63 - Looking back at Venice ... and Paul Newman

 

Newman circa 1975 (Spokeo photo)

     By the advent of my thirties, I had resided and traveled in several countries on both sides of the Atlantic; I was beginning to speak a semblance of fluent French, and had acquired an interest and a certain experience in art and theatre.  YET,  in many areas I remained extraordinarily green.   In some ways I was like the most Ozarkian hillbilly, just slightly camouflaged behind a more urbane mask.

I remember on my first trip to Venice, I was traveling alone, and had reserved my hotel through a travel agency.   It was a small, unexceptional hotel among thousands.  Though I have long since forgotten its name, I did at least know that much when I arrived at St. Mark's Square.  I knew the hotel was in the neighborhood, but hadn't the minimal savvy to even note its complete address.  

 

Pigeons on St Mark's Square 1976

  To be fair with myself, I had understood the address to be "St. Mark's."   However, I had only the name of the hotel, but no street number.   I didn't understand that St Mark's denoted a whole, vast neighborhood, far larger than all of Aberdeen, and not a precise street.
 

As I had a horror of being taken for a tourist (as if I would have ever been taken for anything other in a city of which there is little else), I didn't carry a map.   So with  neither the full address nor a street map, I proceeded --suitcase in hand-- to spend the next hour or more meandering around, in and out of every little side street off the mind-bogglingly enormous Piazza San Marco. 
  

If my memory is to be relied upon,  I think at some point when I was just about to drop from exhaustion and/or divulge my true identity as a TOURIST by asking help in English, I suddenly saw my hotel in the distance.  The only really crazy part of this story is that at the time I don't think I found anything particularly peculiar in my behavior.  It is today that I look back on it in dismay, and am grateful that I somehow, gradually got my act together a bit better in the decades that followed.

Paris 1976, Gare de Lyon.  Ready to embark

 on the Simplon Express for a first trip to Venice

While dragging my suitcase through the narrow streets around Venice's major piazza, I made an unexpected sighting: the actor Paul Newman.  He was strolling around Saint Mark's with a young woman who I later learned was his daughter.  

I did NOT ask Paul Newman if he knew where my hotel might be located.  I didn't ask him anything, though I certainly could have, as the international superstar was nonchalantly wandering about, anonymously, totally unimpeded by any sign of fan recognition.   That is, no one except me seemed to be paying him the slightest attention.  

The world of movie stars is a volatile one,  however.  After I checked into my  hotel, and went back out into the neighborhood to look around, I again spotted P.N.   This time, everything had dramatically changed.  In the span of about a half hour, he was now surrounded by a really enormous crowd.  Virtually unable to take a step, it was only thanks to a hefty contingent of local carabinieri  that he was separated from the growing mob, and escorted back to his hotel.

For the record, his hotel was the Gritti.    I had never heard of it then, and for a number of years afterwards I always associated The Gritti with Paul Newman.

* * * * *

Ever since the Paul Newman connection, I dreamed of one day staying at the Gritti, myself.  And of course I did.  It was not too many years later, I found a special off-season rate for a back room and took it for just one night before catching a train for Rome.  It was the time the hotel was flooded (see musing No. 31 "Fire, Water, and a Bloody Fall"), but that was only one of the inconveniences from that trip.  There was also a 24-hour transportation strike, and the following day all trains out of Venice were cancelled.  

I had no choice but to stay another night, and unfortunately an additional 24 hours at The Gritti --promotional special or not-- was financially out of the question.  So I had to move myself down the street to one of the city's  more modest and least expensive hotels, The Do Possi.  I don't know how it is now, but at the time the only thing to recommend it was the price.  It was a depressing comedown after my night at the Gritti.   

 I learned one thing that trip:  when you have to go from one extreme to the other, it's a lot better to do it the other way around!   

October 2013, on the Academia bridge ... 35 years later (photo Brenda P.)

That's all folks ... It's the end of the season

Another season of hotel musings now comes to an end.  I hope there will be other musings in the future, but for the moment I'm not quite sure.   I'll take a  break, and in the Autumn I'll see where my creative juices lead me.  

In the meantime, many thanks to all who have followed my posts these last two years.  Some of my old friends and a few new ones met out there in cyberland have been particularly loyal and supportive.   It's been a rewarding and sometimes cathartic experience.   I hope this will just be an au revoir!

 

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

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

The Gritti Palace was also featured in blog No. 10 "Danny, the Night Porter", No. 17 "Celebrating the Holidays Away From Home",  No. 23 "Mrs. X at The Gritti", No. 31 "Fire, Water and a Bloody Fall", and No. 48 "Back to Venice ..." (to access, click on titles).

54 - Seventy-one Years at The Saturnia

THE SATURNIA e INTERNAZIONALE, Venice

Veteran Venetian hotelier Ugo Serandrei with blogger (photo Andrea Scarpa)

     Ugo Serandrei was born at The Saturnia Hotel (room 20, to be exact) 71 years ago.   He has been there ever since.

Probably no city in the world is quite so choc full of hotels as Venice, and the Saturnia is one of the special ones.   Ugo's grandparents, fresh from their native Hungary, bought the hotel --at the time all eight rooms of it-- in 1909, and it is one of the rare Venetian hostelries to remain in the same family for over a century.   It has been transformed and enlarged over the years, now boasting 89 rooms.

« I never thought of doing anything else," Serandrei said recently.   « I have always worked here.  Starting when I was about 13 years old, in the most menial of jobs, I worked with my brother in the kitchen.  I was the one who took the orders from the waiters and relayed them to the cook. It was a start.”

View from the Saturnia's rooftop sun deck 

The Saturnia was one of the first hotels I discovered in the 1970's when I started coming regularly to the City of Doges.  I stayed there several times with Ann in the early days, later with others. 

Originally converted from what remained of a 14^th Century palace, it is located on one of the city's most elegant shopping streets leading off of Saint Marc's Square.  Sitting just behind La Fenice opera house, it has its own little canal for taxi and gondola deposits.

When Brenda and I planned our trip last October, we decided to stay at more than one hotel.  The Gritti was already on our calendar, and I opted for The Saturnia the first few days, for old times sake (see "Back to Venice and The Gritti").   I have always had pleasant memories here, and this last visit was no exception.

Our very spacious room 204

 

* * * * * * * * 

Ugo Serandrei is the opposite of an absentee landlord.  He is omnipresent, usually at his familiar desk, able to see and be seen by all the arriving and departing guests.  After over 50 years of running this Venetian landmark, he still comes to work seven days a week well before most of his clients have had their breakfast, and he is often still there when they come down for dinner in the evening.

“I spend many, many hours behind my desk here,” he said. “and I love it. I love it just as much today as when I started 50 years ago.”

 Three of Serandrei's children assist him (above), each sibling in charge of a different part of the hotel. 
 From left to right:  Gianni, next to his father, Kim and Greta-Zoe.   

As with the majority of properties in Venice, costs of maintaining even just the status quo --the non-stop job of protecting and preserving from the elements-- tend to be astronomical; and sometimes in a city where the price of real estate reaches unimaginable heights, the lure of an international chain might be hard to resist. I asked Serandrei if he ever thought of selling.

“Never!” he said, almost angry at the thought of such an unappealing idea.

“Many, many hotels in Venice have been sold little by little over the years to large companies. I have seen so many leave the hands of the original family.   It saddens me that they are all gone, all sold," he said.

“Of the important hotels, we are one of only two remaining family owned.  But we remain.  And as long as I am alive the Saturnia will never leave the family."

Andrea,  Lifting the Level ...

Andrea, The Saturnia's prize concierge

  

     Andrea Scarpa, the head concierge for the last 15 years, is possibly The Saturnia's most valuable asset.   He is one of those exceptional concierges who by virtue of his passion and talent for the metier, lifts the level of the hotel a notch or two.

«  He is very, very special, a wonderful concierge.  Ask him any question, he knows everything ! » said Serandrei.

A little like his boss, he likes to say he started at the bottom, though he calls it "the bottom of the top,” washing dishes at the Lido's premiere luxury hotel when he was 17 years old.

From there he climbed just about all the echelons in the hotel world –barman, waiter, night porter, accountant, finally concierge.

After reaching what seemed to be the pinnacle of his career, an important  boutique hotel offered him the plum job of managing director.   No sooner had he started preparing for this new executive job than he realized he had no desire to continue.  He soon left to return to his real love, that of concierge.

  “Management is quite particular.   It just isn't what attracts me in the hotel world.   I like to meet people, different people every day from all over the world.  I enjoy greeting Mister Pleasants and kissing the beautiful lady,” he said with a wink towards Brenda.

“It is the opposite of working in an office.   You have to speak all the languages (In addition to fluent French, Spanish and English, Andrea acquits himself impressively in Japanese as well).   And you must be able to do three things at once,” he explained, as he effortlessly answered the telephone, while simultaneously signalling for a bellboy and  collecting another guest's keys. 

“What I often ask myself is 'Why is Andrea still with the Saturnia when he could find higher paying positions with some of the finest hotels in the world,'” said owner Serandrei. “I just count my blessings that he chooses to remain with us.” 

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

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

  

48 - Back to Venice and The Gritti!

THE GRITTI PALACE, Venice 

A super-luxurious room 210 of the Punta della Dogana suite with its original 16th Century floor and ceiling

 

     After all these years, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see Venice or The Gritti again.

Closed since 2011, this grandest of all Venetian hotels (though the word "hotel" is no longer officially used, it is just “Gritti Palace”) reopened last February after a 35-million dollar facelift.

The result is nothing short of stupendous, as the 16^th century home of the 77^th Venetian Doge, Andrea Gritti, has been meticulously renovated and revived.  The aim was never to change, but to restore and preserve.

“It was an investment that the Gritti deserved!” said Managing Director Paolo Lorenzoni in a recent chat in the hotel’s elegant Longhi Bar.

 

Il Diretorre Lorenzoni

  Lorenzoni directed the renovations, and he takes understandable pride in his “new” finely polished jewel on the Grand Canal.

“I sometimes think of us like a Patek Philippe watch.   It is a jewel of distinction which is often handed down through the generations.   We have returning clients who are the children and now the grandchildren of our loyal guests who began when we first opened in 1948.”

Most suites are named after former guests, such as Peggy Guggenheim who celebrated her 80^th birthday at the Gritti and whose museum lies across the Grand Canal in front of her suite.  The Hemingway Suite is a homage to the celebrated writer who spent several months here between 1948 and 1953.  In fact, he wrote much of “Across the River and Into the Woods” while at the Gritti, and he mentions the hotel at least 15 times in his novel.   Not to forget the Somerset Maugham Suite, named after the British novelist who would set up residence, for several weeks most years, between 1948 and 1976. 

It had been well over ten years since I was last in Venice, and when the opportunity arose to take a look at the restored Gritti, we decided to replicate, as much as feasible, my early trips to Italy in the 1970’s.

The old, comfortable night trains are increasingly a thing of the past, but an Italian company has recently begun a service of sleeping cars on the Paris-Venice run, and we decided to give it a try.   In addition to giving you time to enjoy the landscape, it allows for a full day in Venice upon arrival and another before departing.

Early morning, first glimpse of Venice from our train compartment

And nothing beats the traditional early morning arrival by train into Venice.   A few minutes before reaching our destination, the train is suddenly surrounded by water, the Venice Lagoon, as we make our way into the City of Doges on a kind of causeway to the Santa Lucia Station which sits smack in front of the Grand Canal.

 

Knock-out view from our balcony

  Our stay at the Gritti was like a dream.  Though apparently fully booked, the personnel always gave the impression of offering  exclusive attention to each guest.  And what a wonderful surprise:  Thanks to the kind help of Sr. Lorenzoni, we had the great fortune of finding ourselves in the prized Punta della Dogana suite.

Nowhere is service more refined, more attentive, more personalized than in the Venetian hotel world, of which The Gritti Palace surely reigns supreme.

“At the Gritti you are not a guest, you are a friend,” Somerset Maugham once said.

“We try to treat the Gritti like a private home, not a hotel,” said Lorenzoni.   “Many of our guests feel the same way.”

Speaking for myself, I couldn’t agree more. 

 

SIDEBAR:  The People who make it work

A glimpse into the Club del Doge Restaurant with a few chandelier

baubles of Murano crystal in the foreground

No matter how beautiful or how comfortable a hotel may be, it is inevitably the personnel who make or break its reputation.

Italy is universally known for its impeccable training throughout the service industry, and the Gritti's staff is a fine example.  I think I can safely say that the team there today is the best I have ever encountered.

 The « performance » of a hotel's personnel is much like the ensemble playing in a chamber orchestra, one false note can ruin the whole.   Fortunately there were no false notes discernible.

Romina

  Starting with our reception by Romina, who checked us in with such a personable welcome, by the time she had introduced us to our rooms, we felt like old friends.   It seemed that everyone we encountered, like Romina, had a true passion for what they were doing.  You quickly get the feeling that the staff is fiercely proud of this unique palace and of their part in its running.

Valentina

A prime example was Valentina, who began her career as assistant at the switchboard last February when the Gritti reopened.  This has been her first job after receiving  a Milan University degree in modern languages (she speaks beautiful English and French, and though I am in no position to judge, also masters Russian). 

  Like many employees over the years who have started in modest posts, Valentina would like to branch out one of these days, hopefully using her people skills in management.

Then there was Antonella (above), who efficiently and with a real panache coordinated our breakfast on the del Doge terrace, filled to capacity the day we were there –taking orders, laughing and conversing with guests, while simultaneously dispatching waiters and monitoring orders with the kitchen.

   The most special hotel profession of all is bound to be that of concierge.   He is the member of staff who undoubtedly has the most interaction, can make things happen or not, and ultimately can be responsible for the overall success or failure of a guest's holiday.  

Umberto, 25 years later

I was delighted to reacquaint myself with Umberto, the « Good Samaritan » of 25 years ago of whom I spoke in musing No. 17 (click here to see).   When I first met him in the 1980's, he had taken my luggage and shown me to my room.  He is now first assistant to the head concierge. 

Giuliano has been working at the Gritti for over 40 years, and has in recent years attained the important post of head concierge.  We chatted several times, and like Umberto, he gave all appearances of still enjoying his job tremendously.  Despite what he described as the « dangerously high stress level » which goes with the territory. 

Giuliano, 40 years on the job, now head concierge

I was flattered when he took me into an ante room off the concierge's counter (for me, like going backstage at a Broadway hit !), where he pointed out, not without emotion, framed photos of some of his former colleagues on the concierge team who have died.   I was particularly saddened to learn of the recent death of Franco, who had been head concierge on my first visit to the Gritti in 1980.
 
 As Managing Director Lorenzoni says, "It is the client who is the most important.   But very close after comes our employees, they are after all what creates the personality and assures the efficiency of our palace.   We respect our employees, and it shows." 

The Concierge Station

 

 A FEW SNAPSHOTS:  Three memorable days at the Gritti

Feeling almost "at home" in our exceedingly grand living room, with priceless corner view on the Grand Canal, it is surprising how quickly you can get accustomed to such luxury!  

 

The bedroom was not bad either!

 

It is often the details that count, as attests this perfectly presented orchid on the side of our marble bathtub.

A first peek of the Gritti upon entering from the street, with view onto the concierges' counter (above).  Below, two snapshots of the newly refurbished public lounge areas.

 

 

The Longhi Bar, aptly named after the 18th century Venetian master whose paintings adorn its walls

Last but not least, the unforgettable view from the terrace of the Longhi Bar at twilight

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

[Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]

CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings

The Gritti Palace was also featured in blog No. 10 "Danny, the Night Porter", No. 23 "Mrs. X at The Gritti", No. 31 "Fire, Water and a Bloody Fall" No. 17 "Celebrating the Holidays Away From Home" and "Looking Back To Venice ... and Paul Newman"  (to access, click on title).

 

31 - Fire, Water and a bloody fall

CLARIDGES, THE GRITTI and RAFFLES

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. 

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.

* * * * *

High tide flooding in St. Mark's Square (Guardian photo)

Gianni in a calmer moment

My first stay at the Gritti in Venice coincided with one of the city’s periodic floods, with canal waters not only flooding the piazza and surrounding streets, but gushing through the hotel’s sumptuous marble lobby as well.   

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.
 

* * * * *

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.

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.

Tom Toh in the presidential suite

 Tom Toh,  one of the junior directors whom I knew quite well, was working late.  He joined the concierge who had already rushed to my aid.  I was whisked in the hotel limousine to a nearby hospital, escorted into the emergency ward by chauffeur and the hotel doorman in full Raffles regalia (see above photo).  I have rarely, if ever, felt so important.

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.

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).

10 - Danny, the Night Porter ...

THE GRITTI PALACE, Venice circa 1990 
 
 

Anonymous oil of the Grand Canal (collection Marion Vu Dinh)

   

   On one of my early stays at the Gritti, I had a wonderful package which included full breakfast and lots of perks –flowers and wine and cheese and fruit.  It was the week before Christmas and I was one of their rare clients.  Everywhere I turned the staff amazingly called me by name.  I honestly wondered if they didn’t have cue cards hidden behind their work stations.

The Gritti, Christmas 1992

The first night I enthusiasticly set out with my special Gritti pass for the grand old municipal casino.  When I tried to withdraw $100 from a nearby money machine  I watched in horror as a message flashed in Italian informing me that my card had been SWALLOWED !

Returning to the hotel, broke and dejected, I hinted to the management side about an advance to be added onto my bill.  This was met with a politely chilly fin de non-recevoir.

Concierge's corner

My first room at the Gritti

Now, you understand the executive branch of luxury hotels is there to manage the accounts, and they don’t always have too much contact with the guests.  The concierge staff, on the other hand, is there primarily to serve, to make everyone happy, and in the process make as much money as they can.

The night concierge was a roly-poly, ever-smiling career man who had truly found his calling.  He looked much like a younger Danny de Vito and plied his trade with enthusiasm and joy.

The real Devito (google photo)

Observing the unsuccesful encounter with the director and sensing my drama, he discreetly asked how he might help.  “You probably can’t,” I said, “unless you have the keys to the bank.”

He understood everything without my needing to explain further.  “How much do you need?”  he asked with a twinkle.  “One hundred?  Two hundred?”  

Apparently the concierge staff keeps its own cash box for just such “investments.”  I can no longer remember the sum, but it was a reasonable godsend, and he seemed thrilled to pack me off to the casino.

The Venice Casino, housed in the elegant 15th century Palazzo Vendramin

I only played black jack at the time (I later gave up all gambling when I woke up to the realization that I was much too poor to lose).  On this particular evening I managed miraculously to play for a couple of hours before leaving with precisely the same amount with which I had arrived.

I had been churning over in my mind just what sum would be an appropriate tip.  The problem was temporarily resolved, as on my return I had no choice but to report that I had neither won nor lost, and could only return the loan which I did poste-haste.

Having recovered my bank card the next morning, I planned to leave a gift, but Danny was nowhere to be seen, and I am none too proud to admit that I didn’t look too diligently for him.

The following year, returning from the casino well after midnight, I found Danny at his post.

“Do you remember me?” I asked.  It was one of the rare times I had actually won a nice sum, and I was quite exhilarated.  “And do you remember loaning me the money last year?” 

“Indeed I do,” replied Danny, breaking into a big smile.

“Tonight I won 400 dollars,” I said, “so here is half for you.”

Gianni

I later wondered if  I had perhaps been a bit excessive. 

On my next visit to the Gritti, however, I had reason to be really satisfied with my gesture.   When I asked Gianni, the head concierge, why I had not seen “Danny,”  he explained that the hotel was in mourning, because the much loved night porter had recently been discovered dead at his post, having succumbed to a heart attack in the early hours of the morning.  He was only 48.  

      

A fading photo album of my first Venetian memories

 Here are a few photographs from my first trip to Venice in the mid-seventies.  They were taken in November, and the grain and fading colors now tend to enhance the drama of my first impressions of this supremely grand canal city.

I have known Venice under every season (except the height of summer, which is surely to be avoided if possible).  These photos reflect my favorite season, Winter.  It can be bitterly cold, but unlike Paris, there is often a vibrant winter sun.

Whatever the light or whatever the temperature, Venice remains a city of great mystery and elegance.

 




 





A city of canals is also a city of bridges....

Pigeons on the Piazza San Marco

My first Venice hotel was a nondescript walkup without lobby, with 

 view on the back of an old church.  Doesn't sound like much on paper!

READER COMMENT –Letter from Joel Fletcher  

Here’s a witty reaction to today’s piece from Fletcher, art dealer and writer, author of “Ken and Thelma” (Pelican Publishing Company).

      Another lovely posting, Frank, that takes me back to places I have been.

     I never stayed at the Gritti, never even peeked into the lobby. Funny that I cannot even remember which hotel we stayed in when I took my parents there in 1963.

     My happiest memory of Venice is from a dozen years later when I was having lunch in the American Bar with a dear old friend, Guelfo Frulla, the recently retired head of Stanford in Italy, and we ran into an American Professor Guelfo had known at Yale.

     I don't recall his name, but he was well past middle age and had the blackest teeth I had ever seen on a human. He was writing a book (that he never finished) to be called Venice as a Mirror about American artists who lived in Venice. He was totally obsessed by gondoliers and after lunch he introduced us to one who took us on an hour-long gondola ride through the back canals of Venice. It was like being in a completely different city.

     On that same visit, I went to Peggy Guggenheim's palazzo, which had only recently been opened to the public, and as I was buying a catalogue from a dowdy woman dressed like a maid, I realized that it was Peggy herself.   

     While she was making change, she put down a pad on which she had been writing and I glanced down to see a scribbled recipe for Hungarian goulash.  Years after that, I was reading  an article in the New Orleans Art Quarterly by one of her former curators that described a dinner party Peggy had given for the Hungarian ambassador at which she had served a goulash that made everyone ill!

 

Peggy, looking anything but like a maid  (D.Seymour photo)

-o-

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

Next Friday:  "Intermezzo ... between hotels in the 1970's"

 [Photos are mine, unless otherwise credited]