Lifestyle Hotels: Gotta Have Soul

Now that luxury is a bad word, hotels everywhere are scrambling to find ways to reinvent themselves without spending a whack of money. The quick fix? Simply delete all references to “luxury” in marketing materials and replace them with “lifestyle”. Magically, the hotel’s image transforms from visions of champagne baths and gold-plated toilet seats to a holistic experience involving discovery, connecting and environmental responsibility.

Travelers beware. A similar trend began about a decade ago. Word got out that boutique hotels were more profitable than other hotels, and suddenly hotels large and small were calling themselves boutique. But then a number of players tarnished the boutique reputation by emphasizing style over comfort and hiring mannequins for staff. When the big hotel chains got into the action, the boutique reputation suffered even further. Soon hotels couldn’t distance themselves quickly enough from the contemporary boutique moniker. A new buzzword was urgently required. Along came the next generation of boutique hotels: the lifestyle hotel.

What exactly is a lifestyle hotel? No one really knows. Essentially, a lifestyle hotel offers services and amenities that cater to a demographic with shared tastes, income levels, habits, attitudes and/or values. As a traveler, no longer are you obliged to leave lifestyle preferences at home while on the road. If you can’t bear to put Muffy the teacup poodle in a kennel, you can bring her along. Your hotel might even offer special meals, a spa and Pilates classes for canines. Whether you’re a vegan environmentalist, a Crackberry-addicted techno-geek or a yoga-loving lesbian, there’s bound to be a lifestyle hotel for you. But don’t call it a theme hotel; themes are for amusement parks and kids. This is sophisticated stuff.

This time the chains are leading the charge. Starwood has Element and Aloft; Marriott has Edition; Hyatt has Andaz; Intercontinental has Indigo; the list goes on. In many ways lifestyle hotels are a great fit for the chains. Whereas boutique hotels tend to be high-priced, exclusive and urban, lifestyle hotels tend to be more reasonably priced, inclusive and accessible, located in secondary markets like small cities and suburbs.

The biggest challenge for the chains is to fulfill the inherent promise of lifestyle hotels: to keep current with traveler preferences. This can be exhausting—and expensive. Running a traditional hotel is far easier; you can maintain the same décor, employees and services for decades and pass them off as old-world charm. By nature the chains are slower to react because they have a lot of players to please. Let’s take a fictional chain, Guilty Pleasures Hotels & Resorts, for example, and say they’ve decided to roll out a signature scent. Hotel scents, a questionable trend in my mind—when I travel all I want to smell is lemon-scented disinfectant—are intended to round out the multi-sensory experience while subtly signaling to guests that they have arrived at their preferred hotel, they will never stay anywhere else, and they will spend lots of money.

So corporate office eventually settles on a scent that combines hints of jasmine, apple pie, whisky, opium and hundred-dollar bills. They dispatch samples to member properties and, of course, everyone hates it, particularly the manager of the Riyadh, Saudi Arabia property, where whisky is forbidden. He suggests oil as an alternative, which offends the manager of the chain’s eco resort in Montana. The debate goes on for months, until corporate office issues a decree that all hotels must use the scent or face expulsion. By then, however, travelers tastes have changed, and hotel scents have been found to be directly responsible for global warming.

When I joined the opening team of Opus Hotel in 2001, I came from a traditional hotel background and had no clue how to market a contemporary boutique hotel. Fortunately, by then a number of boutique hotels in other cities had gotten things terribly wrong, and I was able to learn from their mistakes. I wrote a manifesto for staff that specified the vocabulary we used to describe the hotel. Words like hip, sexy, cool and trendy were banned. If you use these words to describe yourself, you just aren’t.

Back then, all we had to work with were a few design boards, a chaotic construction site, and the ownership’s vision, which encompassed three key words: fresh, warm and sensual. From this we developed our mission statement and values and recruited a management team with classic luxury training who were entrepreneurial enough to adapt to a contemporary boutique environment. Today freshness, warmth and sensuality pervades every aspect of Opus, evoking not only the lifestyle preferences of our guests but the hotel’s soul.

Soul? Soul is an essential part of any hotel, and of lifestyle hotels in particular. It is everything abstract: personality, culture and spirit, that intangible feeling that prompts a guest to remark either “It just felt right” or “Something was missing.” Soul is often overlooked by hotel executives because we can’t see it, write it into an operating manual or charge a fee for it. Some hotels have all the right elements—beautiful design, quality amenities, competent service—but feel like the other definition of soul: the spirit of a dead person. Soul cannot be factory-produced or mass-marketed; more than anything it’s shaped by employees. By defining the hotel’s vision and values and using them to guide every decision, management develops the hotel’s culture and, over time, its soul evolves organically.

Will lifestyle hotels endure or be relegated to the garbage heap of overused and abused travel trends? Only time will tell. Regardless, given the stresses of our troubled economy and the headaches of modern travel, the timing couldn’t be better for a boom in hotels that contribute to travelers’ wellbeing by catering to lifestyle preferences.

***

Parlez-vous Franglais? Studying French in Paris

As part of my writing sabbatical from the hotel industry this year, shortly after the launch of my latest book I hopped on a plane to embark on a three-month sojourn in Paris. I had hoped my time here would be like a non-stop wine-and-cheese party, but upon arrival I knew no one, and the first couple of weeks were overshadowed by solitude. Now, six weeks later, I’m happily settled into an apartment near the Centre Pompidou and am writing by morning, studying by afternoon, and hanging out with my new friends by evening.

Part of my motivation in coming to Paris was to improve my French. Years ago, after four years of university French, in the great tradition of Canadian university students I was unable to conduct even the simplest yet most essential transactions, like asking for directions to the nearest bar. Last year I spent five glorious months in Montreal, but it’s impossible to learn French there because most people speak English. I used to test how long I could get away with speaking French with a local before he or she switched to English, and often I got no further than “Bonjour”. Occasionally I conducted an entire conversation, and I would walk away feeling triumphant. In retrospect I suppose ordering a coffee at Starbucks wasn’t that big a deal.

Here in Paris I’m taking French classes every weekday afternoon for three hours. During my placement interview the counselor asked me why I had come to Paris. Desperately hoping not to be placed in the remedial class, I gave a reply that was less about my opinion than about the French words I could remember. “You like Parisians?” she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest. I blinked. In fact, Parisians had been cold bastards since I arrived, and none had seemed adequately appreciative of my efforts to speak their language. She went on to say that she is from the French countryside and even she finds Parisians to be rude; she could only imagine how difficult it is for Canadians, who are so pleasant and polite. I just nodded and smiled, like any good Canadian would, in part because I had no idea how to respond in French, and in part because inside I was quietly weeping in solidarity.

In class I write pages and pages of notes. Later, while out with my French friends, I can only conjure up the same handful of French words I’ve known most of my life, words like yes, no, how are you, and my that cheese is smelly. Occasionally a word I learned in class will come to me and I’ll blurt it out whether or not it has anything to do with our conversation. I never think it will fly, and brace myself for the blank stare, the pained expression, the plea to speak English. If my friend simply nods and carries on with our conversation, I’m so thrilled I insist we back up so he can properly acknowledge my genius.

At school there is a constant influx of students from all over the world, but only French is spoken in class. Some students don’t even speak English, which I still can’t get my mind around. I mean, really. When I don’t know a word in French I’m used to substituting it with an English word, but here that has as much effect as ancient Hebrew. In class I get to hear French spoken in a variety of accents: Swedish, Russian, Spanish, Australian, etc. So far I find the accent of the Chinese woman the most intriguing, and by intriguing I mean irritating. She barks out French like a fish vendor in a crowded market, and I never have any idea what she’s saying. It’s far easier to understand the American, who speaks French exactly like English, without fussing over rolling R’s or nasal sounds.

In Canada I’m a hotel executive and the author of three books. Here in France I’m regarded as a middle-aged man who speaks like a five-year-old and appears to have a severe learning disability. In class my behavior also reverts to that of a five-year-old. When I know the answer my hand shoots into the air, waving frantically. If I’m wrong, far more frequently than I care to admit, my face goes red, and I smolder with resentment toward my teacher and all my classmates, especially the Polish girl who always gets the answers right.

On principle I feel vastly superior to all new students, and quickly write them off as showoffs, hopelessly stupid or bad dressers. One day a German student came to class wearing lederhosen-like shorts, and I couldn’t stop staring at her legs, so hairy they appeared to be covered with spiders. Occasionally I decide I like someone instantly because she seems cool or he has nice shoes, but I’m always disappointed. Over time I find myself liking the people I originally loathed and loathing the people I originally liked, which doesn’t say much for my judgment.

Often I’ll start getting friendly with a student, and suddenly he or she stops coming to class. I’m sure it’s not personal, but it is kind of creepy, like the Gestapo is back in Paris and foreigners are being pulled from their beds at night. The real reason is most students are here for a short stay, sometimes only a week or two. After only four weeks I’m one of the most senior students, me and that Chinese woman, and we’re like bad-ass lifer inmates running the prison. Or the dumb kids in class who keep getting held back.

While walking home the other night I ran into some fellow students on their way to a local park to drink wine and smoke, and they invited me to join them. My first impulse was to run away, but then I reminded myself that this was the kind of experience I came to Paris for—to smugly drink wine in public parks while friends and colleagues back home were chained to their desks—so I shyly accepted. We sat on the grass and spoke bad French while passing around a bottle of wine, and it reminded me of my early days as a backpacker. Except now I’m a lot older, and I couldn’t help but worry by their furtive glances that they suspected I was an escaped child molester.

I have a few expressions I use frequently here because they make me feel French and in-the-know, like “Quoi de neuf?” and “On y va!” Recently I discovered I was misusing one. A Parisian friend texted me to cancel our plans, saying his sister was sick, and I texted back “Tant pis!” Later I discovered that although this phrase technically translates as “Too bad”, it conveys a sentiment closer to “Whatever”.

An upside to having a cold in France is it really helps with nasal sounds. At home I often practice speaking French by myself, and sometimes my accent is so beautiful and Parisian I’m moved to tears. But when I try to emulate it in class or say, in the bakery while ordering my third pain au chocolat of the day, it all comes out terribly wrong. The other night I went to a French play, and at first it was all quite thrilling, but by act two I had a headache and kind of tuned out. In one scene the actor parodies an American who considers himself Parisian after six years in Paris. The audience found his portrayal hysterical, but I only pretended to laugh along. Six years? I had started calling myself Parisian after only three weeks.

These days, I no longer resent Parisians, I love them. They’ve been incredibly warm and hospitable. Sometimes while out at night I become so absorbed in a conversations with them I don’t even realize I’m speaking French. But then I panic and bail, and my mind shuts down, refusing to produce anything but the usual words: yes, no, and can I borrow some money. I expect my friends to acknowledge my disability and switch to English, but they never do. It makes me long for those days in Montreal. But then I remind myself why I came to Paris, and I soldier on.

If the Chinese fisherwoman can do it, so can I. Tant pis.

***

Construction? What Construction? A Case Study for Hotels.

Because hotels run on the promise of comfort and rest, an onsite construction project can be particularly challenging to manage. Rather than risk sending guests fleeing to competitors, hotels often choose to keep silent about construction activity, hoping guests won’t notice the jack-hammering in the lobby. If a guest complains, management feigns shock and dismay, as though a crew marched in uninvited and began tearing down walls. Complaints are handled in the only way hotels know how: by buying the guest’s silence. If the guest is mildly irritated, he might get a brusque apology and a free local call. Pissed off? A whopping 15% off last night’s room charge, perhaps with continental breakfast thrown in—accompanied by the roar of bulldozers. Apoplectic? An escort off property by security.

Having suffered both sides—as a hotel manager, a massive construction project next door and, as a hotel guest, drilling as excruciating as a root canal—I’ve learned that hotels will better protect long- and short-term interests not by treating construction like an unspeakable secret but by being open and communicative with guests. It’s a frightening proposition, but it works.

I’ll never forget that day in 2005 when a group of super-friendly people came to Opus Hotel to tell me about plans to build an underground rapid transit station in our neighbourhood, a three-year project that would create an excavation the size of a football field directly outside our door. As the hotel’s general manager I did what any great leader would do: I locked myself in my office and had a good cry. Then I went online to look for a new job.

In the following months, my colleagues and I tried to figure out how to maintain our high occupancy and guest satisfaction ratings while under siege. An employee suggested a radical approach: we tell guests the truth. The idea was immediately dismissed as preposterous, a break from the hotel industry’s illustrious tradition of lies, deceit and blame-deflection when it comes to construction. Yet the idea fit in with our organizational values of integrity and respect, and no one came up with a better solution, so we decided to give it a whirl. From that point forward, we were completely transparent about construction, warning guests in advance and keeping them informed while on property.

It was a nail-biting risk. We were giving prospective guests a reason to stay elsewhere and providing our competitors a weapon to use against us. Many of our rooms didn’t face the construction site, and activity was sporadic—why alarm all guests when only a few would be disturbed? Transparency threatened only to exacerbate the problem.

Yet to avoid the issue can be far more damaging. While a guest of a hotel in Atlanta, I endured drilling next door for three days before I called to complain. I was transferred to the duty manager’s line, and I left a message, but I didn’t hear back. The next day a gift basket was delivered to my room. There was no note or card, so I had no idea who it came from, but it did come with a jar of tasty Georgian peach salsa. Meanwhile, the drilling turned to jack-hammering. I left another message for the manager, this time requesting to change rooms. Again, no call back. That night, another gift arrived, a slab of chocolate that vaguely resembled the hotel’s logo. It had melted—much like my resolve. I checked out the next day and, as much as I enjoyed the peach salsa, I won’t be staying there again.

In my experience, hotel guests are more understanding—and surprisingly accepting—when communication is proactive and sincere. To avoid unpleasant surprises, hotels should communicate construction activity at the time of reservation and place a notice on the website, in confirmation letters, and in group, corporate and event contracts. Most travelers are up and out early and won’t be daunted. Rooms closest to construction should be placed out of order or sold at a discount; many travelers will be willing to risk a disturbance if it means getting a great deal. Keep guests informed by placing a letter in guestrooms from the general manager explaining the nature of the work, the benefits, and the duration, and inviting guests to contact the front desk if they have concerns. Equipping rooms with earplugs and white noise machines will show that you’re trying, but will do little to drown out construction noise.

Being transparent doesn’t mean being alarmist. Sales and reservations staff should avoid comments like, “OMG it’s like a total mess here!” A simple, positive statement will do, such as, “Just so you’re aware, we’re currently upgrading our banquet facilities and you may encounter construction activity.” Do everything possible to address concerns—including, if necessary, letting the business walk. In the long run, your hotel will be better off. Hell hath no fury like a meeting planner not forewarned, and a scathing review on TripAdvisor will scare travelers off long after construction is finished. With larger construction projects you won’t be able to please everyone, so reserve the quietest rooms for your most desirable clientele. Be creative about how you respond to complaints; not everyone is looking for a freebie. Offer sincere apologies, ask how you can make it up to the guest, and respond accordingly.

Resist the temptation to be cute, like posting signs with cartoon characters in hardhats. If a guest is awoken by a dump truck unloading gravel outside her window, she won’t be amused. Years ago, at a hotel in Toronto, management decided to make light of lobby renovations by dressing up two front desk employees per shift as construction workers. Upon reporting for duty one day I was handed a hardhat and an orange vest. “I don’t think so,” I said, handing them back—the hotel’s polyester uniform was humiliating enough. I was overruled. To my surprise, I found myself enjoying the construction worker role-play thing—until I had to deal with an irate guest. Partway through his rant, he stopped, blinked, and said, “What the hell are you wearing?” The hats and vests were discontinued shortly thereafter.

Our strategy at Opus wasn’t perfect. We lost our share of business, and a number of guests fell through the cracks. Yet by being transparent we built a relationship of trust with our clientele, and our guest satisfaction ratings and occupancy remained high throughout. All hotels experience construction at some point—it’s a necessity of keeping fresh and up-to-date—and many fall victim to offsite construction from which they reap no benefits. If your hotel provides an otherwise exceptional and unrivaled experience, your guests will be far more loyal and forgiving than you might expect.

These days, while many hotels are sitting half-empty, the time is ripe for capital upgrades and renovations. Unfortunately for most hotels, upgrades will have to wait until business is stronger—which means undergoing construction while occupancy is high. All the more reason to have in place a solid guest communication plan in place.

Trevor buys a bed-and-breakfast – Is it haunted?

My latest novel is now out, and since it’s set in a bed-and-breakfast I thought it fitting to write a post on that subject.

First, a few words about Murder at Graverly Manor. In this third—and last—installment of the Five-Star Mystery series, hotelier Trevor Lambert returns to his hometown of Vancouver to recoup after suffering the trauma and drama of opening Hotel Cinema in Hollywood. When he happens upon an elegant Victorian mansion for sale in the city’s West End, he decides it’s time to pursue his dream of operating a bed-and-breakfast. But the eccentric proprietress, Lady Graverly, won’t sell until he completes a one-month trial period as innkeeper. Trevor quickly discovers that operating a B&B is far more challenging than he anticipated, and his troubles are exacerbated by vanishing residents, screams in the night, and Lady Graverly’s refusal to let him see her private quarters. When things start to go really haywire, former colleague Shanna Virani flies in from LA to help out. As the two hoteliers uncover the manor’s dark secrets, they discover that its past is inextricably linked to Trevor’s destiny.

In researching this novel I learned to appreciate the unique offerings of this often-overlooked lodging segment. Bed-and-breakfasts provide an authentic, grassroots cultural experience, and as such are popular with foreign tourists. They’re cheaper than hotels, partly because they offer fewer amenities, and are more intimate, offering personal touches, décor and in-room amenities that reflect the city they’re in. There are no cavernous lobbies, no revolving doors and no conventioneers. In a B&B you’re likely to interact with other occupants as well as with the owners. And, of course, breakfast is included.

Being a private person and somewhat antisocial, I prefer the anonymity of hotels, where constant shift changes ensure that no one can keep tabs on my comings and goings. Hotel guests are busy and blessedly standoffish, and interactions are just how I like them: rare and superficial. Call me a curmudgeon, but I’m rarely interested in chatting with strangers, particularly before I’ve had a good strong cup of coffee. I do enough of that at work, where I’m paid for it. On airplanes, after a polite hello to my seatmates, I yank down imaginary shades on either side of me emblazoned with an upright middle finger, and then bury my nose in a book. I’m more open to social interaction in the evening, particularly with a glass of wine in hand, so the B&B ritual of guests congregating at cocktail hour is more appealing. Furthermore, in B&Bs the walls tend to be thin, the plumbing more resonant, which discourages loud music, headboard-slamming sex and off-tune shower singing, and alerts the entire household when you’re taking a pee.

A few years ago, on a trip to New York I stayed at the Inn at Irving Place, twelve rooms housed in two 1834 buildings in Gramercy Park. Its antique furniture, ornaments, and fabrics in every conceivable floral pattern made me feel like I was staying at someone’s grandma’s house. I lived in constant fear of breaking something. The manager’s desk was located at the foot of the staircase, and he was super-friendly and seemingly omnipresent. To evade the obligatory chitchat I contemplated scaling the fire escape, but feared I would cause a racket and get caught. Instead I would hunker down in my room, listening for the opportune time to bolt for the door without being accosted. The service was exceptional, the rooms charming, but on my return visit I booked the 185-room Gramercy Park Hotel. I like shiny new things.

I’m more inclined to appreciate a B&B while on vacation, when I’m less uptight, more sociable, and less prone to fits of quiet rage when service is slow. One of my best experiences was at a B&B just outside of Buenos Aires called Ave Maria. The food was homey and delicious, the rooms rustic and airy, and I could escape loquacious guests by hopping on a horse and galloping across acres of Argentine pampas.

Graverly Manor is a B&B’s worse-case scenario, and isn’t meant to represent the typical experience. For example, most B&Bs don’t come with a dead body in the cellar. Though I do recall a story way back about a German guest of a Miami Springs hotel complaining at checkout about an unpleasant odor in his room. The source turned out to be a dead body under the bed.

Like Trevor, people are often seduced by a false romantic notion of operating a bed-and-breakfast. They love hosting out-of-town guests, and reason that running a B&B should be a simple matter of a few extra place settings at the breakfast table. They soon discover that paying strangers aren’t as neat or respectful as friends and relatives (as a rule), and the work can be frenetic and unrelenting. Yet the proprietors who get it right, like my friends at the West End Guest House, provide an intimate, comfortable and economical option that is simply unrivaled by hotels.

On a personal note, on Monday I’m leaving for a six-month sojourn in Europe. Aside from loafing around and bastardizing languages, I’ll be working on my next book. I’ll keep the subject a mystery for now, but I will divulge one clue: it’s not a mystery. While there, I’ll be checking out all sorts of hotels and reporting in. But, given that I’m on a sabbatical from my hotel career this year, my champagne tastes will have to be put on ice for a while. I’ll be staying in B&Bs.

Hotel Darwinism: Survival Tips for the Bold & Shameless

Lately I’ve come across all sorts of how-to articles for surviving in today’s economy, and it strikes me that, in typical fashion, the hotel industry is being far too polite. This is war, people; only the strongest will survive—for God’s sake don’t let it be your competitor. To secure your hotel’s place on the evolutionary scale, consider adopting some of the cutthroat tactics of our colleagues in other industries.

 

Make rates a moving target. These days, travelers demand discounts, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep lowering your rates. Instead, borrow a tactic from the retail industry and jack up your rack rates to give the illusion of huge discounts. Phrase it like this: “No, I’m not joking, Mr. Bottom-Feeder, I’m offering you this gorgeous Deluxe Land-Fill-View Room, which normally sells for $1,595, for only $99—a 94% discount!” Adopt the crafty pricing strategies of the airlines by changing rates constantly to confuse travelers. Advertise irresistibly low rates and then tack on hidden fees, inexplicable taxes and surcharges on surcharges. Implement automated pricing software that increases rates the instant the traveler decides to reserve.

Exasperate your guests for fun and profit. Design the online booking experience to be so frustrating guests have no choice but to call in, in which case they should be charged a booking fee. Create twenty or more room categories and insist on listing all of them, prompting time-pressed callers to blurt out, “Just book me a damned room,” in which case you should always reserve the highest-rated suite. If a caller insists on a standard room, politely explain that these rooms are reserved for the lowest echelon of traveler—namely government employees, Entertainment Book holders and Priceline customers—and are never available anyway.

Make frills and flexibility a thing of the past. Follow the shining example set by the airlines and reduce the guest experience to a room with a bed, charging a fee for everything else. Implement a luggage fee and charge extra for oversized baggage, baby carriages, wheelchairs, Seeing Eye dogs and portable dialysis machines. Charge a user fee for blankets, towels and soap and a fuel surcharge for hot water. Implement reservation change fees and charge a rate differential even if rates have gone down. If a guest cancels, charge the full amount and issue a voucher with so many conditions it’s impossible to redeem. Distribute stopwatches to front desk and housekeeping staff and charge by the minute for late checkouts and early check-ins.

Cut costs by delegating work to guests. Travelers have made it clear that nothing is more important than getting a deal—isn’t it time they made a few sacrifices of their own? Save labor costs by introducing “Do It Yourself” packages in which guests carry their luggage, clean their rooms and serve themselves meals. Reduce operating costs by closing your restaurant and having the turndown ladies sell pre-prepared meals from maid carts. In this time of “rightsizing”, does your hotel really need corporate office? Consider downsizing up.

Create new revenue streams with trumped-up charges. Implement a surcharge that sounds like a government tax but actually goes to the hotel, such as a “6% Hotel Occupancy Levy”. If a guest questions the charge, speak quickly and use lots of industry jargon. Reduce lost mini-bar revenue by hooking guests up to a polygraph machine at checkout. Process false charges to credit cards several weeks after departure, banking on the likelihood travelers will be too busy to dispute them. If they do, put them on hold for up to one hour and then transfer them to someone in Accounting who doesn’t speak English. Guests will pay exorbitant prices for parking, porn and Grey Goose vodka; test their limits by hiking up rates until consumption drops.

Boost your conversion ratio with false advertising. Post photographs on your website that make your rooms appear larger, cleaner and less dumpy than they are. If necessary, cut and paste images from websites of luxury hotels in foreign countries. Use superlatives like “award-winning”, “seven-star” and “most luxurious”. Guests will be disappointed, but the front desk will clean up the mess—they always do. Boost TripAdvisor ratings by posting glowing fake reviews, relating inspiring stories like how the concierge saved a guest’s life by giving him a tracheotomy after he choked on a pillow chocolate. Post blistering reviews of competitor hotels, reporting rumors of a faulty fire alarm system, a bed bug infestation or a recent e-coli outbreak.

Kickstart spin-off businesses. Now that mini-bar offerings have proliferated to virtually every surface in guestrooms and all furniture comes with a price tag, hotel rooms resemble a cross between a 7-Eleven and an Ikea showroom. Take this trend a step further by renting out your employees to guests to take home: a concierge to act as a personal assistant and issue Twitter updates; a bellman to act as a chauffeur and open doors; a housekeeper to ensure toilet paper ends are tucked into a perfect fold. Why allow items left behind in guestrooms to languish in lost-and-found when they can be sold on e-Bay? If guests call looking for them, remind them that the hotel cannot accept responsibility for lost or stolen items.

 

Necessary survival tactics or a lighthearted warning about the direction the hotel industry could be heading? You decide. If we can learn one thing from the airline industry, it’s that slashing services may make prices more attractive, but it doesn’t guarantee profitability. In fact, it deters people from travel by taking all the pleasure out of it. Hotels will be better positioned for long-term survival by continuing to offer a haven for harried travelers, providing the flexibility, the integrity—and yes, the occasional freebies—we built our reputations on.

 

 

Don’t Eat in Bed: Tips for making the most of room service, the costliest way to enjoy a meal

For weary travelers, there’s nothing more appealing than having a hot, scrumptious meal delivered to our hotel room. Room service brings out the kid in us. We get to do things we can’t do at home: eat in bed, watch TV, and leave our dirty dishes in the hallway. Yet the experience rarely lives up to expectations. Meals take forever to arrive, food is cold and soggy, and prices mysteriously double after we place the order.

Hotels are often accused of gouging when it comes to pricing, but the costs of delivering a single meal to a room are comparable to running a full-service restaurant with only a few customers per night. It’s a service hotels provide to guests, and almost invariably it’s a money-loser. From a guest’s perspective, it’s one of the costliest ways to take a meal and everything should be perfect. But can it be?

As a hotel manager and frequent traveler I’ve been on both sides of the room service quandary. I’ve thumbed through menus and huffed in indignation at the prices and I’ve chaired meetings where those prices were set. Last year, while living in a hotel for five months, I became intimately acquainted with the pros and cons of ordering a meal to one’s room. Here are some tips for hotel guests for making the most of the room service experience.

1.      Consider Taco Bell. I’m loath to discourage guests from spending money, but in today’s economy it’s difficult to justify dropping the cost of a week’s worth of groceries on a single meal. Yet the alternatives can be bleak: dining alone in the wastelands of the hotel restaurant or foraging for food in the mean city streets. A more prudent decision might be to head down to the local Taco Bell for an enchilada platter. If you can’t bear to leave your room and miss the latest episode of Hell’s Kitchen, consider raiding the mini-bar instead. Yes, a can of Pringles, a Kit Kat and two Buds is a revolting meal, but the calorie intake will be no greater, and in either case you’ll be filled with self-loathing afterward. Use the savings to splurge on breakfast in the hotel restaurant or beachfront property in Malibu.

2.      Do the math. Ordering room service is like booking a flight on a discount airline: the base price sounds reasonable; it’s all the extra charges that leave you feeling swindled. In addition to taxes, hotels typically add a delivery charge—a lump-sum that goes to the hotel—and a service charge—a percentage that goes to the employee. Before confirming your order, ask for the grand total and clarify whether a gratuity is included. This spares you the embarrassment of struggling over simple math calculations while the delivery person is staring at you expectantly. A 15 to 20% gratuity on net food and beverage costs is standard.  If the tip is included, don’t expect the attendant to volunteer this information; he’ll be long gone by the time you realize you double-tipped.

3.      Ask the right questions. If you call down to place your order and think you’ve been patched through to a remote island in the South Pacific, it’s because room service is usually located in the bowels of a hotel next to the kitchen. In smaller hotels you might place your order with the front desk, the switchboard, or, if labor is really tight, the general manager. Don’t be shy about asking questions. If you’re a fussy eater, ask to talk to the kitchen directly. Keep in mind these people are busy, so try to have an idea of what you want before you call and avoid idle chitchat and long, boring stories. Before you hang up, make sure the attendant repeats your order and gives an estimated delivery time. It shouldn’t take more than a half-hour—forty-five minutes tops during peak times.

4.      Don’t leave good habits at home. Room service food tends to be bland and overdone or rich and overdressed. To avoid feeling like barfing afterward, ask for sauces on the side, bypass fried foods, and order fruit for dessert. Don’t hesitate to order off-menu—any decent kitchen can whip up a green salad or grill a breast of chicken. But clarify prices first. At a Los Angeles hotel I told the order-taker I was so sick I wanted only a simple bowl of broth. She charged me $47. Go easy on the environment by requesting filtered tap water instead of bottled water and bulk condiments instead of those cute miniature bottles. Few hotels can afford to retain overnight kitchen staff, so after 11:00 PM expect a limited menu of pre-prepared items heated in the microwave. You might want to call the local pizza parlor instead. Or better yet, sleep off that booze-fueled craving.

5.      Don’t expect Michelin three-star cuisine. Room service has come a long way in recent years, but it’s still virtually impossible to deliver a piping hot, perfectly cooked meal to a room in thirty minutes or less. Attendants must navigate a back-of-house obstacle course of broken furniture, soiled linen, slow service elevators and chatty colleagues. Food warmers help keep things hot but tend to overcook the meal. Before the attendant arrives do her a favor and put away your underwear, turn off the porn, and pull on a bathrobe, ensuring the belt is securely fastened. Before she leaves perform an inventory and quality control check; otherwise you might be buttering your dinner roll with a teaspoon. If you’re not satisfied, speak up and give the hotel a chance to remedy things—don’t eat every morsel and then complain at checkout.

6.      Don’t eat in bed. The idea of eating in bed can be highly appealing, but the execution is always awkward and messy and sheets end up acting as very large napkins. To avoid tossing and turning in breadcrumbs all night, ask for your meal to be delivered on a rolling table rather than a tray—and use it. If you don’t want to wake up the next day to a horrific stench of festering leftovers, cover your plate with a napkin and place the tray in the corridor. Be sure to put on a bathrobe first, though—hotel doors self-close. Then call down to have the tray removed so your fellow guests don’t have to see your ketchup-smeared carnage when they pass your room. This also helps prevent the theft of shiny pretty silverware.

Yes, room service is expensive and fraught with risk, but in a well run hotel it will be quick, beautifully presented and served with a smile. There is simply no better way to relax on the road than by enjoying a meal in the comfort of your hotel room.

 

Hotel Industry Trends in 2009: Deep discounting and do-it-yourself are in, green programs and healthful food are out

The new year has begun and so far it’s not pretty. With the hotel industry facing the lowest occupancy rates since 1971, a number of alarming trends are emerging. In the midst of all the doom and gloom I thought I’d take a more lighthearted approach to my predictions for the hotel industry in 2009.

1. Everything learned in revenue management training will go out the window. Hysteria will rule the day as hotels drop rates, get indignant when competitors lower rates in response, and then panic and drop rates even further. All inventory will be treated as distressed inventory, erasing years of brand-equity-building and training travelers to look for the best deals on third-party websites. It will take years to recover from these rate wars, and the only victor will be the traveler.

2. Travelers will become more demanding and less forgiving. Smelling the hotel industry’s desperation to fill rooms, travelers will demand even deeper discounts and more value add-ons, while at the same time refusing to tolerate the cuts to services hotels will be forced to implement to stay afloat, posting nasty comments on TripAdvisor like “Save your money! This hotel has gone to hell!!”

3. Service levels will nosedive. The labor shortage crisis of 2008, when hoteliers blamed poor service levels on lack of employee resources, will give way to the job shortage crisis of 2009, when hoteliers will blame poor service levels on tight labor budgets. Managers will be forced to cover frontline shifts to save labor costs, thereby revealing they have no clue how their department operates, resulting in a deluge of missed wakeup calls, accounting errors and guests checked into occupied rooms.

4. Eco-friendly initiatives will be tossed into the recycling bin. Faced with the realization that going green costs money, hotels will opt for programs that guilt the guest into making the sacrifices, such as the now-ubiquitous optional towel and sheet replacement program. Having discovered that guests will tolerate plastic recycling bins and off-white tissue paper, hotels will begin to phase out those adorable little bottles of shampoo, blackberry jam and Dijon mustard in favor of “eco-friendly” (cheap) bulk offerings.

5. Automation and do-it-yourself options will replace costly employees. Hotel managers, faced with the horror of having to deal with guests themselves, will consider previously unthinkable initiatives like automated check-in kiosks. New labor-saving programs will include make-your-own-bed-and-breakfast packages, do-it-yourself luggage carts, and computers standing in for concierges. Meanwhile, all gratuitous positions created during the halcyon days, like “tanning concierge”, “dream butler” and “pillow consultant”, will be summarily retired.

6. The trend toward offering more healthful food choices in restaurants, room service and mini-bars will be reversed as hotels realize that cheeseburgers, Coke and Kit Kats sell better and are more profitable.

7. Lifestyle hotels will spring up as quickly as Starbucks outlets are closing. Customization will be taken a step further, with such options as the daily repainting of rooms to match the guest’s wardrobe, smart lighting that adjusts according to the guest’s mood, and hotels designed exclusively for germophobes, anarchists and narcissists. Meanwhile, lifestyle hotels will continue to confuse guests with cutesy names for traditional positions like “comfort consultant” for housekeeper, “personal nutritionist” for waitress and “ambassador to happiness” for front desk agent.

8. Complimentary amenities will mysteriously vanish. “Amenity Creep”, the one-upmanship game hotels played during prosperous times by adding superfluous items like lip balm, wrinkle cream and nose-hair trimmers, will give way to “Amenity Retreat”, in which all but essential items will be removed and guests will be charged for non-essential items like blankets, soap and hot water. Meanwhile, dog-friendly hotels will be phased out as hotels realize that dogs are not hotel-friendly.

9. The boutique-hotel-as-nightclub trend will spread to traditional hotels like Ritz Carlton, Fairmont and Four Seasons. Lobbies will morph into late-night clubs, with Bach concertos replaced by techno grooves from in-house DJs. Traditional doormen in Beefeater-style uniforms will be supplanted by lobby hostesses in booty shorts, and the mantra “It’s my pleasure, sir” will surrender to “Hey, no problem, man.”

10. Standalone hotels will be a thing of the past. Mixed-use developments, in which hotels are housed in the same complex as condos, retail outlets and office space and condo owners shoulder the burden of costly hotel construction by paying for access to services they will never use, will expand to include hospitals, churches and crematoriums to ensure guests never check out.

Home Sweet Hotel

The increasing popularity of condo-hotel developments has put within reach a lifestyle previously reserved for the rich and famous: living in a hotel. Having been living in a hotel for the past few months, I’ve discovered that it’s not as always as glamorous as it sounds. For any aspiring Donald Trumps out there, a cautionary tale.

Earlier this year, I was approached about relocating to Montreal to live on property as a consultant to the management team of Opus Montreal. With visions of a grandiose lifestyle, I signed a three-month contract. But just prior to my departure things took an unexpected turn when the general manager resigned. Suddenly, I would no longer be working bankers’ hours as an overpaid consultant. I’d be on the front lines as the hotel’s acting resident manager.

Upon arrival I was installed in chic and modern room with red walls. It was only 325 square feet, and had no kitchen, balcony or vibrating bed, but we human beings are natural nesters, and soon it felt like home. The advantages of hotel living became immediately obvious: I would never have to run a vacuum; I had an army of staff on standby to cater to my every whim; and my commute was a short elevator ride to the lobby. I could order room service every night, watch pay movies, and raid the mini-bar—all for free. Each night my bed was turned down for me, chocolates placed on my pillow, and toilet paper rolls tucked into a perfect fold. I had little bottles of shampoo, blackberry jam and vodka, all just for me.

The work was all-consuming, but I loved being back in the thick of things. Then one day it occurred to me I hadn’t left the property in three days. I had earned respect for the hours I worked, but it was only because I had no friends and had nothing better to do. I was getting lazy, spoiled and out of shape. The hotel’s food was amazing, but sometimes I just wanted a peanut butter sandwich. Serious changes were in order. I filled my mini-bar with healthy foods, purchased a microwave and toaster, reduced housekeeping visits to once per week, and started going to a local gym.

Remember Eloise, that precocious six-year-old in children’s storybooks who lived in the penthouse suite at New York’s Plaza Hotel? She always found time for mischief. The difference between Eloise and me is I’m running the joint, which takes all the fun out of hotel living. I’m acutely aware that employees are observing me. Not that I’m paranoid, I’m just a bit neurotic. I don’t want the maid to think I’m a slob, so I make the bed and wipe down the sink before she cleans my room. I’m convinced that restaurant staff hate me because, in accordance with industry practice, I tip only 10% on meals. And while I love how my clothes come back from dry-cleaning all pressed and fresh-smelling, the thought of colleagues sorting through my dirty laundry is a bit unsettling.

One of the allures of hotels is anonymity. Guests can check in, make a mess, be obnoxious, and check out with impunity. I don’t have that luxury here. I can’t be grumpy or difficult, and I can’t stumble in drunk with two hookers on my arms. Not that I ever would, but the fact that I can’t feels oppressive. There’s a nightclub here, Suco, and I’ve considered hanging out there and trying to meet some cool, beautiful Montreal types, but I fear they’ll think I’m a sad, desperate predator, the resident lounge lizard. Fortunately, it’s not really an issue because I can’t stay awake past 10:00. Well, not usually. On a recent Saturday I went out to “faire la fête” with friends from Vancouver and got back at 5:00 AM. Not wanting staff to see me, I skulked through the back entrance, only to run smack into a couple of bar staff getting off shift. “Fun night, Mr. Craig?” one of them asked with a snicker.

When I spend too much time in my room I start to worry I’m becoming Howard Hughes, with those crazed eyes and long yellow toenails. I try to get out more, but unlike at home I don’t have the freedom to wander around in my bathrobe. Even during my time off I feel uncomfortable in jeans because hotel employees aren’t supposed to wear street clothes in public areas. I think the rule has something to do with guests not wanting to know that the staff they’re abusing are real people. Returning from the gym one night, I had to deal with a situation in the lobby in a sweaty muscle shirt and shorts. Another time I was crossing the lobby in my weekend casuals when a gaggle of irate meeting planners accosted me. Six hours later they released me from their clutches.

When I’m in my street clothes I’m never sure how to behave around guests. Do I act like one of them and avoid eye contact? Or do I act like an employee and smile, engaging them in friendly conversation? I’ve found that the latter approach can lead to frantic elevator-button pressing, particularly from Torontonians. Around employees I feel obligated to speak French, or at least to mumble a few badly-pronounced words to show my deep respect for the culture. But, like other Canadian students, after four years of university French I discovered I couldn’t speak a word. I’m taking lessons now, but I’m pretty sure my instructor thinks I have a severe learning disability. Sometimes it’s just easier to stay in my room.

When I travel I like to bring a magazine down to the hotel restaurant and read over dinner. Here I find myself in Koko holding impromptu meetings with staff and guests, signing purchase orders, and sometimes even bussing tables while my food goes cold and my magazine sits unread. I don’t mind, though. Meetings are so much more enjoyable with a glass of wine in my hand.

In September a citywide convention coincided with a strike at several Montreal hotels, leaving a number of hotels overbooked. One night I got mired in a nasty relocate situation with a group of travel-weary Germans. They returned to Opus the next day, and every time I ran into them—far too often since we were cohabitating—they stared daggers at me. To avoid relocating more guests I packed my bags to free up my room and moved into an office. That night, as I stared up at the ceiling from my little cot and thought about all the happy people out there in apartments, I realized I had never been surrounded by so many people yet felt so alone.

Recently, my contract was extended. These days, I make my own bed, eat out most of the time, and even have a few friends. Yet the longer I live in the hotel the more it consumes me. Resistance is futile. I’ve considered renting an apartment, but the truth is I’d miss it. There’s no better way to manage a hotel than to eat, sleep and breathe it. But would I ever move into a condo-hotel complex? Not likely. I don’t mind opening my own doors.

Stars Want to Meet the General Manager and Other Misconceptions

These days it seems every brand wants to hop on the celebrity bandwagon, and hotels are no exception. Having a star in-house can create great buzz, but pursuing the entertainment market is not always in a hotel’s best interest. Next time Beyoncé is coming to town, take a few minutes to evaluate your hotel before calling her travel agent.

 1.       Play by their rules. Entertainment business can be volatile. Bookers require flexibility and are often unwilling to sign a contract, which means the hotel takes the hit when there are last-minute changes. Music groups reserve large room blocks but stay only one or two nights, making it difficult to fill rooms before and after. Don’t allow the excitement of a celebrity’s arrival distract staff from getting a credit card—collecting after departure can be challenging. I’m still mad at an uber-rich rock star who left without paying and has never paid up.

 

2.       Is your service star-caliber? Entertainers work hard on the road and sleep irregular hours. Hotel staff must be on-the-ball around the clock. Hotel riders used to be full of bizarre demands until they started getting published online; now they’re less about which vodka to stock in the suite and more about the mineral water. To ensure there are no surprises, review details with the booker in advance. And don’t believe rumors. A colleague warned me that Janet Jackson doesn’t like to be looked in the eye, which made check-in a little awkward, but she looked at me squarely, smiled, and said, “Hi, I’m Janet!” No “Miss Jackson if you’re nasty” though.

 

3.       Beware of rising and falling stars. I’ve hosted bad-ass rockers who were perfect gentlemen and honey-voiced pop stars who were total nightmares. Seasoned stars rarely cause trouble, it’s the rising stars and falling stars who are more likely to seek reaffirmation through outrageous demands, tantrums and binges. The ubiquity of tabloids and celebrity blogs—not to mention credit cards on file—means stars can’t get away with trashing hotel rooms anymore. In 1992 I tried to shut down a raucous hot tub party held by U2 and was assailed by f-bombs. When I hosted them again years later they were as gracious as elder statesmen.

 

4.       Don’t issue a media release upon arrival. Yes, you want the world to know that Brad and Angelina love your yam fries, but privacy must be paramount. The hotel should have one appointed spokesperson and all other staff should be forbidden from comment. Name-dropping to the media has become acceptable, but wait until after departure, phrase it as “spotted at”, and don’t provide details. Appearing on Entertainment Tonight with the contents of Madonna’s trash might get you exposure, but it’s the quickest way of ensuring she’ll never come back.

 

5.       Careful with pseudonyms. When asked if a celebrity is in-house, staff should always answer an unequivocal no. Some stars use pseudonyms, but even these aren’t foolproof. Years ago, a local woman who got cozy with a star at my hotel was given the boot when his wife and kids arrived. She used his pseudonym to be put through to the room and had a little chat with the wife. Minutes later, a duty manager was summoned to the room to play interference while the wife hurled objects like lamps at the star.

 

6.       Don’t expect stars to pay for suites. Suites are part of the glamorous Hollywood image, right? Not necessarily. Stars frequently stay in regular rooms, often due to production budget limitations. Bookers like to exploit the hotel’s eagerness by demanding upgrades and other concessions. As a result, celebrities may stay in suites, but they’re often paying far less than your average cash-strapped traveler. Don’t expect a lot of incidental revenues either; most of a star’s time is spent off-property.

 

7.       Don’t ask for tickets to the show. Sometimes a tour manager will offer tickets, but they should never be solicited. Are they asking for free rooms? If your general manager coerces you into asking on behalf of his tween daughter, don’t bother the band, ask the tour manager—and offer something in return. When tickets are offered, they should be distributed equitably and winners should be required to show up. A while back, REM gave my staff a block of front-row tickets and several of them no-showed. Not cool.

 

8.       Stars don’t want to meet the hotel manager. GMs, suspiciously absent when a VIP group convener from Kansas needs an escort, miraculously materialize for a star meet-and-greet. But stars don’t want pomp, they want to be left alone. A GM’s time is better spent ensuring everything is immaculate in advance and leaving a handwritten note and thoughtful amenity. But don’t go overboard. Once I had an actor check in for a three-month stay, only to move to an apartment the next day, taking the $150 gift basket with him. If you want to know if Fabio is enjoying his stay, ask housekeeping; they always know what’s going on.

 

Yes, hosting celebrities can be glamorous, but unless you’re willing to play by their rules it might make better business sense to take that lackluster corporate group.

 

 

Murder at Hotel Cinema is out!

The moment you’ve been waiting for! (or at least I have). To purchase Murder at Hotel Cinema visit your local bookstore (ask them to order if it’s not in stock) or order on line. For info on upcoming signings click here.

This week, Opus Hotel asked me to make a Special Celebrity Guest Appearance (okay, my words) on its blog for old times’ sake. Here it is:

Return of the Intrepid Blogger
It’s me again! Did you miss me? Did you even notice I was gone? Don’t worry, I haven’t returned to my old job as general manager of Opus. I’ve been asked to do a guest spot on this blog. Apparently Katrina has been “busy”, but I every time I walk past Glowbal I see her sipping wine on the patio.

[Note from Katrina: FUNNY, Dan. It’s more like guzzling bad coffee on Montreal-bound flights. Now if we’re talking patio-tippling, I believe there have been numerous sightings of an certain author…]

It’s been five looong months since I left Opus to finish my book, and, well, it’s been hell. If I ever questioned whether I loved my job before, I don’t anymore. Managing a hotel is not easy, but writing is ten times harder. Spending all that time with no one to talk to but an evil voice that keeps telling you you’re a fraud can play nasty tricks on your psyche. (That voice used to say the same thing when I was a hotel manager but there were more people around to drown it out).

The good news is, my third book is done and my second, Murder at Hotel Cinema, is out this month. Continuing with the hotel whodunit theme, this one is about the murder of a troubled celebrity at the opening party of a fashionable Hollywood hotel—that is not unlike Opus. When his prized employees become suspects, general manager Trevor Lambert struggles to protect them from the incriminating glare of the LAPD and the prying eyes of reporters, risking everything to expose the killer. Oooh scary! My launch takes place later this month—where else but Opus? After that I’ll be a free agent, so if you know anyone looking for someone to do very little work for lots of money, send them my way.

Truth is, I never fully severed ties with Opus. Not only do I drop in regularly to beg staff to tell me they still love me, but I’ve also done some project work, most recently having updated the Lifestyle Concierge, which will be up and running soon. On a recent visit I was thrilled to see a development proposal for a 250-seat restaurant on Opus’s rooftop. Hot! I’m thinking of applying as a suntan lotion boy, but only if I can wear little white shorts and make enough tips to never have to write again. I was also happy to hear about the opening of Koko in Montreal, which I’m told was the party of the year—and no murders! So much for new writing material.

I used to shy away from commenting on the Vancouver hotel scene, but now that I’m a Special Guest Star with no real accountability, I thought I’d put out a few random Deep Hotel Thoughts:

1. Where are the guests going to come from?
It’s fantastic to see all the new hotels under development in Vancouver, but after the 2010 Olympics it’s going to be a fierce market. Only those who offer a superior product will thrive. Go Opus!

2. Does Vancouver need another Fairmont?
Not that Fairmont doesn’t run fantastic hotels, but with the 415-room Fairmont Pacific Rim scheduled to open in mid-2009 there will be four Fairmonts in Vancouver, plus one in Whistler and another in Victoria. Maybe too much of a good thing? I think Fairmont should give one back. We’ll take the new one.

3. Will Hotel Loden ever open?
I remember the drama when Opus was delayed by a few months and can certainly empathize with the opening team at Loden. By my calculation it’s about seventeen years behind schedule, but maybe it just feels that way. Let’s get a move on, builders, it’s lonely on the boutique front and Opus is looking forward to some friendly competition.

Well, that’s it for now. It’s been great reconnecting. Hopefully I’ll be invited back. If not, you can always visit me at my website. Until then, be cool, don’t forget to tip the maid, avoid hotel rooms with floral bedspreads, and remember to put on a bathrobe before you put that room service cart in the hallway—hotel room doors self-close.

Oh, and don’t forget to enter to win TV Week’s Sex and the City Weekend package, including two nights at Opus with breakfast and parking, spa treatments at Spruce, a Sex and the City DVD set and, la pièce de résistance, cocktails with me at Opus (but no sex, just city) and a signed copy of Murder at Hotel Cinema. Good luck!

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