FORTRESS AGAINST THE WORLD

As hotels heat up – their welcome mats out, feather dusters fying – an insider inspects the foibles and fortes of selling sleep

By Doug Wallace

Aria Hotel Budapest

I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but a few years ago I started sleeping around Toronto. But it’s not what you think: it’s actually work. And then it turned into a hashtag, naturally. When I began reviewing Toronto hotels for the London Telegraph newspaper, I had no idea it would turn me into both the worst and best hotel guest ever. I am that person who can walk into a palatial marble bathroom and instantly spot the mould in the sink’s overfill drain via the mirror. I can smell how long it’s been since the drapery was cleaned. I can find that stray string of dental floss on the floor. I can sense the second I hang up the phone that when my room service order arrives, it won’t be right. I have also managed to make a monster out of my now extremely fussy partner, who often accompanies me on these assignments, unwittingly acting out his own, gayer version of The Princess and the Pea. Through it all, I’ve discovered and dissected the various thresholds people have for things they can’t live without when they’re away – or think they can’t, anyway. And regardless of whether you’re a B&B kind of person or a four-star-minimum devotee, the true value of things that should matter to you is often brushed aside by hospitality marketing teams delivering “meaningful experiences” through the “customer journey.” These things are (more or less in order): cleanliness, a warm welcome, value for your money, a decent food and beverage program, and at least a little bit of style.

Despite their best intentions and ample practice, many hotels just don’t get it right. Most often, it’s the little things that make me the most cross: bad or insufficient lighting, AC power plugs and sockets that I can’t find, miniature soaps that are too hard to unwrap, shit coffeemakers, shower knobs that are too complicated, surface clutter – I mean, where am I supposed to put my stuff if there are plastic promo cards everywhere? I’ve grown accustomed to being disappointed if there’s no fridge, or no fridge space, for me to store the gourmet cheese I just bought or my half-eaten lunch. There are definitely other trends I would like to see die off in my lifetime. Reduced rates for people who book the no-cancellation option, for example, just comes across as mean to me. Peekaboo bathrooms might have seemed like a sexy idea in the ’90s, but, really, you don’t need to watch your lover pee. I often go down for a quick disco nap after checking into a hotel, only to be woken up by the front desk phoning to see if everything is okay – I’ve started to unplug the phone because of that. And I often wonder how many maid-hours around the world are wasted each day with housekeeping folding the end of the toilet paper into little points. Ditto the facial tissue done up in little rosettes. Don’t they know that everyone just throws these things out? Don’t get me started on bed coverlets.

My aforementioned Princess and I also have a theory we call the Dusty Tissue Box Syndrome. It’s when hotels are trying so hard to do everything right, but miss that one eyesore that deflates all their hard work. It’s like when guests to your home can see flaws that you can’t, simply because you’re too used to them. Hotels have so much dust everywhere, it’s no wonder the lights are low. I also hear a lot of what I’d call “eco-claptrap” – hype from hoteliers about how sustainable and eco-friendly everything is, only to find their rooms filled with plastic water bottles. First impressions are everything with proper hotels, and most of them know this fully. I really pay attention to the front-of-house goings-on, though I pretend not to. And sometimes the fanciest of hotels are the most flustered or have staff who talk like they’re acting in a play. I once walked up to the front desk of a five-star Toronto hotel and was asked: “How was your stay?” Um, I’m checking in, I said. I sometimes have to laugh at the club level sections of hotels, those designated floors whose guests have an exclusive lounge. These are great for breakfast, because they’re less crowded and more quiet than the main restaurants downstairs. And they’re practically empty during the early afternoon, so they’re great for hanging out in or spreading out to work; the view is always good. But it’s cocktail hour in these lounges that I find fascinating, as I watch wealthy people practically elbow each other in the face filling their little plates with free food. Little greasy puffed pastries and already-cold duck canapes. Maybe jockeying for free food is why rich people are so rich.

Fogo Island Inn

Hotel X Toronto

As we start to come out of our COVID hibernation and hotel stays increase, there are, of course, new methods and procedures to help keep guests comfortable, happy and safe. Being up front about health and safety precautions has become de rigeur, as hotels make it clear what their cleaning policies are and how they’re dealing with social distancing. Contactless and more flexible check-ins and -outs are here to stay, hopefully, as are grab-and-go meals. I think we will also see hotel rooms getting smarter, wherein your phone controls more in-room doodads in an effort to keep things touchless. Despite the whirlwind of pandemic recovery, hospitality people generally have a real passion for their work, particularly if the manager is also the owner. It’s fun finding out what that passion is and seeing what really makes a hotel hum – bees on the roof, a cheese cave, snowmobiles for rent, rabbits in the kids’ play area and what have you. Making a connection that you weren’t expecting can really make your stay more enjoyable. When a hotel manages to hit all of the right notes, it truly is one of the finer things in life. Good hotels are like your fortress against the world. However temporarily, it is your home and you can do as you please – eat a steak sandwich in bed, drink a glass of bubbly in the bathtub, have a movie marathon, pad around in your fluffy, white robe. Throw in thoughtful amenities, nice soap I wouldn’t splurge on for home, a yoga mat, and I’m yours.

The Warehouse Hotel Singapore