Up-Scale

For reasons I will not explain I recently found myself about to spend a few days in the Presidential Suite of a large and reasonably “up-scale” resort. As I have been a card-carrying member of the hoi polloi all my life I looked forward to this sudden bump up in at least temporary upward mobility. I’m certain this particular Presidential Suite was extremely modest compared with the real thing in the Ritz-Carleton or the Waldorf Astoria, but I looked forward to the experience and what it might tell me about what I have been missing for so long.

If I had but one word to describe this suite it would be BIG! Everything about it was big, the rooms were big, the furniture was big, the kitchen was big, all cupboards and drawers were big, the patio was big, and the overstuffed stuff was just that, big overstuffed stuff. The towels were big, the wine glasses were big, even the coffee cups were bigger than normal, the entryway itself was huge, everything seemed to cry out “grandeur.” There were two large master bedrooms, one at each end of a long hallway. Walking from one to the other was rather like going on safari. Of course each of these master bedrooms was big, and they each had a big bathroom and a big jacuzzi. They also had what I regarded as mysteriously large shower stalls. I confess this led me to believe that whoever stays in these places must take communal baths and showers (I swear the shower stalls could easily accommodate at least ten people). There was another very large Jacuzzi on the oversize patio that I gather is constantly heated and ready for action at all times, presumably to be followed by a gigantic barbecue cooked on the oversized, gleaming and beckoning barbecue conveniently located at the opposite end of the patio. What I took to be emperor-sized beds would easily accommodate up to six people at a time, leading me to the conclusion that two separate orgies could take place simultaneously with no loss of privacy. Somewhere in the midst of this complex was a third, relatively small bedroom, with twin-sized beds and access to a smaller bathroom, sans Jacuzzi. I assume this was either for children or servants.

There were some unusual features of this somewhat plush suite. For example, the showers had two shower-heads that worked simultaneously, one beating down on your head as is usually the case, and the other positioned carefully to pour water directly into your ear (I guess this could be avoided by experienced guests who know how to properly position themselves while showering). I noticed the servants’ bathroom lacked this unique feature, perhaps to protect them or the children. A huge dining-room table was surrounded by equally huge chairs that, while comfortable enough, forced you to sit with your chin at about table-top level, much as you did when a child, but without the thick family bible to sit on. Similarly, there was a mirror on one wall meant to symbolize a port-hole. It was a lovely piece of some rare wood and a highly polished mirror, but you could not see yourself in it unless you were at least six feet six. Another unusual feature was the number of lights and light switches. Light switches seemed to cover the walls in all directions, so many it was virtually impossible to find the one you needed at the moment, and lights everywhere, some that looked remarkably like eye-balls that followed you wherever you went. It was eerie.

One cannot adequately describe this taste of luxury without mentioning the décor that featured above all, truly ugly lamps. I thought they must have scoured the world to find the ugliest lamps they could find, huge rather grotesque designs in repulsive tile, metal shades, and unpleasant colors. And everywhere there are goo-gaws of various kinds, lots of sea shells, embedded in tables, mounted on frames, and collected in glass vases and such. There were also fake flowers, ferns and other mysterious greens, to say nothing of fake vegetables decorating the kitchen. Here and there were other interesting objects, an antique camera, a cleverly designed box, or assorted unidentifiable ceramic objects and those ubiquitous glass balls found in all coastal towns. Needless to say the pictures were the latest designer chic, all done in pastels, sand dunes, ocean shores, geometric designs, all so innocuous they hung there inoffensive and mostly unnoticed.

There was, of course, a large, new, flat-screen TV in every room except the bathrooms. I think these are for people who soon tire of the ocean view they paid extra for. After all, a view of the ocean is just that, a view of an empty expanse of space hovering over a huge body of equally empty water. In this particular case they had cleverly reconstructed the bones of a beached whale to add interest to the otherwise pretty blank scene. The bleached bones of deceased whales quickly lose their charm. The only location from where you could not see a TV was the dining room table. This was, I thought, thoughtless, and must be very inconvenient for those accustomed to taking TV with meals (not me, I never pass up a chance to not watch TV ).

All in all it was a pleasant enough experience, interesting, educational, comfortable, and relaxing. I would not do it again, however, as I regret to say I am a timid, not very aggressive go-getter type of guy, careful with money, no longer upwardly mobile or impressed with up-scale, and appreciative of the more simple things in life. I prefer my surroundings to be smaller, more manageable, cozier, and less garish. More womb-like you might say.

One of the major attractions of this particular resort is seafood, fresh clams and oysters, especially the world-class oysters. As I subscribe in general to the Woody Allen credo, “I will not eat oysters. I want my food dead- not sick, not wounded – dead,” we compromised and had them fried rather than on the half-shell. They were truly world-class and memorable.