45 - An End of the Season Au Revoir

 

SUMMING UP! 

Plaza Athenée lobby 2013 (photo Martin Woods)

I reminisced last week about that long ago Christmas at the Plaza Athenée.  It was not one of my great hotel experiences.  But.  Every cloud is said to have its silver lining, and this one had a really big bonus, as I made an extraordinary realization about my life and myself that day.  

On Christmas Eve I had checked in before noon, and had lunch in the hotel’s main dining room.  There were very few diners, as everyone was undoubtedly saving up for the big evening meal.  Two friends stopped by for a drink in my room early in the evening before they joined their families for  dinner.

Then late that night I ordered a club sandwich to my room and watched a French documentary about some ordinary people who had won the national lottery.

That started a long chain of reflection, mainly concerned with what wonderful life-changing things I might do if only I, too, could win the lottery.

 First, I decided I would resign from my bureaucratic job at UNESCO.  But to do what?  Not quite sure.  I thought, wow, I could go on to even finer hotels and grander restaurants.  Then:  buy a much bigger apartment, perhaps a country home in Normandy like some of my friends, travel all over the world ... 

But the more I reflected, the more I realized that other than the definite pleasure it might have given me to leave my job, most of  the other things were pretty much already part of my life.

I had no need for grander hotels, because I had already discovered (albeit on a somewhat restrained scale), many of the world’s finest.  Ditto for the restaurants.  After all, where else can you improve on food after Paris.  The fact that I have always needed to budget and make little sacrifices to live this life of mine is what has made it so appreciable.
 

The do-it-yoursaelf stairway

  My apartment?  Certainly a bigger one, but I had already been so fortunate to find the one I had, and I wouldn't have dreamed of leaving my wonderful neighborhood at the foot of Montmartre, just a short walk from the old Paris Opera House.  

  I would have been happy enough to add a room or two, but hardly goals that required winning the lottery, as the future would confirm when I one day had the supreme good fortune to acquire and incorporate what was once the building's stables, thus transforming my apartment into a more roomy duplex with a charming (however creaky) spiral staircase.

 

The apartment's ground floor addition with view of "our" courtyard garden

 As for the country house, well, I've never much cared for the country.  Mowing the lawn and all the inherent decisions involved in maintaining secondary residences hold little or no appeal.

 A snazzy vintage sports car might have seemed a fun thing to spend some of my lottery winnings on, but then I have never owned an automobile since I sold my old Chevy for 50-dollars in 1966, so can’t imagine why I’d suddenly want to change that.  Besides, it’s the last thing you need living in Paris, where public transportation is about as good as it gets, and parking an absolute nightmare.

Of course I never won the lottery, never bought a lottery ticket for that matter.  So there was no question of leaving my job at UNESCO, at least not until I had been there for 25 years.  Long before the possibility of an early retirement, I had reconciled myself with the need to keep going to work like everyone else and pulling in that salary. 

At the same time, I had my art business on the side, and though it never gave me a serious income, it did give me the sense of a more creative identity and also from time to time a financial bonus which allowed me to sample some of the luxuries in life I wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise. 


Marguerite socializing at one of my Spring art shows 1992

I understand all this now, but the wonderful thing is that I realized it then.  It was a moment that I have never forgotten, that Christmas of 1989 at the Plaza Athenée when I realized in a kind of euphoric epiphany that winning the lottery wouldn’t have significantly changed anything at all.  Because I already had pretty much the life I had always dreamed of.  

Back to 2013. I no longer give much thought to the lottery, as I know that’s not going to happen.  Today I am more inclined to dream about things I’ve already done, there have been so many!  Then, particularly prodded by the inexhaustible energy of Brenda and her constant need to travel, I also dream of the things I might still do.

Some of them I can’t so much afford any longer.  Whether or not I’ll get around to another voyage around the world or a trip to Myanmar or down to South America remains to be seen.  

It may reveal a lack of imagination, but for the moment I dream of returning to some of the finer places I knew in the early days, when I first started this life of hotel hopping.

Most of the hotels of my fondest memories have become less accessible today, but who knows.  It looks like another trip to the recently renovated Gritti Palace in Venice just might be in the cards in the Autumn.   I haven’t been back to Sicily to The Timeo --my first really exquisite hotel experience-- in over 30 years.  It has been taken over in recent years by the luxury group Orient Express; prices are a little daunting, and I fear it might not hold up to my memories.  But there again, who knows? At the least, I may just have to make do with lunch at the Paris Ritz whenever it decides to re-open, hopefully sometime in 2014.

Another of my dreams is to continue this blog in one form or another, but for the moment I have exhausted my supply of hotel musings.  So I’ll take a summer break, and come back soon.

This seems like an appropriate time to thank everyone who has supported these musings until now.  I have been really thrilled with the response and the fact that comments have regularly come in from literally the four corners of the globe.  Some supporters are part of my present day life; some are friends from lives in the past; and others, readers who have simply emerged from the invisible cyber world which still seems totally futuristic to me.

A special and heartfelt thank-you to Brenda and Dickie, who have been remarkable editors, giving me pertinent advice every week, encouraging me to rethink a word, a sentence, occasionally a whole posting.  Always with a beneficial result, despite my sometimes tendency to resist.  

Brenda and Dickie at l'Hotel, Paris 2013

This will just be an au-revoir.  Don’t hesitate to scroll back to any of the 45 musings you may have missed, they won’t be  going anywhere, probably not for many years.  Thanks again for reading so far, and hope to see you back after the vacations.

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

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

The Plaza Athenée was also featured in blog No. 44, "The Best and the Worst " July 5, 2013;   No. 33, "Breakfasts in the 1970's" April 19, 2012; and No. 13 "Those Silver-Spooned Children" Nov. 23, 2012(to access, click on above titles).

44 - The Best and the Worst

 

RAFFLES, THE GRITTI, THE CARLYLE AND THE PLAZA ATHENEE

Evening on the terrace of The Gritti's Club del Doge (hotel photo)

Back in January I said I’d save my all-time best and worst hotel experiences for later.  As this blog's first season soon comes to a close, it seems a fitting time to look back at my personal F.P.H.M. awards*.

I’ll start with the most disappointing:  The Carlyle in New York City sometime in the early 1990’s.   

As a teenager, I had read and associated the Carlyle with the Kennedy “Camelot Years.”  It was generally conceded to have been the New York branch of the White House, and in addition to being home away from home to the various Kennedy  families, it was also rumored  to be the discreet place of rendez-vous for John and Bobby with various mistresses.

My room at the Carlyle 1993

I think to be perfectly fair, my expectations were too high and my means too low.  I had profited from a particularly attractive weekend special, far less expensive than usual, and once there, I really felt like the poor relation.  

 My room had everything it was supposed to, but was small, cramped and somehow lacking in the kind of glow you expect from a great hotel. It had two large windows, but with a view of a brick wall.

When checking out, I left two postcards with the concierge.  A couple of weeks later, back in Paris, I received a form letter saying I had forgotten to settle my account for two stamps, and that the amount had been deducted from my credit card.

It was like making a statement that return business was not something that especially appealed to them!

* * * * * * * *

 Number 2 least satisfying memory:   It was on a fluke that I decided to spend the night at a hotel in my own city.  I spent Christmas Eve 1989 alone at the Plaza Athenée, admittedly an eccentric choice for someone living just a mile or so away.

My room at the Plaza 1989

I don’t remember how I found out, as it was well before the internet, but I had come across a super discount which only applied on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. 

The hotel was pretty close to empty, but that didn’t help me to get a nicer room.  Mine was certainly among their least glamorous, despite a grand chandelier.  The bed was huge, but the chairs were lumpy, and my 24 hour stay was just barely acceptable.

There may have been some sort of personnel problem, as the few employees still on duty around the reception area seemed kind of discontented, even sullen when I arrived. 

 Checking out shortly after noon on Christmas Day, I can see myself now with my little overnight duffle bag, walking through the lobby, not succeeding in making eye contact with anyone.  Out the revolving doors without so much as a goodbye.  No one at any of the reception stations bothered to look up as I departed, let alone wish me a Merry Christmas!

Just so I don’t over-dramatize these two booby prize hotel memories, I have to admit that I continue today to sometimes frequent both establishments, though certainly have not been back to spend the night.    

Over the years I have continued to pass through the Carlyle’s magnificent black marble lobby from time to time.  It remains one of the great hotel entrances.  Brenda and I spent a wonderful evening two years ago, seated at the bar (the only financially justifiable way to afford this very expensive supper club) of the Café Carlyle for Debbie Reynolds’ show, and last year we returned for an evening with Woody Allen and his Dixieland Band.

The same applies for the Plaza Athenée, where we sometimes enjoy Sunday lunch in their Relais Plaza grill room.

So I had a bad experience or two once upon a time.  Life goes on, it is all fodder for my unusual  hobby, and I am too much a hotel fanatic to hold unnecessary grudges.    

* * * * * * * * 

Now for the best:

It goes without saying, this is all totally subjective.  Big drum rolls ....

 

Raffles, Singapore 2000

My first stay at the mythical Raffles in Singapore ranks high.  I hadn’t realized that the hotel only had apartments, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I walked into mine and discovered three exquisite rooms with a beautiful private patio. 

Upon arrival, I discovered a magnificent arrangement of exotic fruit.  Every day thereafter, regardless of how much or how little I had consumed, the fruit bowl was replaced with a new display of fresh and colourful  goodies. 

First bedroom at Raffles

Once settled in, I noticed that I was next door to one of the more prized apartments, the Ava Gardner Suite, where the North Carolina native had once had a prolonged stay while filming “Bhowani Junction” in the mid-1950’s. 

Raffles houseboys

As human nature often sees to it that we are never quite satisfied with what we are given, I began to regret not having found myself in the A.G. Suite, even though it was the last thing I needed or could have afforded.

  Be that as it may, I noticed the door ajar the next morning.  The houseboys were changing the bed linens, and I jumped at the chance to peek inside.  As nice as it was, it gave me a renewed appreciation for my own Raffles quarters, because, other than the shape of a couple of chairs and the color of some of the fabrics, our suites appeared to be identical.  Except for a few hundred dollars in price!

Raffles rooftop pool

* * * * * * * *

 My first trip to the Gritti Palace in Venice ties with Raffles for all-time top hotel memory.  Par for the course, I had found a really inexpensive off-season (it was mid-December) special.   

The first morning when I went down to the elegant Club del Doge restaurant, I was somewhat taken aback by the prices on the breakfast menu.  I knew that mine was ostensibly included, but as there was no buffet, and as I had no possibility of going a penny over my all-inclusive budget, I realized I’d have to  ascertain exactly what might and might not be incuded in my forfeit.  

The Gritti Palace today, like entering another world

I finally summoned the courage to question the restaurant manager, as to what I was actually allowed.   Giancarlo was an imposing figure, and I didn’t want to appear unnecessarily gauche.

  He seemed to know precisely who I was and what were the conditions of my hotel package.  “Whatever pleases you,” he said.  “Feel free to order anything on the menu, and have no fear, it is included in the price of your room."  

Giancarlo on the Club del Doge Terrace 1994

 On later trips I got to know Giancarlo better, and realized he didn’t see himself as imposing at all.  I once took a photo of him outside the terrace restaurant, and he sent me a touching note after I returned to Paris.

Whereas I saw him as the epitome of sophistication and imagined him growing up in the refined environment of Venice, he told me he was born in a tiny country village in southern Sicily where his old mother still lived.  He said she had hardly ever been to mainland Italy and then only to the Campania region around Naples.

He explained that his mother had never had a very clear idea of his life away from Sicily.  When he sent her the photo I had taken he was already nearing retirement age, and she told him that for the very first time she was able to understand the elegance of  his life, working in a palace like the Gritti.

View from room 215 at The Gritti, my first and best room with a view

 *Frank Pleasants' Hotel Musings awards.

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

Next Friday:  "End of the Season Au Revoir"

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

Raffles and The Gritti were also featured in blog No. 31, "Fire, Water, and a Bloody Fall " April 5, 2013;  the Gritti in No. 17, "Celebrating the Holidays Away from Home" Dec. 21, 2012; No. 10, "Danny the Night Concierge," Nov. 11, 2012 and No. 23, "Mrs. X at The Gritti" Feb. 8, 2013.  The Plaza Athenée and The Gritti were featured in No. 13 "Those Silver-Spooned Children" Nov. 23, 2012 (to access, click on above titles).