CLARIDGES, THE GRITTI and RAFFLES
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| Claridge's grand stairway seen from the main lobby (photo by Luxist) |
Sometimes unrehearsed hotel dramas can be something of a treat. At least they can leave a more special memory than expected.
On my first ever night at Claridge’s in London I was awakened from a deep sleep at 3 a.m. by ear-shattering sirens. It was the hotel’s major fire alarm. I put on a robe, and made my way towards the hotel's grandiose stairway.
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| Seen from Brook Street (Photo by Vogue) |
I was suddenly surrounded by a glamorous array of characters straight out of Tattler’s party pages. My memory may exaggerate a tad, but I remember all the ladies being clad in the most stunning night attire I had ever seen.
No one seemed vaguely worried. Despite the hour, we all greeted the announcement of a false alarm with good cheer and much camaraderie. It turned out there had been a monthly practice drill the previous afternoon, and someone had forgotten to deprogram the alarm.
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| High tide flooding in St. Mark's Square (Guardian photo) |
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| Gianni in a calmer moment |
Coming down in the afternoon, I was met with knee-deep water on the ground floor and an agitated concierge, dressed in what looked like fishing boots over his morning suit: “Back. Back to your room,” he ordered. “You’ll be better there.”
Gianni, who was usually the essence of gentleness, had gone into his take-charge mode. Barking out orders, he left no room for negotiations. I really wanted to examine the flooding, but didn't dare disobey, and I returned docilely to my room.
It was a memorable environment for a first introduction to Venice's unique "aqua alta," the city's autumnal high tide phenomenon.
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| Raffles, summer of 2006 |
My most dramatic hotel incident occurred during a stay at the mythical Raffles, creator of the Singapore Sling, and once home-away-from-home to Rudyard Kipling and Somerset Maugham. On my first evening, returning from a nearby movie house, I inexplicably took a nasty, headfirst fall onto the sidewalk.
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| Raffles doorman who escorted me into the emergency room |
Seriously bruised and bloodied, glasses smashed and trousers torn, aided by passersby, I stumbled back to Raffles in a decidedly inelegant state. Worse still, without my glasses, I was nearly blind.
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| Tom Toh in the presidential suite |
Over the next days I recuperated from what turned out to be only superficial injuries, supremely pampered by a staff attending to my every need. If I had to fall, I couldn’t have done it in a better place. I truly felt like the hotel’s most important guest.
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| Self-portrait, Singapore 2006 |
Your input is welcomed: hotel-musings@hotmail.fr
Next Friday: "Margaret at Le Cirque"
[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]
CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings
Claridge's was also featured in blog No. 16, "A Momentous Long-distance Telephone Call" ; the Gritti in No. 17, "Celebrating the Holidays Away from Home", No. 10, "Danny the Night Concierge," and "Looking Back At Venice ... and Paul Newman"
(to access, click on above titles).
8 comments:
As always, a great way to start the morning albeit the photo of your injuries. I do give you credit for sharing a most unflattering image.
I enjoy your memories and especially the way you relate them.
Dickie
That's quite a shiner in the self portrait!
Travel with a little drama on the side? = Priceless (memories)!
The only time I ever stayed at Claridges was one of my toughest
times abroad. We had been in Paris the night before and had dinner
with a small group of business folks, Americans and Brits and had stayed late and loud. We also kept ordering water with the wine (asking for bottled water, unopened. The waiter brought
endless bottles of both. Frank and I were going to London the next day and had never done the crossing by boat, which we
decided to do. We got on the "ferry" the next am and immediately found ourselves sick as dogs. We spent the whole trip in the bathrooms on board, it was an unusually rough crossing,
and when we got to England we were both a total mess. Somehow we got
to London in our filthy clothes and got a cab to Claridges where we had reservations. All we could do at that point was shuffle to our room, heads down, trying not to be seen. We showered, crawled into bed, and slept long and hard, never having dinner which we couldn't have swallowed anyway. We left the next day after breakfast and later learned all our dinner party in Paris, who had scattered all over Europe by then, had also been struck down by the same illness.
So my memories of Claridges are sketchy to say the least.
Thanks for sharing, Jane, though it sounds pretty awful. I think it must share first place for "hotel drama" with my time at Raffles!
This week’s memories are so different from the rather sad and poignant recollections of your brother last week. Dramatic memories linked to great hotels. My elderly dressing gown would have died of shame if confronted by the glamour of Claridge’s clientele - perhaps a hotel of the calibre of Claridge’s would have supplied monogramed robes?
Thank you for sharing the "drama".
Perhaps a point in the Claridges memory is that the clientele wouldn't have wanted, needed, or used monogrammed robes.
NYC
The picture of Raffles Hotel made me very nostalgic. We lived in Singapore for four years and visits to the Raffles were frequent. Their Sunday curry tiffins were legendary.
I can understand you getting the VIP treatment after your accident. The staff were known for their courtesy and had the ability to always make you feel you were something special!
Most of us would shy away from having our picture published with a black eye and bruising – well done for proving your story!
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