Sydney Contrast

"Oh, does he come with the room!?"

Bo's hands shot up to cover a blushing guffaw. Connie, doubled over by a laughspasm, momentarily rested both hands on her knees. 

A naked man exited the steamy bathroom of Sheraton on the Park's Royal Suite, vigorously brushing his teeth, covered only by a towel.

"Well, what have we here?" Elena, (pronounced "Elenor" without the final "r"), flirtatiously queried. Elena, an adorable Italian-Australian, guided us on what proved to be an unforgettable pre-breakfast tour of her hotel. 

We saw our "in-room amenity" again, fifteen-minutes later at breakfast, this time wearing a starchy  banquet uniform. He grinned, hovering through the group with a silver tray, offering muselix topped with yogurt and strawberries in champagne flutes.

The Sheraton brand of hotels is notorious for being inconsistent. During the past few years the parent company, Starwood Hotels and Resorts, has made an effort to standardize their nearly 500 hotels. US properties have either been disenfranchised or renovated in a Martha Steward-inspired palate of baby blues, tans and browns. International Sheratons, however, are quite the wild card.

On the continuum of dive to palace, Sydney's Sheraton on the Park pushes the limits of the latter. When I arrived on a Monday afternoon after a flight via LAS-LAX-NAN-SYD, I wanted to throw a tantrum. There was no time to sink into the comforter floating above the cherry-wood tone bed frame, or to stare from aforementioned out the windows onto Hyde Park below and the harbor beyond. I settled for 15 minutes in the shower and a frantic clothes-ironing routine. This hotel would be a Westin, (one rank higher on the Starwood food chain), if it weren't for the Westin down the street.

On a tour at the Westin down the street:

"This is the suite Trya Banks slept in!" Paul mousily cupped his hands to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his evident excitement. "And all the season 8 girls were down this hall." When I confessed to Paul that I often attended a weekly viewing of America's Next Top Model, we became the bestest of friends.

"We don't get your ANTM down here. But I have my illegal on-line methods. Every Sunday night my partner and I are glued to my computer screen." I became known as the "ANTM Guy." During every hotel tour I found my reputation had preceded me. I quite liked the designation. It broke the ice. And It turns out Aussies love trash TV as much as the next country.

From the Street, the Westin is a solid sand-stone heritage property. The lower floors and bustling atrium were once Sydney's General Post Office. The modern annex, twenty-six some-odd upper floors, forms a sleek hotel tower and an interesting juxtaposition of materials and styles. Don't read me wrong, the hotel lives up to its five-star claim, but the blond wood and frosted glass isn't warm or embracing like the Sheraton's decor.  I like me a heritage loft; but in Sydney, I preferred warmth and access to Hyde Park.

Not one to be outdone by its younger cousin, the Westin surprised us with live koalas and a baby crocodile set up petting-zoo style in one of their subterranean ballrooms.

I'll be visiting Australia again in two weeks. On my way home, I have a 16-hour layover in Sydney and quick night's sleep at the Sheraton.  Dinner plans are in the works with Elena and Paul. There's talk of Karaoke afterward.

Whenever I end up going to bed, I plan on opening the drapes closed during the hotel's nightly turn-down service. That way, without getting out of bed in the morning, I'll be able to see the sun reflecting off the tiles of the Sydney Opera House down in the harbor.