I'll take the Grand Mercure Roxy Hotel here any day over the best hotels in the world
Elmo Jayawardena
AIRLINE pilots have a very good idea about the vast blue sky and the aeroplanes they fly. Another subject they know well are hotels.
From the ramshackle to the remarkable, renaissance to the modern, they have laid over in all and sundry, and have a collection of fairy tales to tell anyone about the hospitality trade.
For almost 40 years, I, too, strutted through the international hotel chains in a pilot's uniform and stayed in almost every star classifications that you can imagine, except those that cater to the super rich where people such as David Beckham and Elton John book suites.
Yes, I have lodged with the renowned Mandarins, Hyatts, Hiltons and Sheratons and their equivalent compatriots who rule the roost.
I have stayed with the Nathaniels, too — less flamboyant but almost matching the standard of the Novotels, Marriotts and the Movenpicks, which mushroomed around the world to cater to slightly lesser beings.
They all offer the standard comforts, a clean bed, six towels of all sizes, a telephone and a television in addition to Internet access — charging you an arm and a leg to send a single email.
Then, of course, there is the mini-bar! Touch it and you get burnt — the price for a miniature bottle of liquor, and crackers and nuts to munch would cost the moon.
The first thing I always did as I entered a hotel room was to hang the "Do not disturb" sign on the door of the mini-bar. That way, it was safe. Even someone visiting me wouldn't dare disturb this Pandora's ice box.
As for the service, it was mainly the same — from the telephone operators to the front desk, everything is geared to give the best camouflaged welcome to send the customer to an imaginary seventh heaven. Such counterfeit compliments were common to all — no different to the en-mass breakfasts they serve, and with a cook rolling saucepans and making Spanish omelettes. Well, that is all acceptable, as long as the inn was comfortable.
Although I have stayed all over the world in my globe-trotting, I have seldom checked into a hotel in Singapore. Singapore Airlines (SIA) didn't send us anywhere but home when we landed in Changi after our long-haul flights.
My recent parting from SIA and my return to the Lion City has now pegged me in a Singapore hotel. Two weeks have passed, with two more to go — that qualifies me to say something about how and what they do, and who and how they please veteran freeloaders like me.
I am now staying at the charming Grand Mercure Roxy, which is conveniently located in Katong.
It also has the usual paraphernalia of the master hoteliers — the Caesar salads with bacon chips, the nasi goreng with prawn crackers and rock lobster cappuccino to wash down a sumptuous meal. They hold their own with anyone where these commonalities are concerned.
Yet, the Roxy is certainly an inn with a different happiness.
In the classic film, The Inn of the Sixth Happiness, Ingrid Bergman plays a British missionary in China just before World War II.
Here, the European characters stick out in a foreign land of Mandarin-speaking people with different skin tones. My experience with the Roxy is somewhat similar but just a tad different.
Jerry is from Xiamen in eastern China and he speaks his English fluently. He knows one word "okay". I tend to think that is all he knows. He does rooms for the housekeeping department.
Every morning Jerry and I have this great lengthy conversation. He points at my bed and asks "okay"? And I reply "okay".
He then shows me the bathroom and says "okay?"; again, I faithfully return his "okay".
The same for the bin cleaning and the meticulous vacuuming he does. "Okay" from him and "okay" from me, and everything is sorted out. Then, he leaves me with a smile as wide as the East Coast Parkway. That's how my day begins — a great start.
Then, there is Ramlan of the concierge desk, Priscilla from management and Kevin, the man from Gibraltar from top management.
They have this fantastic human touch that impresses me so much, I felt I should thump my keyboard and tell the world.
"Your bicycle, no problem, we will keep it for you," so said Ramlan as if it was me who was doing him a favour.
"Your call time, captain," chirps the telephone operator Sari in the cheeriest voice at 4am.
I need not elaborate; the truth would serve the Roxy people better than any varnish I could paint. They are a great team and they make my long stay pleasant with nothing but warm hearted and genuine charm.
Certainly, the staff makes up the magic factor, not the six towels, the television, the telephone nor the king-sized bed.
I have been a vagabond a good part of my life, seen the best of hotels and lapped in the luxury offered by the mighty of the hotel trade.
But I will go with what the Grand Mercure Roxy dishes out on their daily menu — simple delights that stem from the heart and spreads with a smile that reaches the eye — any day.
"Is okay, Sir?"
"Yes, okay, Jerry."
Thank you, my friend from Xiamen — you just made my day.
The writer served SIA for 19 years as a 747 captain and instructor. He is also the founder and president of humanitarian organisation Aflac International, which helps people suffering from multiple burdens of poverty. For more information, visit www.aflacinternational.com.
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