposited me smack in front of my hotel.  I seem to remember other passengers applauding when we arrived, but I now wonder if that is not one of those false memories, enhanced by time.

Michel Lorain in his Joigny kitchen circa 1988

     Monsieur Lorain, the owner-chef, came running out to address the “problem” (he may have thought the vehicle had broken down in front of his property), and couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw me alight from the rickety autocar.  That evening he made a point of introducing me to any number of guests as the only client ever to be delivered by the milktrain-bus to the Côte St Jacques' front door!

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Christmas pantomine at the Gritti

      One year at the Gritti in Venice I was to return to Paris on Christmas Day.  Surprised and appalled to learn at the last minute that the vaporetto (public transport boat) had completely closed down for the holiday, I found myself in desperate need of a taxi-boat to get me to the train station.

Barman at the Gritti

     No matter how grand the hotel, I would never normally dream of taking a taxi in Venice.  Those sleek wood-paneled speedboats that call themselves taxis are really reserved for the rich, whereas the equally efficient public transport boats are inexpensive.

     With little time to make my train, and not having counted on this unforeseen expense, I was well short of the cash needed for a taxi ride.  It was still in the days when cash dispensers were infrequent and unreliable in Italy … and even more so on the 25^th of December. 

     The young assistant concierge who was filling in on Xmas Day very graciously proposed finding a taxi and trying to negotiate a special price to accommodate my reduced means, which he succeeded in doing.  I don't know what I would have done without him, and I hate to admit I cannot even remember his name today.

Good Samaritan whose name I have since forgotten

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      I met George and Angelia for Christmas 2003 in London at the Millennium Hotel on Grovesnor Square.  Just two years after September 11, I remember the U.S. Embassy, which was next door to our hotel, looked like it was in the middle of a war zone, completely bunkered in with protective scaffolding and hundreds of sandbags.  In addition, there were plenty of armed soldiers –even on Christmas Day-- ready to keep unauthorized visitors away.

The Millenium Mayfair Hotel on Grosvenor Square

     George is an old childhood friend from Aberdeen, and I have taken several trips with him and Angelia.  Although they arrived from Boston, I think they were on their way somewhere else, so we probably only spent three or four days together.

Angelia in hotel coffee shop

     The hotel was fine, fairly empty, relatively inexpensive, and as my memory serves me, unmemorable.  I had completely forgotten --despite having lived in London years earlier-- how thoroughly everything shuts down over the holidays.  We had enormous difficulties locating anywhere open to eat, whether on the 25th or on Boxing Day, the 26^th.   Discovering even the hotel's coffee shop closed, we finally settled on a nondescript little pub for Christmas dinner.

      My fondest memory of that trip (and of any Christmas, for that matter) was a fine production of Cole Porter’s Anything Goes at the Drury Lane on Christmas Eve.  It was really a moving moment when the cast and orchestra stayed after the last curtain calls, sitting around the edge of the stage singing carols with the audience.

With Dickie (left) and Mickie, circa 1953

-o-

Photo Album --some Christmas cheer from a few grand hotels
(hotels are Parisian unless otherwise indicated)

Outside the Mandarin Oriental

Le Crillon 2011 (closed for major renovations)

The Shangri-la (above and below)

The Lutetia

The Ritz 2011,  inside (above) and outside (below)

Plaza Athenée (above and below)

The St. Regis, New York City a few years ago ...

 

The George V Four Seasons(above) and in the rain (below)

The Meurice

The Biltmore Millenium, Los Angeles 2011

 

A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!! 

Your input is welcomed:  hotel-musings@hotmail.fr

Next Friday:  "The Long Wait .... The Ritz, Madrid"

  [Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]