Be Impressed, be very impressed: one night in a fancy hotel in the heart of Sydney
March 23rd 2008 05:34
Long before he was my husband, my hubbie and I had kids. Though I always knew I wanted to be a mother, I didn’t fancy getting saddled with a life-partner. It seemed unnecessary and overly cumbersome in the accumulation of personal baggage. I am not the ‘settle-down-with-one-guy-for -life’ kinda gal. Or at least I like to think I’m not. But after eight years together, and two kids under the belt, we did it. We got married. So here I am, twelve years later, and we’ve just had our fourth wedding anniversary.
With so many of our peers going through the life-shredder they call divorce I’m starting to feel like an endangered species, married n’ all. And happily. The way I see it, another year together is bloody impressive and worth making a song and dance about. Since kids, we've had one night alone together: our wedding night. So this year, I decided what we needed, what we really truly needed was not another fancy digital toy or more ‘stuff’, but another romantic night, away from kids and laundry.
I made a secret booking on lastminute.com for a hotel in downtown Sydney by the fitting name of Amora, and I hoped with all my heart it was not going to be some seedy little motel with pornos playing all day and a mirror on the ceiling (not that there’s anything wrong with that, it just wasn’t what I had in mind). The photos on the website looked lovely, and it came as a Special Deal – buffet breakfast included, as well as free parking, (which in the city costs about as much as the night’s accommodation in a five star hotel).
On the morning of the romantic getaway with a check-in of 3pm, my husband asked every hour on the hour ‘are we there yet?’ 2.30pm finally came around and we dropped the kids off at friends without so much as a backward glance and hurtled into the city like teenagers with a curfew.
Given that we are paying off a hefty mortgage and are in the business of raising two children in one of the most heinously expensive cities on God’s sweet earth, we do not get to take much advantage of the hotel hospitality for which Sydney is so renowned. So when we finally did get our room card, and opened that door we were total hotel geeks. ‘Oh my god, look there is a little fridge in the room!’ ‘It has its own ironing board!’ ‘Check out the slippers! Robes! Look there’s a light dimmer!’ Wherever we turned, we found ourselves impressed beyond words by the charms of the neatness, the cleanliness that was prepared just for us. We made sure to use ALL the facilities, at least twice - the heated pool, the sauna, the gym, the balcony, the shower, the magnifying mirror in the bathroom, the heated towel racks and the personal collection of soaps, shampoos, sanitary bags, shower caps...
I guess I am easily impressed. There is something irresistible for me about a hotel, especially one that is technically out of one’s league – you know, where there is a ‘dress code’ for dinner, and an entire staff at your beck and call. I’m sure my love for hotels was inspired for me by that tacky 80’s tv series Hotel about the St Gregory in San Francisco produced by the same people who made the Love Boat. Remember the majestic marble lobby with its fabulously elegant restaurants which formed the backdrop to week after week of romance and drama?
Nothing inspires one more with a false sense of self-importance than being a guest at a fancy hotel. People call you ‘madam and sir’ whether you are asking for more champagne or more toilet paper. You can phone down to room service 24 hours a day and ask for a teaspoon and some poor sap in a uniform and an ill-fitting hat will promptly knock on your door several minutes later with the requested item on a silver tray and apologize for interrupting you. If there is so much as a ten minute delay, you can actually COMPLAIN about the poor service.
It was difficult to find anything to complain about at the Amora hotel.(The ice bucket they sent up for our wine was perched on a serviette that I am sure they had special origami experts flown in to fold – it was a work of laundry-art). Except perhaps I ought to mention the attitude of the maître d' of the breakfast hall. You would swear he was some kind of celebrity miffed that he hadn’t been recognized by the riff raff. We got off on the wrong footing with him because my husband ‘stepped over the line’ into the hall without waiting to be seated. And then he showed us to a shitty table near the coffee cups (maître d -revenge) when I wanted to sit on the plushy seats closer to the muesli. When I asked if we could sit ’over there,’ he rolled his eyes like I’d just asked if I could borrow some of his bone marrow. But he waved us through to the table of my choice with a ‘well if you think you’d be more comfortable….’
I was in a big-hearted frame of mind, given that this was our romantic getaway. To me, the array of breakfast goodies was a veritable banquet. But as I looked around, I noticed that the hotel was packed with tourists and businessmen, for whom this was just another night in a foreign destination. No-one else looked as impressed at the little flower-shaped cinnamon butters floating in some ice-water as I did.
And it got me thinking: humans are the only species that travels for leisure. Some animals migrate, but that’s for survival. But we (actually the wealthy) flit from one foreign destination to the next, so we can say ‘oh so that’s how these people eat/shit/pray… ‘ Travel is curiosity made mobile, to service our fondness for snooping around in other peoples’ cultures. And the hospitality industry is an entire multi-million dollar affair built around this peculiar human curiosity, where you have to smile at people with too much money who are holidaying while you are working and tell them how sorry you are that they were woken fifteen minutes earlier than they requested by someone carrying their breakfast on a tray, who was up four hours earlier to prepare it.
But just for one glorious day, my husband and I got to pretend that we were part of the glamorous-international jet-set, and to use a towel at the pool only once before flinging it into a laundry bag (without agonizing about what this must do to the environment).
When we finally had exhausted our stay, even with a late check-out, we handed back the room card with just a small wince.
I love hotels. I am impressed by all the effort that goes into them. I had my romantic one-night get away by getting away from my dishwasher and tumble-dryer. Romance is totally misunderstood. It is about being able to make a mess but not to have to clean it up. It’s about getting away from domestic life and indulging in the illusion of the exotic where people dine in halls and bedclothes are ‘turned down’ before turning in. It’s about the fantasy of room service at 2am and little bar fridges packed with snacks and drinks. It is about tasting the freedom and the plushy luxury the wealthy take for granted.
When you’ve got kids, there are four things to keep in mind for a romantic getaway:
1. Go away, but not too far away, just in case there’s an emergency.
2. Take nothing but champagne, leave nothing but tousled laundry.
3. Use all the facilities together (those hotel baths are amazingly large and can accomodate a small party).
4. Be impressed by everything. Always be impressed.
Nothing would depress me more than to become one of those hotel-weary people, who sends back a wine because the cork smells funny, or for whom the ‘décor’ is too modern, or too Baroque or too anything. I never want to lose my wonder at the array of fresh juices at the breakfast bar, or become blasé about someone in a full suit opening the door for me and wishing me in a tone only the trained ear can detect is barren of any genuine interest in me actually ‘having a nice day.’
Samuel Johnson said, ‘When you tire of London, you tire of life.’ For me, the same goes for hotels. It is easy to be critical. Being impressed is much more fun.
www.joannefedler.com
With so many of our peers going through the life-shredder they call divorce I’m starting to feel like an endangered species, married n’ all. And happily. The way I see it, another year together is bloody impressive and worth making a song and dance about. Since kids, we've had one night alone together: our wedding night. So this year, I decided what we needed, what we really truly needed was not another fancy digital toy or more ‘stuff’, but another romantic night, away from kids and laundry.
I made a secret booking on lastminute.com for a hotel in downtown Sydney by the fitting name of Amora, and I hoped with all my heart it was not going to be some seedy little motel with pornos playing all day and a mirror on the ceiling (not that there’s anything wrong with that, it just wasn’t what I had in mind). The photos on the website looked lovely, and it came as a Special Deal – buffet breakfast included, as well as free parking, (which in the city costs about as much as the night’s accommodation in a five star hotel).
On the morning of the romantic getaway with a check-in of 3pm, my husband asked every hour on the hour ‘are we there yet?’ 2.30pm finally came around and we dropped the kids off at friends without so much as a backward glance and hurtled into the city like teenagers with a curfew.
Given that we are paying off a hefty mortgage and are in the business of raising two children in one of the most heinously expensive cities on God’s sweet earth, we do not get to take much advantage of the hotel hospitality for which Sydney is so renowned. So when we finally did get our room card, and opened that door we were total hotel geeks. ‘Oh my god, look there is a little fridge in the room!’ ‘It has its own ironing board!’ ‘Check out the slippers! Robes! Look there’s a light dimmer!’ Wherever we turned, we found ourselves impressed beyond words by the charms of the neatness, the cleanliness that was prepared just for us. We made sure to use ALL the facilities, at least twice - the heated pool, the sauna, the gym, the balcony, the shower, the magnifying mirror in the bathroom, the heated towel racks and the personal collection of soaps, shampoos, sanitary bags, shower caps...
free slippers - very impressive!
I guess I am easily impressed. There is something irresistible for me about a hotel, especially one that is technically out of one’s league – you know, where there is a ‘dress code’ for dinner, and an entire staff at your beck and call. I’m sure my love for hotels was inspired for me by that tacky 80’s tv series Hotel about the St Gregory in San Francisco produced by the same people who made the Love Boat. Remember the majestic marble lobby with its fabulously elegant restaurants which formed the backdrop to week after week of romance and drama?
Nothing inspires one more with a false sense of self-importance than being a guest at a fancy hotel. People call you ‘madam and sir’ whether you are asking for more champagne or more toilet paper. You can phone down to room service 24 hours a day and ask for a teaspoon and some poor sap in a uniform and an ill-fitting hat will promptly knock on your door several minutes later with the requested item on a silver tray and apologize for interrupting you. If there is so much as a ten minute delay, you can actually COMPLAIN about the poor service.
It was difficult to find anything to complain about at the Amora hotel.(The ice bucket they sent up for our wine was perched on a serviette that I am sure they had special origami experts flown in to fold – it was a work of laundry-art). Except perhaps I ought to mention the attitude of the maître d' of the breakfast hall. You would swear he was some kind of celebrity miffed that he hadn’t been recognized by the riff raff. We got off on the wrong footing with him because my husband ‘stepped over the line’ into the hall without waiting to be seated. And then he showed us to a shitty table near the coffee cups (maître d -revenge) when I wanted to sit on the plushy seats closer to the muesli. When I asked if we could sit ’over there,’ he rolled his eyes like I’d just asked if I could borrow some of his bone marrow. But he waved us through to the table of my choice with a ‘well if you think you’d be more comfortable….’
I was in a big-hearted frame of mind, given that this was our romantic getaway. To me, the array of breakfast goodies was a veritable banquet. But as I looked around, I noticed that the hotel was packed with tourists and businessmen, for whom this was just another night in a foreign destination. No-one else looked as impressed at the little flower-shaped cinnamon butters floating in some ice-water as I did.
And it got me thinking: humans are the only species that travels for leisure. Some animals migrate, but that’s for survival. But we (actually the wealthy) flit from one foreign destination to the next, so we can say ‘oh so that’s how these people eat/shit/pray… ‘ Travel is curiosity made mobile, to service our fondness for snooping around in other peoples’ cultures. And the hospitality industry is an entire multi-million dollar affair built around this peculiar human curiosity, where you have to smile at people with too much money who are holidaying while you are working and tell them how sorry you are that they were woken fifteen minutes earlier than they requested by someone carrying their breakfast on a tray, who was up four hours earlier to prepare it.
But just for one glorious day, my husband and I got to pretend that we were part of the glamorous-international jet-set, and to use a towel at the pool only once before flinging it into a laundry bag (without agonizing about what this must do to the environment).
When we finally had exhausted our stay, even with a late check-out, we handed back the room card with just a small wince.
I love hotels. I am impressed by all the effort that goes into them. I had my romantic one-night get away by getting away from my dishwasher and tumble-dryer. Romance is totally misunderstood. It is about being able to make a mess but not to have to clean it up. It’s about getting away from domestic life and indulging in the illusion of the exotic where people dine in halls and bedclothes are ‘turned down’ before turning in. It’s about the fantasy of room service at 2am and little bar fridges packed with snacks and drinks. It is about tasting the freedom and the plushy luxury the wealthy take for granted.
When you’ve got kids, there are four things to keep in mind for a romantic getaway:
1. Go away, but not too far away, just in case there’s an emergency.
2. Take nothing but champagne, leave nothing but tousled laundry.
3. Use all the facilities together (those hotel baths are amazingly large and can accomodate a small party).
4. Be impressed by everything. Always be impressed.
Nothing would depress me more than to become one of those hotel-weary people, who sends back a wine because the cork smells funny, or for whom the ‘décor’ is too modern, or too Baroque or too anything. I never want to lose my wonder at the array of fresh juices at the breakfast bar, or become blasé about someone in a full suit opening the door for me and wishing me in a tone only the trained ear can detect is barren of any genuine interest in me actually ‘having a nice day.’
Samuel Johnson said, ‘When you tire of London, you tire of life.’ For me, the same goes for hotels. It is easy to be critical. Being impressed is much more fun.
www.joannefedler.com
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Comment by JP Shaw
Sassy Ink Author
Parent Writer
Being married nowadays is rare, especially when partnered for a long time, and it's sad more people do not fully embrace the wonders of being partnered with someone who drives you so crazy you don't know whether to hug them or kick them in the butt. Laughter is the key and I agree being impressed by everything. We take for granted life's little generosities, like our beaches, the sunshine, good hotels, great service, and everything else in between.
Good on you guys for getting away and sharing it with all of us, and teaching everyone that it's okay to be a little humble and excited in exploring things we aren't used to. Enjoy them and live life to the fullest. You are amazing in your wisdom!
Comment by tlcorbin
Coffee Quip
Raven
Comment by Joanne Fedler
Jo
Comment by Jayne Kearney
Writers In Writing (and other writing)
Heck, I'm even thrilled if our room has those little two-packs of biscuits to go with the tea and coffee!
And a breakfast Danish as well as bacon and eggs - luxury!
What a sweet post.
Happy Anniversary Jo and Hubbie.
Jayne
Comment by Cibbuano
20/20 Filmsight
Science News
Hunt Famous
Orble Post of the Day
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Comment by Joanne Fedler
Jo
Comment by AmyHuang
Project Job Search
Travel Debate
Travel String
Love Adventures
I think it's important to keep the romance alive and hotels do just that. There are many people who don't see the point in staying in a hotel in your own city but I've done it many times before and I simply treat it as a quick get away. When you are in a hotel you don't feel like you are in your own city, and the best part is as you said - to be impressed.