On my last trip to Washington, we had the privilege of staying at the Mandarin Oriental for a family wedding. For some of our down-time, I ventured into the spa, which was the very first time I’d done any sort of spa thing. I didn’t get any treatments – it was relaxation enough to swim a few laps in the pool and spend some time in the sauna and steam rooms. I raved orgasmic over the experience here, and have been wanting to go back ever since.

The Mandarin Oriental in Boston offers a 16,000 square foot spa facility that looks amazing, so I’d been toying with the idea of getting a day pass on one of my Boston trips and recapturing that nirvana, but never quite got around to it. Their FaceBook page occasionally offers photo contests where you could win a day at the spa, or a dinner at their restaurant Asana – and I’d entered a few over Christmas, with some pretty Boston Public Garden photos that never made the cut.

For the Super Bowl, the contest was to submit a photo showing your love of the Patriots, and the prize was one of their Oriental Essence massages. Now, as a general rule, I don’t have many sports-themed photos – certainly not anything I’d consider entering – but since Madonna was at the game this year I’d gone and taken a few silly shots with my brother’s Patriots’ helmet. I figured why not send one in – I love all Boston teams – so off went this ridiculous shot of me Tebowing in the aforementioned headgear.

Lo and behold, as with all whims I carry out without much thought or hope, it worked, and yesterday I got an e-mail saying I had been chosen to receive the massage certificate. The comical uncanniness of this is not lost on me. Five days ago I didn’t even know what Tebowing was. Only when my brother mentioned it and (jokingly) said I should take a picture of me doing it did it enter my radar. The notion of me Tebowing in a football helmet is ludicrous on levels far too numerous and complex to mention here. But the Lord works in mysterious ways, and apparently the power of Tebowing cannot be denied.

Thank you to Tim Tebow, thank you to the New England Patriots, thank you to my brother – and most especially thank you to the Mandarin Oriental. I can’t wait for you to get your hands on me.

Ahh… heaven in a cocktail glass. Here we have the Pear Mandarin Martini – consisting of Absolut Pear, Pear nectar, Elderflower cordial, and lemon juice. It is, admittedly, a carry-over cocktail from Las Vegas, as is my modus operandi when it comes to cocktails – I’ll generally stick with a winning concoction for a certain stretch of time. Often it’s a seasonal thing, which is somewhat the case with the pears of late. This will do for now – and it will be peppered by the traditional gin or vodka martini until Negroni season begins again – usually by the end of the month.

Tonight, this is the pre-game moment for when we later dine with the man who performed our wedding ceremony. Outside the Empress Lounge (has there ever been a more apt name?) a tricky deluge of stormy weather. Wild lightning strikes out over the Potomac, as heavy rain pours down. Intermittent bursts of thunder bracket the live guitar player, his meandering jazz solos a perfect counterpoint to the rainy night. A good time to reflect on our current stay at the Mandarin Oriental, Washington, DC.

After our hellish flight experience, our arrival at the Mandarin completely turned the day around. We arrived far earlier than check-in, but our room, which had been graciously upgraded, was ready within minutes. The staff of the Mandarin Oriental proved an admirable bunch, welcoming us and erasing all memories of a rough morning. Here, there was calm and peace, an oasis from the rest of the world, and a much-appreciated respite from all of it.

My eyes were drawn, of course, to the flower display in the center of the lobby. As per usual, the true worth of any hotel is to be found in the floral arrangements, and these were exceptional in every way. Grand, yet simple ~ varied, yet harmonious ~ regal, yet grounded. I gush because they are that worthy.

Our check-in attendant Annie offered us a comfortable seat in the lobby area while the room was readied, and within moments she was back to tell us we were all set. Upon entering the room (and all but getting lost in the immense marble bathroom – more on that luxury later), all the worries of the day – nay, the month – melted away with the stunning vista of the river and the pillars of the Jefferson Memorial.

While the day remained overcast, given to bouts of rain, the sky was still bright, and it looked almost as if we were floating on a cloud. It felt as light too.

Here, without further ado, is our bathroom. I’m afraid the photos only half do it justice – I didn’t have a wide-angle lens to capture it in its entire glory, but you get the idea. It was a room until itself, designed to be a mini stand-alone spa experience, and we took full advantage of it.

While the main bedroom of a hotel room is understandably important, I sometimes think the bathroom is even more-so. This is really where you spend the time preparing for a day or night out, this is where you wash-up and dry-down before and after bed, this is where the lighting and amenities really matter. And this is where, if the hotel does it right, the peace and comfort of the weary traveler is replenished. To that end, the Mandarin Oriental was one of the finest places we’ve stayed.

Yet far more than the surroundings was the services and courtesy provided by the staff. From our check-in attendant Annie to the housekeeping staff, to the guys who procured the taxis and town cars, to the host in the lounge who always asked if I wanted a newspaper or magazine as I sipped my cocktail, this was a highly-efficient, well-trained group of professionals who always had a kind greeting and a smile, even in the slightest passing.

That evening there was a bowl of fresh fruit, and a hand-written note of greeting from Linda, the expert Director of Communications at the Mandarin Oriental in Washington – welcoming us to the hotel.

That is the sort of personal touch that makes a first-time guest a loyal customer. (Example: when I left a book on the bedside table, I returned to find a bookmark resting on it. Being able to so expertly anticipate what the guest needs – even when the guest doesn’t even know – is the mark of an exceptional establishment.) And so is a box of artisanal chocolates, even if they had me at the fruit…

Our arrival at the Capitol had gone from dismal to delightful, thanks to the Mandarin, but the day had just begun, and we wanted to see the pandas…

Back when I was scoping out possible wedding suites a few winters ago, I visited the Mandarin Oriental in Boston. While we ultimately went for a place nearer to the Boston Public Garden, the Mandarin was a very close runner-up for its grand, pristine suites and impeccable service. It was, by far, one of the nicest hotels in Boston, and I was as impressed with the understated elegance as with the sense of heightened escapism. It literally was like entering another world as the outside bustle of Boylston closed behind me, and that cold winter day was kept at bay.

Inside, I untangled my scarf and took in the warm surroundings. There’s something intangibly more refined about certain hotels that know how to properly serve their guests. It’s a subtle finery, exemplified by a staff that is more than accommodating, and that never makes one feel out of place. When you’re this good, you don’t have much to prove. A small show of graciousness and manners goes a long way.

A friendly woman took me up to see one of their suites, and it was indeed grand – spacious and perfectly appointed. As I wandered through the rooms, I thought that one day I would return to the Mandarin and make a home there for a few short days. This weekend, that’s what I’ll be doing at their Washington, DC property. It looks like we’ll be on the cusp of all the historical sites, and being that this is Andy’s first proper visit to the city it’s an ideal location. Here are some of the promo photos from their website – my own take on the hotel and our stay will come later. (Fingers-crossed for a better view than I had at the Venetian…)

{Photos courtesy of the Mandarin Oriental – Washington, DC.}

I hadn’t been in the Mandarin Oriental in Boston since we scoped out possible suites for our wedding weekend. It was definitely one of my favorite spaces – the suites were amazing – probably some of the finest in the city. I should have returned much sooner, as one of their watering holes – M Bar – is just as fantastically elegant as you would expect. (They have also added a bit of sidewalk dining space – which is perfect for watching the world go by on Boylston Street.) I went in through the backdoor, as is my wont.

Through the unassuming back entrance from one of the Prudential walkways, I enter an oasis in the midst of the city. There is a bit of hushed finery at work here – an atmosphere that promises the best of the best – a hint of pampered refinement around every corner. Descending to the lobby, I make my way to the bar area and sit down before a very pretty, very blonde, and very pregnant bartender. She is all smiles and engaging conversation, and she makes me a Monsieur, setting a small bowl of sweetly-dusted almonds beside it.

Made up of Grey Goose la poire vodka, St. Germain, and prosecco, the Monsieur is a refreshing pear-tinted cocktail garnished with a lychee – a seasonal treat to restore and revive the weariest shopper. There would be just one for this time – as it was a pre-cocktails cocktail before I met up with friends later on.

For me heaven will always be a high-end hotel bar. There’s just no place where I feel more at home. With the flow of visitors and vacationers, business folks and pleasure seekers, a hotel bar is more interesting than anything on television. You can choose to take part in the goings-on, or simply watch from a safe distance. On this day, I prefer to observe, unobtrusively taking in the scene around me while sipping the remainder of my drink. A lovely way of spending the early part of a lazy afternoon.

Copley Fairmont Plaza

This was originally my very first choice. Having passed it a zillion times, and enjoying a birthday cocktail with Andy at the Oak Room a few years ago (a $20 martini worth every penny), I’ve always thought of it as unreachable entity, a Grand Dame who wouldn’t normally deign to indulge me. It is a central mainstay of Boston, with its two gold lions looking out onto Copley Square and Trinity Church. The lobby is baroquely ornate, and veritably Versailles-like in golden grandeur. Unfortunately, age has weakened the venerable establishment, and the room (the one they showed me at least) was somewhat dark and on the smaller side. The opulence of the lobby would be the only draw, and how much time would we be spending in the lobby? Still, it’s a Boston landmark, and I’m sure the suites are a lot better than the “Moderate” room I got to see.

Mandarin Oriental

By far the most prohibitively expensive choice, the Mandarin is pretentious enough to not even mark their entrance in the Prudential Center – a trait I like and always found ridiculously humorous. The staff persons here were, and should be, professionally courteous, but they were surprisingly personable as well. I was shown two rooms, both of which had more private hallway space than our entire condo. The bathroom was a spa-like dream, and the closet was a room unto itself, with an upholstered bench on which to sit when you’re pulling your socks on. This was the newest hotel on our list, and its modern elegant decadence was suitably impressive. After seeing the rooms, I thought it would kill me to not stay here, even if put me in debt for the rest of my life.

The Four Seasons

For some reason, this hotel has never beckoned me into its doors. I know it’s been consistently considered one of the best in Boston, and many a famous politician and celebrity have graced it, but I never wanted to go inside and look, as I have with all of the other choices. Outwardly, it seemed to lack an inspiring exterior, but as with most things, the appearance is a deceptive one. The lobby was much more spacious than I envisioned from the street, warmer and more inviting than the smoky glass doors would have one believe. The suite I was shown was immense, and classy in all respects. There was one more auspicious moment: on the way out, a pair of women was riding in the elevator and one was carrying a large bouquet of flowers. “Those are beautiful,” my guide said. “Are they from the wedding last night?” The woman said they were, and then introduced the mother of the bride who was next to her. It was a good sign, and I think it’s going to come down to the Four Seasons and the next one.

The Taj

About fourteen years ago I stayed in this hotel when my parents were visiting Boston for a conference. It was the Ritz Carlton then, and I remember that I had just gotten over a week at the infirmary with mono, so the luxury was doubly appreciated (as was the indulgent breakfast of waffles that they allowed me to order from Room Service). While the memory of that stay was grand, I wasn’t sure how well the hotel had weathered the years, or its transition to the Taj. Situated on the corner of Newbury Street, it overlooks the Boston Public Garden. At this time of the year all of the Christmas decorations were up – including a life-size gingerbread/candy castle – and a collection of stuffed teddy bears lined the winding staircase to the next floor. 

The mirror-paneled elevator doors opened and we were brought up to view one of the fireplace suites. Oh how badly did I want to just stay there (especially with a broken water-heater back at the condo). The suite was spectacular – the bright and airy windows were framed with sumptuous drapes – and an ornately carved four-poster king bed presided over the bedroom. Elegant but not overtly extravagant, the adjoining room looked out over the Garden and had a richly-appointed writing desk and several refined but comfortable settees and couches. The gentleman who showed me the suite told a story of a wedding his colleague had had at the hotel, and how it had been a small, intimate affair of ten or twelve people for which the hotel chef had crafted a personal several-course meal. (Obviously we wouldn’t be partaking of this particular service as it probably is the financial equivalent of our mortgage payments for an entire year). Yet even without the personal chef perk, this is quite possibly my favorite of all four hotels.

It’s going to be a difficult and fun decision for us to make, and the thought of Boston in the Spring will see us through the Winter.