A Cookie in Ft Lauderdale

"Each Ritz Carlton Resort has its own signography. Ours is the Endless Wonder of Water."

I roll my eyes. 

Adam Marcy, Senior Sales Manager of the Ritz Carlton Ft Lauderdale, gestures towards a large mural above the bar in the Via Luna Lounge. At first glance it seems only to be a large wave at sunset.

"If you focus on the crest you will see more than just a wave. . ."

Connie and I squint for a few seconds. Connie: "Oh yeah, horses!" Me: "Huh?" I finally see them.

There's a scene in one of the Lord of the Rings movies where some elvin magic causes a river to charge down a gulch in the shape of magic water horses. The aqueous equines block Orcs or some other evil from devouring Tolkein's clan of vulnerable do-gooders.

I wonder if Peter Jackson's effect guys stayed here. 

I'm jet lagged from a red eye flight from Salt Lake. This morning, when I landed, I took a taxi in to town to meet Connie on a tour of the Ritz Carlton before boarding the Allure of the Seas. 

We tour guestrooms. The standard rooms are huge, blond woody, blue and green ocean glass accented,  with views of the canals of Ft. Lauderdale or the Atlantic. There is a surprising amount of meeting space.

"Ft Lauderdale is known as the Venice of North America." Adam pushes the chiffon curtain aside. "I much prefer the views of the canals and city to those of the ocean. At night the ocean is black; but he city is full of lights and color."

The Ritz Ft Lauderdale was opened as a St. Regis in 2007. For whatever reason the Reg backed out and Ritz Carlton now manages the property.  I ask if there were any changes when the Ritz took over. Apparently, there were not. The ballrooms still carry the St Regis name plates of "John Jacob Astor Ballroom," and the "Astor Boardroom." It's a detail I have a hard time forgetting.

At the end of our tour Adam points to three glass and silver water coolers in the lounge: "As a continuation of our Endless Wonder of Water signography we have lemon, berry, and ginger infused water for our guests. Would you like to try one?"

I ask Adam how to spell "signography." I'm not sure if he ignores me or thinks I am talking to Connie. I get the idea he is uncomfortable with the subject. We shake hands. He gives me a sales packet.

I choose berry. Connie tries the lemon. We say goodbye and then buy a juice and a cookie in the lobby shop before ordering a taxi. I ask the cashier if he has heard of the word, or if he knows the Endless Wonder of Water thing.

He cracks a joke. And then in true Ritz fashion: "I'm not sure, but it would be my pleasure to find out for you."

"PETA was so ten years ago!"

Gina had a secret.

She planted her elbows next to the Le Creuset Caribbean Oval Wide French Oven steaming with peasant split pea oh la la, and turned her sultry on. 

Our dinner, meant to showcase the St. Regis Deer Crest's Astor Deck, (Banquet seating in rounds up to 250, reception style 295), threatened by rain, had been moved indoors.  Wine pairings with prawn this, lamb that, and sorbet the other were beginning to take their toll.

"Have you seen Tod? He's usually by the lobby fireplace. Banquets must have let him out when they moved the furniture for our dinner." Almost winking, bottom lip botoxy: "Those white blankets in your rooms . . . the ones at the foot of your beds . . . were all supposed to be genuine fox-fur throws!"

She paused coyly, waiting for the carnage to sink in: 250 guestrooms, 68 suites, 4 penthouse residences, some of them double rooms. . . that makes 300, maybe 400 beds.

Rolling her eyes, and doing a Marilyn with her shoulders: ". . .But they didn't go with the decor. And knowing how guests get attached, we really didn't want to replace Tod and friends every time one decided to pack a little furry guy home in their luggage!"

Killing foxes for a room accent is dumb.

But why then, did I pine for my own genuine fox fur throw when I opened the door to my room? I'd like to believe that most moneyed Americans would generally be against real fur accouterments. How is it that spending a cold night in a "European Luxury Hotel" in Utah made me want to turn on my remote-control fireplace and snuggle in fox?

We saw the fox throw next morning at breakfast. We took turns petting "Tod" between bites of eggs Benedict.

Wow, was he ever soft. 

St. Regis Treasure Tracks

Never mind that the funicular at the St. Regis Deer Crest reads like an afterthought, because it's a pretty cool way to arrive. It drops you off right next to the St. Regis Bar, my new favorite place for a drink and a fireside chat around SLC.

On a whim, I showed up with a friend one night last May at 10:00 p.m. Sales Manager, Chris Levoie, had taken me for a hardhat tour back in February, but I had been anxious to see the final product and hadn't yet bothered to set up an official appointment.  

I tossed my keys to the valet at the lower reception area. Mandy, an blond Australian, greeted us warmly, explaining that the bar would be open until 11:00. A flight of stairs, an up button later, and we were ascending the hill on overstuffed leather benches, city lights twinkling below.

We wandered a few hallways, peeped into the windows of the spa, specked out the Astor Ballroom, the library, and eventually found our way to the lobby.

"May I help you gentleman?" a staff member approached us from behind the front desk. We made small talk about our drop-in, some artwork we had seen in the bar, and occupancy level of the hotel. Anxious to see us diverted in some revenue-generating task, he escorted us to the bar, apologized for not recalling the artist who painted the mural behind it, saw to it we had menus, were seated, and then retreated down the stairs.

I chose a passion fruit chili soda from an unusually-long list of nonalcoholic beverages; and my guest, a cider hot tottie. Did they have any desert offerings? No. But the keep was sure room service could whip up something for us.  We ordered cobbler a la mode.

A quarter hour later, in club chairs around our private fire place, we received cobbler in personal petite dutch ovens. Unexpectedly, the staff member who had escorted us to the bar, returned. "Phillip Buller is the artist. The mural depicts the mining history of Park City.  Are you enjoying your drinks? Isn't the cobbler delicious?"

We closed the bar, and lamented leaving our fireside perch. Floating, as it seemed, down the mountain, I observed how great it was to receive excellent service, even while undercover.

Tongue Twister in Park City

Editor's Note 26/1/11: It looks like Hyatt purchased an existing property in the Canyons Ski Resort Area. The "new" hotel is called the Hyatt Escala Lodge. A quick preview of photos shows small rooms with bedspreads. Yuck. The hotel is taking reservations, and seems to have significant refurbishment plans.

"Wait. Didn't you say you're from Utah?!"

My Finish-sounding business speed date from Hyatt practically jumped across the table."I was just at a Hyatt Worldwide meeting in Los Angeles. They announced a new Hyatt for Salt Lake City."

"Oh, I hope its downtown!" I leaned forward, nearly meeting her in the middle. "We really need another high-end property next to the Salt Palace." Images filled my mind of a sleek high-rise with brushed metal, warm wood tones, polished stone and white orchids at registration.

"No, not downtown . . ." The image dissipated.

She leaned back now, ready for a potentially long game of "do you know."

". . .A ski resort, I think. Yes. A ski resort."

"Park City?" 

"That's it! A Park Hyatt in Park City!" Head shaking now, "How could I forget?"

In the past year, Park City has experienced an infestation of world-class properties all perfectly nestled above town. The Waldorf Astoria, St. Regis, and Montage are all dazzlers. And with Park Hyatt Park City taking up residence, the town is beginning to sound like Dubai of the mountains.

The Park Hyatts I have known, and only in passing, exude nonchalant sophistication. They laugh at the thought of tux-wearing, champagne-serving butlers. ("That's so nouveau riche!") They gasp at the audacity of  Roman numerals in a hotel name. ("We don't need Frenchy-sounding words!") They are modern, you could say,  but not austere. I will call them incandescent rather than directly lit.

Hotel chains are so diversified that it's hard to keep all the sub-brands straight. Hyatt? Hyatt Regency? Hyatt Place? Hyatt Summerfield Suites? Andaz? Well, the Park Hyatt is the top of the top. What they all hope to be when they grow up. Hyatt International operates only twenty-six of them.

Park H's mission statement promises: Premier Locations, Understated Residential Elegance, Authentic Details, Gracious Service, Exquisite Cuisine, Impressive Art Collection, Rejuvenating Spas, & Exceptional Meetings and Events--but really, who doesn't these days?

To be different, perfect hotel placement would be on Main Street. Current mountain sprawl 5-stars outdo each other with promises of ten-minute van transfers to the city's industry-studded nightlife. Compared to the others, wouldn't walking distance be so, well, luxurious?

My Finn seemed to think the Canyons Ski Resort will be home.

Wherever you end up, Welcome.