The hotel industry is built on cheerfulness and spirited optimism, yet in these challenging economic times it’s getting increasingly difficult for employees to hold their smile. Amidst all the doom and gloom I thought I’d take a more lighthearted approach to identifying some of the trends emerging in the hotel industry.
Archive for the ‘Hotel Management’ Category
Guest Feedback: The Devil, the Details, and Pierre
A recent guest took our Lifestyle Concierge quiz and was so surprised by his similarities to Pierre he sent us this letter. We thought you’d enjoy.
To: Mr. Nicholas Gandossi, General Manager
I have just spent an evening at your trendy little address in Vancouver and felt I should convey my observations for the sake of fellow travelers, loungers and food lovers.
See you on the flipside
December 28 will be my last day at Opus. And wow, what an amazing six years it’s been. For those not interested in hearing me get all sentimental, feel free to fast-forward to previous posts about misbehaving guests, mini-bar sex toys, and makeup-smearing drag queens. For the rest of you, kindly allow me a moment.
There’s one major reason why I’ve come to this place every day for six years, the same reason it’s so hard to leave: the staff. Never before have I worked with such a talented team of dedicated professionals. It’s been a privilege to work with them every day. I’ve learned so much and, most importantly, I’ve had a blast along the way.
I’m proud to be leaving Opus while it leads the boutique hotel market in service, financial performance and reputation. Opus Vancouver is once again named on of the World’s Best 500 Hotels in the January 2008 issue of Travel + Leisure magazine. How has a little independent hotel achieved such success? Great location, style, and quality, yes, but more than anything it’s all about the people.
Chain conformity and other foreboding phrases
Sorry for the long absence, but I have a good excuse. In case you somehow dodged the salvo of announcements issued by our media team, Opus has adopted a younger sister. She’s gorgeous, speaks fluent French and, fortunately, lives far enough away from Vancouver that we won’t be too jealous. Her name is Opus Montreal.
On July 9, Trilogy Properties Corporation, owner-operators of Opus Hotel in Vancouver and operators of Adara Hotel in Whistler, purchased Hotel Godin and re-flagged it Opus Montreal. Since I promised long ago to be a blogger not a flogger, I will resist the temptation to go on and on about this beautiful property, the fantastic staff, its ideal location. I’ll leave that to the website.
I know what you’re thinking. The irony hasn’t escaped me either that, after years of bashing hotel chains, I now work for one. This “chain” is only two hotels, but already I’ve caught myself uttering such odious phrases as “economies of scale” and “chain standards”. Not that hotel chains are evil. Some of my best friends work for them, and I myself have worked for several. They serve many critical functions. For example, they house drunken conventioneers wearing badges and silly hats so boutiques don’t have to. And they fill rooms with low-rated government business so we don’t have to either.
While the term “boutique chain” may sound like an oxymoron, there are a number of successful ones out there: Morgans, Thompson, Joie de Vivre and Kimpton to name a few. It’s not chains themselves that are the problem, but chain mentality. I have an inordinate fear of reporting to some over-caffeinated vice president at corporate office in some obscure state like, say, Delaware who considers herself an authority on all things hotel, yet has never actually worked in one, nor, evidently, even stayed in one. Terms like “chain conformity” also make me shudder. This involves head office issuing a decree that all hotels in the chain offer the same service—like, for example, using the same folksy, cliché-ridden guest welcome letter crafted by the president—regardless of whether it’s a chic urban hotel or a remote resort.
Of course, many travelers are scared of boutique hotels. And who can blame them, given some of the appalling ones out there. Some travelers want the predictability of a hotel chain, where it looks and feels like home no matter where they are in the world. These are the people you see in Paris dining at Burger King. Boutique travelers want surprises, as long as they’re pleasant. You’ll see them dining in some off-the-beaten-path, authentic café in St-Germain-des-Pres.
Does the fact that Opus is now plural mean that our fierce individualism, our irreverent, bad-ass spirit will be crushed? Hell no. The truth is, we’ve never actually been bad-ass. Perhaps a bit irreverent, but at heart most of us at Opus are somewhat conservative hoteliers. We understand that, above all, travelers want comfort, convenience, and intuitive service. In Vancouver and Montreal, Opus will offer this and more: a unique and special experience that reflects the local history and culture.
I’ve been traveling to Montreal a lot lately, and anyone who travels east on business will relate to the joys of traversing time zones. You lose an entire day flying. The lateness of your flight is directly correlated with the earliness of your morning meeting. Your luggage takes forever to arrive, and it’s a very tense time because everyone carries the same black suitcase and you’re certain that pushy lady with the bad perm made off with yours. The taxi queue rivals the line at the passport office. If you’re lucky, you get to the hotel by midnight, which is okay because it’s only 9:00 pm back home. Except you can’t sleep. At all. Even with medication. You muddle through the next day in a jet-lagged, overmedicated, sleep-deprived haze. Finally, 6:00 pm arrives. Your day is over. Except a barrage of frantic emails from back home ensues, chaining you to your computer until their workday is over, three hours later. When you finally do adjust to local time, it’s time to fly home, where you suffer the same trauma in reverse.
While in Montreal I’ve been living in the hotel, which sounds glamorous, and sometimes it is. Hotels are magical places, staffed by super-friendly people who open doors for you, call you sir, and make your bed way better than you ever could. I love having my own little shampoo containers and jam jars. But a certain degree of privacy is sacrificed. On Tuesday my “wakeup call” was delivered by an irate guest screaming into my phone about a mishap at check-in.
Language is more formal in Montreal. In my capacity as acting general manager I’ve been introducing myself to staff like a typical westerner: “Hi! I’m Dan.” Yet when they introduce me it’s, “Je vous présente Monsieur Daniel Craig, le directeur general.” This makes me feel exceptionally important, wealthy, and, inexplicably, taller. I’m considering insisting on the same introduction in Vancouver, perhaps with “par excellence” thrown in for good measure. But I’m a little nervous about how it will be received.
Speaking of which, what is it that compels certain hotel managers to act like royalty? Over the years I’ve observed them prancing about their hotels, expecting employees to fall at their feet in their presence, seeming to relish the terror they strike in their hearts. Did we go back to the 18th century and no one told me? “That little minion didn’t curtsy when I passed—off with her head!” Shouldn’t managers want staff to expend this time and energy fussing over guests?
In my world, good hotel management boils down to one word: respect. Earned respect, not ordained respect. Treat everyone with respect—guests, staff, colleagues, owners, suppliers, that perky saleslady who’s called you five times this week, and, yes, even that high-strung VP in Delaware—and they will respect you. Humility is also essential. Guests and staff must always come first. If it has to be about you, consider a career in show business. Add hard work to the mix—as Thomas Edison said, there is no substitute for hard work—, integrity, and a bit of luck, and you have the recipe for success, whether you work for a five-star hotel, a roadside motel, a chain or an independent.
These are the values we’ll be bringing to Opus Montreal. We look forward to seeing you there. A la prochaine.
Lifestyle Hotel: Multiple Personalities
Opus has never claimed to be the clichéd “home away from home”. Unless of course your bathroom at home has floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the street. I like to compare Opus to “a cool friend’s apartment”, a phrase I appropriated from one of our frequent guests. It captures the hotel’s residential feel and some key design elements.
When I first heard that the hotel’s interior design team, led by the brilliant Robert Bailey (formerly of Architectura, now Stantec), was planning five guestroom décor schemes and 16 layouts, I thought they were crazy. With only 96 rooms, where was the economy of scale? They also planned to paint rooms red, blue, green and yellow. Colours? What about the official colour of every hotel room ever built: beige? They also casually mentioned that some rooms would have windows between the bathroom and bedroom – but no blinds, just a translucent sheer. I managed to win that battle by reminding them that some people travel with their grandmother. But the other design elements remained.
The hotel’s unique design features have made it fun to give tours. What I didn’t anticipate were the clever marketing opportunities the décor schemes presented. For inspiration, the design team created five fictional characters to represent the hotel’s typical guests, and then built rooms around them. Colours, fabrics and furnishings were selected to evoke the diverse lifestyles these personalities represented.
Think of these characters as a friend you’re coming to stay with. If you choose Susan, you’ll get a “stylish and sophisticated” blue room with curvy lamps and sexy fabrics. Susan’s a fashionista from Toronto who’s into the “see and be seen” scene. You’ll also find a selection of CDs and books to match her refined tastes (think opera, Dido and high fashion). After all, what do you do when you stay at a friend’s? You check out her CD collection and snoop through her bookshelf. Maybe you raid the fridge. But be forewarned, it’ll cost you at Opus. Just don’t steal anything like, say, towels or bathrobes or she might not invite you back.
If you’re feeling more uninhibited you’ll probably want to hang out with Billy. He’s a musician-filmmaker from London and his “artful & eclectic” room features lime green walls, whimsical art and faux rabbit-fur ottomans. Billy’s CD collection reflects his love of classic rock (think Kravitz and U2), whereas his books reflect his spiritual side (Ommm). Billy’s a party boy, so be prepared for a long night. Just don’t disturb Bob & Carol; they go to bed early. Bob’s a high tech exec and Carol’s journalist and they’re from San Francisco. Their “tony & traditional” yellow room leans toward comfort and conservative design. They’re not boring, they’re simply more mature and cultured. Oh, and Bob gets a lot of headaches. The CDs and books in this room reflect their fondness for jazz, classical music and higher learning.
Just down the hall you’ll find Mike, a doctor from New York who represents the convention traveler who breaks away from the crowd. His “modern and minimalist” room features cranberry-red walls, contemporary furnishings and edgy photography. Mike likes to dance to the divas and his leisure reading is decidedly non-medical, so be prepared for a blessedly superficial stay. But don’t get the wrong idea, ladies – sometimes Mike travels with his “friend” Steve. Upstairs in the penthouse suite you’ll find Dede, a method actress from Los Angeles and our resident drama queen. Her “daring & dramatic” suite features taupe walls, faux-fur fabrics and provocative art. Her taste in music is diverse but leans toward hip hop. She’s not much of a reader, but occasionally flips through books if there are lots of pictures. If you choose to hang out with Dede, be prepared to binge and splurge.
When Opus opened in 2002 we sent out a casting call for these characters and featured them in a photo shoot (see Billy above) and at our opening party. We’ve since tried to retire them, but people won’t let us. The concept of choosing a room to match your personality (or mood) captures the imagination. The media has written loads of stories about Mike and his friends. Currently, the characters are moonlighting as concierges in our Lifestyle Concierge program: you choose the personality that best suits your lifestyle and they tell you their favourite places to shop, dine and play in Vancouver.
What does the future hold for the Opus personalities? After almost five years, a few nips and tucks are in order. As we introduce new colours, fabrics and furnishings in our guestrooms we’ll update their profiles. Maybe Billy’s evolved into a Bono-like character who uses his fame for charitable causes. Maybe Susan’s career in fashion has taken off and she’s now alarmingly similar to Anna Wintour. As for Bob & Carol, rumour has it that Carol filed for divorce after catching Bob in Mike’s room. And Dede? Undoubtedly she shaved her head, did a stint in rehab and is building an orphanage in Malawi. We’re also planning to bring the characters out of the bedroom and into Opus Bar, where we’ll be featuring a martini inspired by each personality.
The possibilities are endless. One thing I know for sure, the Opus personalities have checked in for the long term, and they’re looking forward to welcoming lots more guests. I’d love to hear which personality you identify with most. And check out CBC’s recent story on the Opus personalities.
Deconstructing the Hotel Mini-bar
It’s time for our annual mini-bar program review at Opus, so it was quite timely that a little package arrived for me by courier yesterday. Upon opening it I found a “Mile High Kit” complete with lubricant, condoms and a “whisper-quiet massager”. Curious, I turned the massager on. The vibration was so powerful it almost jumped out of my hands. This handy little device appears to be designed for women feeling a bit frisky on the road. But at the size of a small lipstick container I can’t imagine it’s a satisfying substitute for the real thing. Ladies?
Will Opus offer it in our mini-bars? I’m not sure. Currently we offer an “intimacy kit” complete with lubricant and condoms (a big seller), but so far no electronic devices. As much as we like to position Opus as edgy and innovative, something about offering sex toys in the mini-bar makes me nervous. How will guests respond to finding a vibrator next to the M&Ms? And, equally importantly, will it sell?
When I stayed at the Drake Hotel in Toronto last fall I discovered an entire room service menu of sex toys and accoutrements. It made me wonder how many guests pick up the phone and place an order. I’m embarrassed enough asking for a side of mayonnaise with my fries. In New York, in the mini-bar at the 60 Thompson Hotel I found a “Shag Bag” complete with condoms, lubricant and a “natural aphrodisiac”. Oh, and Altoids – in case the aphrodisiac isn’t enough, I guess. At the Gansevoort Hotel the Mile High Kit in my room included a feather tickler. Alas, I was traveling on business and decided it wouldn’t be appropriate to try it out on colleagues.
Hotels are often accused of gouging when it comes to mini-bar pricing. What travelers don’t take into account are the costs of labour, spoilage and mysteriously vanishing items. Like room service and banquets, mini-bars are more a service than a profit centre. It’s about convenience. You may ask why you’d pay $4 for a bag of Doritos when you can get one around the corner for 1/4 the price. But who wants to get dressed and go out when there’s one calling your name just a few feet away?
When I travel I always check out the mini-bar, but I rarely succumb to temptation. Well, not right away. I usually check out the prices, let out a great huff of indignation and slam the door. Later, while watching TV, I might have another peak. So many shiny, scrumptious-looking snacks! Such cute, harmless-looking minis! I don’t know about you, but my fridge at home is never stocked this well. Four types of beer? Three choices of chocolate bar? A dozen different snacks? Plus wine, champagne, vodka, gin, rum and liqueurs. It’s like the room comes with a party. How can you not resist?
Yet there are many highly complex emotions involved. It begins with denial: “I simply don’t want that can of Pringles.” Next comes anger: “Those prices are outrageous!” Then bargaining sets in. “If I eat those Pringles I won’t need dinner. It’s cheaper than room service, so I’d actually save money. Which means, in theory, I could have a beer too. And maybe even that little pack of Oreos.” We finally succumb, and a flurry of gluttony follows. Then depression sets in: “I’m fat, I hate myself, and I feel like barfing.” Finally, acceptance: “It’s done and there’s no turning back. And my, doesn’t that Kit Kat look tasty…” Perhaps not uncoincidentally, these are the same five stages of death.
Of course, it’s after those trips when you stoically refuse to touch the mini-bar that, four months later, a late charge shows up on your Visa statement. Your boss wants to know why you drank four minis of Cuervo and a bottle of Grey Goose on a business trip. Your spouse wants to know why you used the Shag Bag. You call the hotel and ask them to remove the charge. But you’re dealing with the Accounting department now. You might as well have drank the Cuervo.
Don’t blame the hotel for these late charges, blame the unscrupulous guest who checked out before you and didn’t fess up to the late-night binge. There’s a reason why hotels don’t call them “honour bars” anymore. When I checked into a room at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel last year I discovered that the mini-bar had been plundered by the previous guest. Terrified I’d be charged, I called the front desk repeatedly, insisting they send an employee up to investigate and, if necessary, dust for fingerprints and press charges. They were a bit more blasé. Eventually someone arrived to replenish the items. I’m still expecting the charges to show up on my Visa statement.
Some travelers go to a store after a binge and try to replace the items. But have you ever tried to find a 50ml bottle of Grand Marnier? Other, less scrupulous guests refill the bottles with water. As if the hotel won’t notice. Occasionally a guests thinks the entire contents of the mini-bar are free. Imagine his shock when he sees the $500 charge on his bill. Recently one of our guests was afraid to touch the fruit basket and wine we left in her room, even though it came with a welcome card from me, because she thought we’d charge her. Now that’s hospitality. But who can blame guests these days when hotel rooms are starting like the local 7-Eleven?
Some hotels put a price tag on virtually everything in the room: lamps, bed, artwork, toilet etc. It’s like sleeping in an Ikea showroom. One of my pet peeves is those big bottles of water on the nightstand. They look like a thoughtful gift from the hotel until you see the $9 price tag. (At Opus we offer complimentary bottled water at turndown.) One positive trend is the offering of healthful products. But, while I’m sure these items are appreciated, most travellers will still opt for a Mars Bar and Red Bull.
The photo above is of me as I discover the great mini-bar at Hotel Le Germain in Montreal. No, I didn’t find a pair of women’s shoes inside (though not a bad idea). They’re Katrina’s. Don’t ask.
SOS From Island Paradise
An important step in a well-rounded hotel manager’s career is getting overseas experience. I’m proud to say that I have overseas experience – all of one month’s worth. I alluded to this story last June, and since then a number of readers have asked for the sordid details. So here goes.
In 1996, a hotel company approached me about a job as director of sales & marketing at a luxury resort in Palau. I wasn’t keen on living on a tropical island, but they assured me it would be my base only and I’d be traveling around the world on business at least six months a year – in Australia, Europe, Asia and North America. It sounded too good to resist. I signed a two-year contract, gave up my apartment, job and happy Vancouver life, and told friends I wouldn’t be back for at several years because this was the beginning of my life as an international hotelier and playboy.
A month later I was back.
The problem had little to do with Palau itself, which is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, a chain of 200 islands in the South Pacific, with friendly people and some of the world’s best scuba diving. It had more to do with me. Things started off badly when, upon arrival, I learned that the travel budget had been axed. In the next six months I’d be going to Korea and Taiwan and nowhere else. Island fever quickly set in.
During my first week I attended a 5-day orientation session that could have been covered in an hour. In week two I wrote the resort’s marketing plan, reorganized the office, designed a series of ads and launched a marketing campaign. By week three I had nothing to do. The bulk of my job involved printing form letters, placing them in envelopes and mailing them. I took four years of university for this? To keep from going insane I learned to lick envelopes very, very slowly. Still, I could get a day’s work done in the first half-hour. I would have just called it a day and headed for the beach, but face time was important at this resort.
Staff always seemed busy, although I wasn’t sure why. The phones rarely rang, there was no email, and faxes were reserved for emergencies. When I realized life was going to be like this for two long years I decided it was an emergency. I scribbled “Get me the hell out of here!” on a piece of paper and faxed it to a colleague in Vancouver. I never heard back. During lunchtime I’d go for long walks and contemplate hurling myself into the ocean. At night I was obliged to attend the resort cocktail party and schmooze guests, which I found particularly difficult because I hated them for being happy and tanned while I was miserable and pale.
Shopping on the island was interesting. When I needed sunglasses I was forced to choose between a pair of Minnie Mouse sunglasses and some bad-ass Terminator sunglasses. I opted for the latter, which did little to boost my popularity on the island. The GM let me drive the resort’s beat-up old car, which was nice, except, being Japanese-made, its steering wheel was on the right side. One day I lost my bearings – maybe it was the sunglasses – and swerved onto the shoulder of the road, almost taking out a local. I came so close I heard his sharp intake of breath. This didn’t help my popularity either.
It wasn’t all bad. One day the GM took me to Jellyfish Lake, hidden in a crater at the centre of one of the islands. The lake is full of enormous jellyfish that, through some ecological phenomenon, have lost their sting. You may remember it from Survivor: Palau, when it was featured as a prize in a reward challenge. We swam through schools of them, tossing them around like balls of Jell-o. Maybe it wasn’t so bad here after all, I thought. The next day I was evicted from my gorgeous room at the resort and relocated to a dark, prison-like apartment in Koror. That’s when I began to plan my escape.
Word got around that I was lonely. One night there was a knock on my door and a Palauan woman about twice my size stood grinning at me, smelling strong of perfume. I thanked her and sent her away. I was lonely, but not that lonely. Another night the resort’s ex-pats invited me to a party. I arrived hours late and angry, having driven around the island several times, lost in the total darkness among the winding roads. The party was in a garage. I was sipping beer, trying to look happy, when an enormous coconut crab (see above) fell from the rafters and landed on me. Have you seen those things? They’re the largest terrestrial anthropods on earth and look like those creatures in Alien. Everyone laughed. I almost fainted.
Within a few weeks I decided I had made a terrible mistake. I was a city guy, not an island guy. I went to see a travel agent. That afternoon, by coincidence, resort staff surprised me with a welcome reception. I didn’t have the heart to tell them I had just booked a flight home. The next day I broke the news to the GM. He didn’t believe me, and who could blame him. What kind of fool would fly halfway around the world to accept a job in paradise, only to go home after a month? Me, apparently.
As far as I’m concerned, those contestants on Survivor: Palau got off easy. At least I now know that island paradise is not for me, unless I’m on vacation. Chalk it up to experience – overseas experience.
Together at Last
It’s December 29 and I’m feeling sorry for myself because for weeks now, while friends and colleagues in the industry have been stumbling from one holiday party to another in a boozy haze, I’ve never been busier. While they’ve been Christmas shopping during work hours, I’ve been shopping for a director of food & beverage. And while they’ve been inventing all sorts of excuses for coming in late and leaving early, I’ve been coming in early and leaving late. You get the idea. I’m bitter.
I was whining about this to my Mom over dinner last night, likely boring her to tears, and she basically told me to get over myself. Did I think being a general manager would be a walk in the park? I really hate it when she’s right. Problem is, I’ve never been fully convinced I want to be a hotel manager. Right now folding sweaters at the Gap or greeting at Walmart is sounding pretty appealing. I’ve always been in the hotel industry a bit grudgingly, convinced that another career is out there for me, one with more pay, less hours and frequent trips to Tahiti. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. LOVE IT. But would I want to be a general manager anywhere but Opus? Probably not.
Normally things settle down for me this time of year and I’m one of those irritating people drifting around in a boozy haze. But recently my job got a lot bigger. I’ve assumed responsibility for Elixir and Opus Bar. When Opus opened four years ago the hotel and the restaurant/lounge were set up as separate companies, and I joined the hotel side. The ownership wanted to avoid the dreaded curse of hotel restaurants: bad food, inflated prices and poor financial performance that sucks the life out of the more profitable rooms division. So Elixir was given its own identity, its own entrance and a brasserie concept that contrasted with the hotel’s contemporary style. Things have worked out well for the most part, and Elixir and Opus Bar are popular with locals and guests alike. But there have been internal challenges and problems with consistency. For me it’s been frustrating not to have control over food and beverage, but at the same time it’s allowed me to focus all my attention on the hotel. All that will change now that we’re one big family.
When Elixir staff first heard I was getting involved they were nervous. I guess someone told them about my days as a waiter in Toronto when I was in my early twenties. I had two waiter jobs, one in a fine-dining restaurant and the other in a nightclub on ladies’ nights. My specialty was spilling drinks, usually on people, like the cold glass of milk I dumped down an elderly woman’s back and all over her fur coat. She screamed so loud everyone ran over to look. I was so embarrassed and apologetic that she felt sorry for me and gave me an enormous tip. At the nightclub I didn’t fare as well with spills. The ladies wanted my scrawny butt out of the way so they could see the big, buff strippers. Now that Elixir staff know I won’t be waiting on tables, they’re very supportive of the change.
Present position excluded, serving tables is the most stressful job I’ve ever had. Anyone who scrimps on the tip after receiving good service should be forced to spend a day as a server. I still have a recurring nightmare in which I have a section full of hungry, angry guests and the kitchen is totally backed up. It’s like those university dreams where you show up for an exam and realize you never attended class. (Other people have those dreams too, right? It’s not just me?)
Once I get a director of food and beverage in place the workload should ease up. I’m really excited about working with our management team to provide a seamlessly brilliant experience in Elixir, Opus Bar and Opus Hotel in 2007. Stay tuned, and swing by.
One last note. Condé Nast Traveler’s 2007 Gold List is out and once again Opus has been recognized as one of the top hotels in the world. What’s also cool is the write-up tells readers to “check out the general manager’s irreverent blog”. Thanks for the plug, CNT.
Wishing all of you a very happy new year! Hope to see you at Opus soon.
©2012 OPUS
Get Social