Opus Hotel’s Blog

Written by Daniel Edward Craig

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.

Friday, August 3, 2007 | Comments (5)

Written by Daniel Edward Craig

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.

Friday, February 16, 2007 | Comments (9)