Around And About Hanoi

HOTEL METROPOLE, Hanoi

Hanoi street scene 2003, the way it was

      I’ve been to Hanoi on three occasions, and always stayed at the venerable Hotel Metropole,

The first time, thanks to a low-cost United alliance package, followed stopovers in Hong Kong, Bangkok, Singapore and Bali.  For a world traveler I’m not much of an adventurer; my destinations are much influenced by where the mythic hotels are to be found. 

On this first around-the-world trip in 2000, I learned the necessity of juggling some really cheap lodgings with the more costly ones, plus a few guest rooms with friends along the way. 

A city of contrasts ... of cacaphony and elegance and color

  

The off-season summer in Vietnam can be blisteringly hot, and I lucked into a special deal of just over 100 dollars with full breakfast.  The biggest reason for the price was that the trip coincided with the waning days of a major SARS (viral pneumonia) epidemic throughout Asia, and tourists were few and far between.

Traveling alone and paying far less than normal rack rate, I began to fear a kind of discrimination of the poor.  I was afraid of finding myself, if not in a broom closet, perhaps in lesser accommodations than I might hope for.

I decided to reach out to the hotel’s managing director, a Frenchman recently named to the job.  I labored for days on the letter in which I more or less threw myself at his mercy, stating my passion for historic hotels, and making it clear that my means did not match my tastes.   

Explaining that I had long dreamed of staying there before finding  this bargain-price promotion, I pretty much implored him to find it in his heart to put me in one of the nicer rooms in the hotel’s original, historic wing.

Let me be clear, this tactic doesn’t necessarily give any results, but I figure there is nothing to lose, and in this case I was rewarded in spades.  My room was spacious, elegant, and with just the right touch of old-world Asia.  I don’t know that I’ve ever been happier with a hotel, and I let the management know.

First room at the Metropole 2000

It is surprising how rarely clients show their enthusiasm, though positive reaction seems to give a lot more pleasure than you’d imagine.  Those involved in the running of these out of the ordinary, historic hotels are almost always proud and passionate about their properties.  They are usually thrilled to hear that their efforts are appreciated.

 With Brenda in 2008 (above), we were upgraded to club class.  Stil, it just lacked that note of old world authenticity that I had so enjoyed my first time at the Metropole.

* * * * * * * *

Life around the Metropole 1904  (photo Sofitel)

Of  all the world class hotels I have visited, the Metropole has probably seen more ups and downs than any other.  When it opened in the summer of 1901, it was undisputedly the pride and joy of France’s extended colonial empire.

Separate rickshaws for honeymooning Goddard and Chaplin 1936  (photo google archives)

Charlie Chaplin chose it in 1936 to spend part of his honeymoon with third wife Paulette Goddard.   He was purportedly surprised when thousands of local Vietnamese crowded the streets to greet him.  Noel Coward, Somerset Maugham and Graham Greene were among the British literati  spending time at the French hotel in its heyday.

After the French were booted home in 1954, the Metropole began a long slide from its former glory. 

By the time of  the outbreak of what the Vietnamese call “The American War” in 1965, the Metropole was no longer recognizable as a grand hotel, though it still received some foreign journalists, diplomats and peace activists.

Jane (google archives)

Immediately prior to the arrival of Jane Fonda in 1972, soldiers were sent with brooms to run screaming down the long corridors in an attempt to frighten the rats away.  It is said that they were more successful in dislodging the rodents than they were with the bats which continued to soar through the hallways after dark.

Joan (google archives)

Although Fonda is the celebrity best remembered for her two-week visit towards the end of the war, she was not the only one.  Joan Baez also toured the communist capital and gave an impromptu concert, singing for the troops in the hotel’s bunker during U.S. air raids around Christmas of 1972.  The government had constructed an important air-raid shelter in the courtyard, which is still in existence underneath the hotel’s swimming pool.   

Hanoi pagoda 2008, days of the beard  (photo B. Paladini)

 

Click below to view Vietnam photo album

Your input is welcomed:  frank.pleasants@libertysurf.fr

  [Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

A Momentous Long Distance Call

CLARIDGE’S HOTEL, London

Luxurious living at Claridge's,  if only for a day or two ...  

     

      At Claridge’s, the innovative Christopher Cowdray, the London hotel’s general manager between 1998 and 2004, once inaugurated a particularly democratic program whereby every full-time employee spent a night as guest of the hotel.

Michael, one of the French waiters at the time, was among the first to avail himself of the opportunity, and he and his wife were thrilled with their stay.  They were given a beautiful suite with flowers and champagne.  He told me it had completely transformed his concept of life at Claridge’s.

Christopher Cowdray  (Google archives)

I never actually met Mr. Cowdray, though I have long followed his career with interest, and once I did have a thrilling long distance conversation with him.

I had spent a weekend in London with my friend Marguerite in 1998.  We had profited from one of those unbeatable suite-weekend packages.  It was a period of recession and it was the kind of deal you just don’t find any longer.

Marguerite in apartment 115

  We had a great time, and the suite was spacious and gorgeous.  Then towards the end of our stay we had a couple of oddly incongruous mishaps. 

Exceptional room details

Marguerite had a loose button on her jacket, and we called Housekeeping to request a needle and thread.  We were pretty dumbfounded when told that neither were available.  Coming from a hotel that prided itself on opening up amusement parks at two in the morning for middle eastern royalty, the impossibility of finding so much as a needle and thread was disconcerting.

On our last morning, arriving back from a trip to the flea market, we discovered three men in overalls with their hammers and various power tools spread out over the bedroom floor.  They had removed one of the doors and were in the process of transforming our suite into a larger apartment for the next guests.   Someone had prematurely decided we had already vacated the premises.  

We decided to write to the management, and I set out our grievances with a maximum of humor, emphasizing that it was only my affection for Claridge’s that prodded me to share this less than perfect experience.

Whenever I write, and for whatever reason, I always aim for the top man on the totem pole, though never sure he’ll actually see my missive.  I sent the letter on a Monday to the very top, Christopher Cowdray.

When the telephone rang early Wednesday morning, the excitement was almost too much for me to bear.  It was the managing director, himself.

After profusely thanking me for my letter, he said (and I'll never forget his choice of words) he was “absolutely devastated” to learn of my recent trials and tribulations.

Had Louis B. Mayer been on the other end of the line, entreating me to sign a seven-year Hollywood contract, I wouldn’t have been more excited.  Mr. Cowdray invited me to contact him directly for all future bookings, and he further proposed a highly advantageous promotion if I’d give them another try.  

I felt a little guilty, as I had had a splendid time already, even without locating a needle and thread.  At any rate, my next visit was impeccable, and the suite had its fair share of flowers and fruits and little notes from various managers welcoming me back. 

It was several years afterwards that Mr. Cowdray’s rather brilliant career took him elsewhere, and I must say Claridge’s has never seemed quite as tip-top since.

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


  [Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

Christopher Cowdray is also featured in:  blog No. 39, "Living It Up On Park Lane!" May 31, 2013 (to access, click on above title).

INTERMEZZO, Between Hotels in the 1970s

Money, money, money .... but not much for me!

      People have sometimes been skeptical of my claim to modest means, and it is certain that I have, on occasion, chosen some rather costly places to spend the night.    Many would call it living above one’s means, and that may be true.  I think of it more as living frugally when necessary in order to live it up when the right opportunity presents itself.

Among my many vices as a young man was a rather common illness that manifested itself basically in a total inability to handle money.  Until I was thirty, my finances were just about always in a catastrophic state. 

French banks were terrible for my malady, because for whatever peculiar reason, they tended to allow great overdrafts without getting too concerned.  In my case, just as I was entering my fourth decade, my overdraft exceeded my salary.  That meant in essence that I was already stone broke the day my salary was deposited.  It went on for a long time, and as I had never really known any other way of dealing with money, I never expected to get myself out of this permanent financial rut.

But I did.  In fact, I had what might be the equivalent of a born-again experience.  Someone gave me some life-changing advice, and for once I listened.  I can’t remember for sure, but it must have been my bank manager, in which case I owe him an immense debt of gratitude

First, I was told to write down meticulously everything I spent during the month, not to leave a single penny unaccounted for.  I did this, and was astounded to suddenly realize how much money I was spending on magazines that I wasn’t reading, taxis far slower than public transport, not to mention cigarettes and various and sundry extravagances, none of which were giving me the slightest pleasure. 

Then came the clinker, my spiritual awakening:  if I could ever figure out a way to pay off my debts, I could conceivably count on the money I was squandering on rubbish to spend in the future on all sorts of wonderful things that I had heretofore been unable to afford.

I am simplifying a little, but once I reimbursed --little by little-- my wonderfully patient bank manager, I started thinking about what would really give me pleasure, and  I have never looked back, and have never actually been completely broke again.

It didn’t hurt that this coincided with a reasonably good office job at UNESCO.  By now I had stopped drinking, and that certainly didn’t hurt financially either.  


I remember when I quit smoking in 1978 (during my first trip to Taormina), I started a piggy bank in which I religiously deposited my “cigarette money” every day, with the enthusiastic resolution to spend it at some future point on something much more pleasurable.

When I started the art business in 1979 as a possibly money-making hobby to offset a less than stimulating clerical job, I made myself a promise that if ever there were any profits, I would only use them for the kind of luxuries I could otherwise not afford.  And that is what I’ve always done.  These once-unaffordable pleasures more often than not turned into hotels and restaurants.

So if you’d like to buy a charming, inexpensive watercolor from another era, just let me know ... and be assured that the proceeds will most likely find their way into the coffers of some grand hotel.  Or perhaps another lunch at the Ritz when it ever reopens.    

Mid-Seventies me (photo Martin Woods)

Your input is welcomed:  frank.pleasants@libertysurf.fr

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]