The beautiful Post Oak Hotel in Houston has perfectly executed every detail from lobby to rooms, despite the incessant noise from the 610 freeway. Can’t imagine the sound level if I were lower than the 18th floor.
The shower is perfect. Lovely products, excellent hardware, beautiful marble mosaic floor. And note the city-view window!
But what is that little shelf way down at ankle level?
The lately so-prevalent hotel coffee pot that could be a cesspool of germs. And these days I say… so what?
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Love this new shower temperature gauge in the Marriott Courtyard Central Park Hotel in New York City. It reflects the actual temperature of the water, not what you hope it to be.
The handheld sprayhead is quite nice, too. The bathroom was quite orange, including a whole wall you can see reflected in the sprayhead; but I like orange.
Speaking of reflecting… I had some challenges taking the photo. The first few were definitely NSFW. Too much nudity in the mirror-like finish of the hardware.
I wrote about this ages ago, way back in Hotel Oddity #6, but back then the idiotic installation was in the Miami Radisson Mart Plaza Hotel. I thought it was a unique display of incompetence, a one-off, a singular example of the Peter Principle, combined with management negligence. And look! Here it is again!
This time at the historic Millennium Biltmore Los Angeles, the art deco beauty whose lobby is a show set and whose rooms are pretty ordinary. Our room wasn’t ordinary though. At least I hope not. Could all the rooms have “security” like this?
Need I point out the upside-down installation of the chain receptacle? It doesn’t matter if the door has other security measures, a deadbolt for example, because a guest may choose to use the chain and not the deadbolt, believing himself secure. (No comments on the insufficiency of that particular guest…)
The Millennium Biltmore security lapse does not take away from the beauty and drama of its downstairs lobby and rooms. It’s definitely worth a visit. But management? Would you please fix this?
[dropcap letter=”H”]otel lobby baggage theft is common precisely because people think it is not. We tend to feel we’ve entered a safe zone when we enter our hotel lobby.
And of course, it feels that way: compared to the city on the other side of the door, it is cool (or warm, if it’s winter), quiet, and peaceful. All the hustle and bustle of the street disappears, the crowds, the traffic, honking, sirens, beggars, hawkers, weather. The lobby may have flowers, scent, soothing music, something to drink, smiles. Compared to the outdoors, the lobby is the very nirvana the hotel advertises.
Bob and I went to Rome recently for a film shoot with a German production company. We arrived two days before the film crew, but we happened to be in the lobby when they arrived. All ten of them entered with their luggage and crowded around the reception desk. Several tossed their backpacks into a corner while they checked in and introduced themselves to Bob and me. Eyeing those unguarded bags, I decided not to be a worrywart, a killjoy, and a hysteric. I thought I’d do my best to keep my eye on the bags.
The lobby was mildly chaotic with check-ins, greetings, and the driver back and forth with luggage. Next thing I knew, one of the crew lunged toward the luggage and grabbed the hand of a crouching thief.
It happened so fast it almost didn’t happen. The thief ran out the door empty-handed. Bob and I took off after him.
Bob ran faster and further than I did, and eventually caught a man who claimed to be a friend of the thief’s. We had not gotten a good look at the thief in the lobby—not that this guy knew that. Strangely, he didn’t object to my openly filming him. He also gave us his mobile phone number. Marco, a member of the crew who’d caught up with us, called the number right away to see if the number was correct. The friend-of-the-thief’s phone rang. None of us could identify the thief, so after talking for a while, we said goodbye.
Meanwhile, a police car had parked in front of our hotel. In the back seat was a newly-arrested pickpocket and outside of the car a victim was identifying the pickpocket to a policeman. That incident was totally unrelated to our attempted baggage theft. One of our crew used the opportunity to tell the officer about our almost-theft. We didn’t speak with the handcuffed pickpocket or the victim, but we wished we could have since we’d come to Rome to shoot a special on pickpocketing. What a coincidence!
The moral of the story is that baggage can’t be safely ignored in a hotel lobby. Not even through two glass doors, not even with a crowd of pals around, not with the receptionist facing the door, not even for a minute. But this story gets weirder. Much weirder!
At midnight, Marco’s phone rings. We’d had a good day of filming, a good dinner together, and we’re all standing in Piazza Barberini enjoying the night air and the energy from our successful shoot.
Marco doesn’t recognize the Italian phone number calling him but he answers his phone. His face darkens.
“I saw you and I know where you’re staying,” a man threatens in English. “I’m the guy who was in the back of the police car. In front of your hotel.”
What? None of us had ever spoken with that perp. We hadn’t given any of our phone numbers to anyone.
The thief continues: he knows who we are. We better not put any footage on Youtube. And he hangs up.
Marco is shaken. The rest of us are confused. Who was the man on the phone? He was certainly not the one who tried (and failed) to steal a crew member’s backpack in our hotel lobby. Neither was he the friend-of-the-thief. This guy was handcuffed in the back of a squad car during all that action.
Bob and I come up with a theory. A small band of marauding thieves had been prowling the area. As one attempted hotel lobby baggage theft, another pickpocketed a man on the street. A multidisciplinary criminal outfit on a self-enrichment offensive. Unspecialized opportunists on a hit-and-miss venture.
Bob phones the mystery thief. “Bob Arno, I know you,” the pickpocket says. “I’ve watched your film. I’m sitting here in a cafe with about 30 other pickpockets and we’ve all seen it.” No longer threatening; he’s positively jovial. He had heard the police officers talk about our tv shoot while he was being booked at the police station. He was let go (of course), and later reunited with his friends. The one whose phone Marco had called, and the one who had tried to steal a backpack.
Knowing Bob Arno from the National Geographic film Pickpocket King, the three paranoid thieves thought Bob had filmed the attempted baggage theft and did not want the footage put online.
Bob phoned the pickpocket once more:
The next day I call him, via Skype. We bond, and have a good conversation. And he spills some secrets: the size of their network, how they work and where, and how long they stay in one country. About thirty of them, all Moroccans, make up the gang. He is friendly and quite educated. This surprises me. This is nearly always how we start out: digging and drilling down for information. Gentle, easy question at first, slowly building some sort of rapport. Eventually we can map their entire operation, including girlfriends, snitches, fences, and on and on. Some of these efforts can take years, and they are not all successful.
All this resulting from a hotel lobby baggage theft that didn’t even happen. Read about Marianne, an actual victim of hotel lobby baggage theft.
Think you’d notice a bag thief prowling around your hotel lobby? You haven’t met “Pedro,” a very different practitioner of hotel lobby baggage theft. Pedro, a multi-talented thief working in Paris, told us:
If you want to make money, you have to go to the big hotels, the five-stars. You use psychology, so you’re not suspected. You must be well-dressed. If you look like a good man, the person working the doors doesn’t keep you out. You are a good man! You have to feel like a good man to avoid security.
Look and feel like a good man. By that Pedro means appearing respectable, unimpeachable. Unlike our bag-thief-wannabe in Rome, Pedro doesn’t snatch and dash. He stands right beside you—orders coffee beside you in the lobby bar. He’s a good actor—you don’t suspect him. You don’t raise your antennas because he’s near. In fact, your guard is down. You’re in the hotel lobby!
At the Carmos Hotel in Madeira, you are heartily encouraged to enjoy your life! Good idea! Okay, let’s start now!
This is the message chosen for the plastic shower cap package. Printed in black, though. No colors. Does that take the sincerity out of the message?
And what about that picture? A lotus? Yes, a muddily-printed black lotus.
I’d expect to see something like this in Asia. Strikes me as odd in Portugal. Even on the semi-tropical island of Madeira.
Shower caps packaged in China? Probably.
It’s my birthday, and we’re on the road, as usual. This time it’s an okay low-budget hotel in Anchorage. Our plan for a nice dinner was dashed due to the limited nearby options.
(At the diner with the best potential: “What’s best here?” “Well, we serve breakfast all day.” I can take a hint.)
After “breakfast,” I’m about to watch a film in bed, laptop on my lap. Bob says he’ll watch it with me, move over.
“Get on the other side,” I suggest lazily.
“No, move over,” he insists.
So I do. And under the covers, I feel something soft and loose. Something that doesn’t belong in a freshly pulled-back hotel bed.
Squeamish, I leap out of the bed, disgusted. “Ew, they didn’t change the linens! Someone’s left clothes in the bed! I have to call…”
I reach for the phone and Bob bursts out laughing.
“Look again,” he says. “It’s your birthday present!”
Yes, a dress. Beautiful. Funny. And so much more fun than tearing open wrapping paper.
Can you read this?
I love bedside controls, but this one was tricky. The buttons were small, the text tiny, icons obscure. Who designed this remote?
Did they think about the fact that my contacts might be out? My glasses off? Reading glasses out of reach?
Otherwise, we love the Shangri-la in Singapore. We even appreciate the idea of this remote.
Great convenience in theory!
In practice… needs work!
Shangri-La is better at delightful room surprises.
Ego-stroking sex-based scams target vulnerable loners, or those who appear to be single. In a bar scene or come-on, some people suck up flirtation as if it were a windfall. Flattery becomes a white noise that all but drowns out warning bells. Bob and I watched in Barcelona while a working girl latched onto a man strolling along La Rambla. She pulled him into a shallow alcove and he couldn’t, or didn’t resist her handiwork. Both parties appeared to be into it until the woman’s groping fingers became light fingers. Coincidentally, the man’s wife and daughter caught up with him just then, too; he and his intimate thief were only two steps off the sidewalk. We have no idea how he explained the scenario and evidence of his willing participation to his family.
In Prague last week, a woman used the same technique right in the lobby of the Marriott Hotel. She worked hard on one man, then serviced his eager friend as well while, of course, serving herself.
It was all over in two minutes. Marriott’s security camera caught the entire encounter. You’ve got to see the sexy pickpocket at work.
This intriguing basket was waiting in our room when we checked into the Shangri-La hotel in Singapore. It had been a long journey for us and our heads were spinning. We didn’t know quite what we wanted. Sleep? Food? Drink? A walk?
The Shangri-La knew exactly what we wanted. Jasmine tea! The insulated basket contained a large pot of hot tea, which turned out to be just what we needed.
Shangri-La tea, famous world-round, is a delightful hidden surprise in guests’ rooms upon arrival. I like that the beautiful presentation requires exploration. The reward is in the discovery.
And in case we should consider a run, there was a handy jogger’s map, too.
