Apparently, hotels can’t build suites (as opposed to run-of-the-mill hotel rooms) fast enough to keep up with the demand. I guess the Russian mafia is still solvent and rock stars will always need enough room to house their entourage and hangers-on in the manner to which they have become accustomed. Those of us who do not travel in those circles must resort to obtaining our suites the hard way: via upgrades and freebees. That’s because the only acceptable way to enjoy a suite is not to pay for it. Courtesy of my many years as a road (or more correctly air) warrior, I managed to score many suites along the way.
One of these was in downtown Seattle near Pike Market, in a boutique hotel fashioned from a reclaimed warehouse. My suite took up the entire 5th floor. It had twenty-foot ceilings, exposed pipes, concrete floors painted to look like marble, and a free-standing fireplace that was about 10 feet across. My private elevator opened right into the entryway, which consisted of a sitting area, the first of 4 bathrooms, and a mini-library. To get to the two bedrooms, you had to go through the formal living room and den, traverse the hallway that went towards the exercise room, and take a left at the sun terrace. Good thing there were lots of places to sit down along the way. I spent exactly seven hours in the room, not even long enough to see if room service delivery would have gotten cold on the way from the front door to the dining area (or perhaps they would have cooked it to order in the restaurant-calibre kitchen – I will never know).
I also managed to score an on-the-spot suite upgrade at a conference in Florida. This was fantastic as I was staying for three nights. It was rather modest by suite standards, with only one bedroom, two bathrooms, and a combined living/dining area. Five TVs, though. The hotel was built around a big atrium with pools, restaurants, and gardens, which meant the window in the bedroom looked out into the public walkways. Maybe that’s why the suite was available: it wasn’t very paparazzi-proof. Anyhow, it was nice to have a bit of room to spread out, at least until I succumbed to Norovirus the next morning, which confined me to the floor of one of the spacious bathrooms for the remaining two days.
The pandemic changed many things about travel, not the least of which were some of the little niceties that made it civilized. Like defaulting to QR codes for menus in restaurants, paper versions reluctantly provided if you ask; like providing physical magazines in the airline lounge that you could bring on the plane, instead of digital versions that are impossible to read; and putting shampoo and soap dispensers on the wall of hotel room showers instead of offering gem-like containers of designer amenities.
But I’m happy to report that, despite having retired as a road warrior, my suite days are not yet over because I’ve found a way to maintain my hotel VIP status. I won’t give my secret away, because if I tell you I’ll have to kill you. However, it’s now the norm that when I show up at the Toronto hotel I frequent at least twice a month, they hail me like I’m entering a Japanese izakaya and say I’ve been upgraded to a suite. And my unapologetic-first-world-self smiles all the way up the elevator to my box of chocolates, sumptuous bathrobe, and real glassware.