A Toronto quickie, with an extra “W” thrown in
Sep 17, 1999 | 8:16 am
#1
Original Poster
Original Member
Join Date: May 1998
Location: Kirkland, WA
Posts: 6,932
A Toronto quickie, with an extra “W” thrown in
Hunnybear is flying to Toronto for a week on business, so I thought I’d join her for the first weekend. We’re kicking off the journey with a Free Friday at the brand-new W Hotel in Seattle, open only two weeks. We’re upgraded on the way there with North American upgrade coupons, and I’ve confirmed Hunnybear’s separate return upgrade with the certificate that Rudi was kind enough to bestow upon me for winning the quote quiz. Hunnybear thanks you, Rudi, and so do I! 
We’ll pack and check in to the W this afternoon, parking my car at the hotel for $20 overnight. After we check out the hotel, we’re walking to Safeco Field, where Hunnybear’s office is having a night out. After the game, we’ll overnight in the luxurious W and head over to the airport early. The W is perfectly located, only about a 15 minute drive to the airport in no traffic if you shoot on to the Alaskan Way Viaduct on Columbia St.
I’m having UA withdrawal. I haven’t flown the Friendly Skies, or the Rising Employee-Owners, or whatever they call themselves now, for over a month. Nothing special this trip, just narrowbodies, but at least we’ll have movies on the long segment. If you’re not careful you end up on a movieless 737 for the four-hour flight to Chicago. Bummer. If you’re also not careful you end up on an Air Canada flight from ORD-YYZ, which is non-upgradeable. Horrors.
Next: How do you spell “W” anyway?
We’ll pack and check in to the W this afternoon, parking my car at the hotel for $20 overnight. After we check out the hotel, we’re walking to Safeco Field, where Hunnybear’s office is having a night out. After the game, we’ll overnight in the luxurious W and head over to the airport early. The W is perfectly located, only about a 15 minute drive to the airport in no traffic if you shoot on to the Alaskan Way Viaduct on Columbia St.
I’m having UA withdrawal. I haven’t flown the Friendly Skies, or the Rising Employee-Owners, or whatever they call themselves now, for over a month. Nothing special this trip, just narrowbodies, but at least we’ll have movies on the long segment. If you’re not careful you end up on a movieless 737 for the four-hour flight to Chicago. Bummer. If you’re also not careful you end up on an Air Canada flight from ORD-YYZ, which is non-upgradeable. Horrors.
Next: How do you spell “W” anyway?
Sep 18, 1999 | 1:08 pm
#5
Original Poster
Original Member
Join Date: May 1998
Location: Kirkland, WA
Posts: 6,932
Pajama Game
Sometimes life is stranger than art. Such an evening was the one Hunnybear and I had last night, starting with the short drive from our apartment to the brand-new W Hotel at Fourth and Seneca. We packed for a week and took the car so that we could sleep as late as possible (i.e., 5:15 a.m.) the next morning. The carriage entrance for the W was on Seneca St.—there’s nothing in front of the Hotel but an enormous bus stop. Fourth Avenue is pretty much one long bus stop. We pulled up and three other cars were just kind of waiting around but not pulling into the drive. I finally weaved through them and stopped in front or the valet area.
Our first impression of W service, unfortunately, was not good. The valet Ahmed, who was probably older than the 14 he looked, spoke in a very quiet voice with a thick Middle-Eastern accent. “Nuttle nuttle gromish?” he asked. I figured, how many possible things could he be saying? “We’re checking in,” I replied. “Nuttle nuttle grimish gromish luggage?” he probed further. “Yes. Yes. We have luggage.” He then looked around bemused, then he disappeared into the hotel. Hunnybear and I started hefting our luggage out of the car as hotel staff in smart black uniforms stood and watched. Then Ahmed came back out, wheeled a hand truck over and put our luggage on it. He wheeled our luggage three feet into the hotel, plonked it right down in the middle, and said, “Nuttle nuttle gromish help with luggage.” He was about to wander off, so I asked if I could have a ticket. He handed it to me. “Would you like my last name?” I asked. I watched as he copied it down.
Like the W New York, the lobby is stark and hip with loud music playing. Everything is black and glass. The curved reception desk is staffed by bouncing young clerks dressed in black. There’s no Starwood Preferred Guest line, in fact no line of any kind, just kind of a free-for-all. But as I approach, one of the clerks frees up, a 25-year-old Asian girl, and I approach, greeted by a big smile. “Where’s the Starwood Preferred Guest line?” I ask. She throws her hands up in the air and says, smiling, “I am!” I tell her my name, but she can’t hear the beginning of end of it because of the loud music, so I spell it: L-I-O-N. She says she needs my American Express card, so I give it to her. I don’t sign anything. She takes out a cool pen that writes calligraphy with silver ink and writes down a room number on a black envelope the size of a card key. Slipping the key inside, she hands it to me: room 701.
“How many floors does the hotel have?” I asked. “Twenty-five right now,” she says. Maybe they're planning to add more later. I ask if it would be possible to get a room on a higher floor because I’m a Starwood Gold and it’s a Free Friday. I don’t know what one has to do with the other, but people like reasons. She fiddles around for awhile, says apologetically several times that they are fully booked, and proceeds to move us to room 1701. As we part, she says her name is Diana and to let her know if we need anything. A nice check-in experience although somewhat reminiscent of shopping at The Gap.
By this time a bellman has glommed onto our luggage and follows us up to our room. The room is very, very nice. There is a plush window seat running the length of the exterior wall, a luxurious king feather bed and lacquered black furniture accented by black-framed black-and-white photographs of Seattle. Our bellman shows us the features of the room. The cordless phone reaches 15 floors. The other phone has a button labeled “Whatever Whenever,” which apparently is the W equivalent of “Service Express.” You press that button for anything at all. There is a snack and soft drink bar, but as is becoming more and more frequent, no alcoholic beverages in the mini-bar. There is a video player and a CD player. If I want a video and they don’t have it, they’ll go out and buy it for us! I didn’t have occasion to test the claim, but it was pretty cool. I tipped Royce, the bellman, $5, and he beamed as if no one had ever tipped him before.
OK, here’s the kicker. On the bed are two pairs of pajamas with a discreet W embroidered on them. Next to them are an invitation to a pajama party on the second floor starting at 8 p.m. Apparently we have inadvertently been moved into a canceled room of someone who was invited to this party. It’s all very confusing, and we wonder if it’s something Starwood is putting on for some of its best customers, where we would fit right in, or if it’s some private party where we’ll stick out like a sore thumb and everyone else knows one another. I try to get information out of Royce and the concierge, but they don’t really know anything except that it’s very fancy and exclusive. We are intrigued and try to decide whether or not to go. The concierge says hey, if you got invited by mistake, put those pajamas on and go for it because it’s supposed to be incredible. Hmm.
Meanwhile, we have tickets to the Mariners game at the new ballpark named after an insurance company. They paid the Mariners $40 million dollars to name the ballpark after themselves, but they didn’t pay me anything so I just call it “the new ballpark.” It’s about a 20-minute walk straight down Fourth Ave. to the park, and we arrive a bit late. Hunnybear’s coworker is there waiting with our tickets, which are in section 345. This is my third game in the new ballpark and there really aren’t any bad seats, so even up in the top deck behind the left-field foul line, it’s a pleasing sight to see the freshly cut grass under the stars. The rest of the ballpark is not so pleasant an experience. Long lines are everywhere, making it undesirable to buy refreshments and difficult just to walk around. Signage is poor—the entrance to our section said “344 & 346.” We finally went in and discovered that yes, 345 was in there too. We stayed for a couple innings then walked back.
When we got back to the W, we poked our heads into the second-floor ballroom and—wow! People were walking around carrying iridescent green martinis and wearing pajamas and blue paper fezzes, which ladies were handing out at the front door. We decided to go for it, went up and changed, and came down in pajamas and fezzes. The mystery of the party was finally solved: it was a party being thrown by Nordstrom celebrating their new line of—get this—lingerie. Guests were designers, artists, and some of Nordstrom’s best customers. In the center of the room were models displaying—ahem—the wares. A fabulous band with two guitars, three fiddles, two drummers, and a keyboard entertained us through the night, and the seafood buffet was absolutely amazing. If this is the same food they serve downstairs at the hotel restaurant, Earth and Ocean, I’ll definitely be back to try dinner there. The green martinis turned out to be “emerald drops” made with Belvedere vodka and Midori. Halfway through her second one, Hunnybear declared that they are officially as dangerous as the Peach Kamikazes at Cutters.
It turned out there were two ladies we knew at the party—in the “best customers” category I think—so we felt more comfortable and had a great time. We even got our photo taken in a big bed outside the ballroom. We left just before the homemade ice cream came out (no good could come of that), went upstairs, and hit the Whatever Whenever button for an ungodly 5:15 wakeup call. As in the Westin La Cantera in San Antonio, they suggested a follow-up call fifteen minutes later. Nice touch.
The wakeup call came as promised the next morning. “I’m not getting up,” said Hunnybear. “This bed has an even bigger tractor beam than the other one.” Get up we did, though, and Hunnybear hit the Whatever Whenever button to ask for our car. We saved the remainder of the Aveda shampoo (man, does that Aveda soap bar smell good) and headed out. Checkout was much less hectic than checkin, although we experienced the famous “charged the secret Starwood rate for Free Fridays” phenomenon I have heard about from other FlyerTalkers. They took it off with no problem, though, and we ended up paying only $30 for parking, movie (10 Things I Hate About You, not bad) and a local call (85˘ flat rate).
A flight at dawn
We made the beautiful dawn drive to the airport with the top down and got to the MasterPark lot in 16 minutes. We got my favorite shuttle driver who was bright and cheery and didn’t let us touch our luggage. Once again I tipped him $5. I just love great service.
We are second in the First Class/100K line, but only one agent is taking customers because the other one’s computer is rebooting. Meanwhile, a dude in the peon’s checkin section is standing up on the luggage scale waving his arms and asking if anyone else is here for our flight, the 7:15 to Chicago. But he doesn’t turn around and look our way! “This flight is closed,” he declares. I go up to the agent who is rebooting her computer and she suggests I go tell him, so I trot down to his station and do so. He is very nice (turns out to be a Canadian) and checks us in immediately. I tell him to be sure and put the orange priority tags on our bags because in Toronto they actually pay attention to them. Then in unison, he and I both say, “unlike in Seattle.”
I noticed something new for SEA checkin: men in blue suits with walkie-talkies are monitoring all phases of the checkin and boarding process. One asked if all the people in our line were full-fare FC or 1K (it’s amazing how many people stand in the wrong line), then came down to where we were waiting for the train to the North Satellite and said something into his walkie-talkie about the train arriving or not arriving. Another was in the jetway reporting on the length of the line. I’m hoping this is United’s response to persistent problems with handling the morning crush of customers in Seattle. Nice to see they care.
There is no line to check in, but once we get into the jetway it takes about five minutes to get to the plane behind the 30 or so people waiting there. Ideally they would board these things through two doors, but I’ve never seen that with a 757. Next best is what they do, boarding by the door between coach and FC. I love stepping onto the plane and turning left. We get our coffee quickly and take off on time, although the ground agent came onto the plane and made repeated announcements for people to sit down. His tone of voice said, “I’ve had it up to here with you unruly customers.” I think Saturday mornings have a lot of infrequent flyers because of the weekend specials and e-fares.
Breakfast was “sampler #2.” I asked what was on that but Marjorie, the stewardess, said I ought to know because I flew so much. She went and told me and it was very good: a little wedge of Montecristo (grilled ham and cheese), a chicken sausage, some home fries, a broiled tomato, and a fruit plate. Hunnybear is going to email Sheila Lukens for the recipe. Service was average for this type of flight, which is to say pretty good, although veteran Marjorie was a little bit crusty at first, saying her paycheck was a little light and complaining about the 10% over six years the FA union had negotiated for them instead of ownership. I pulled out one of my million-dollar-bill business cards, folded it up like a tip, and slipped it to her saying, “here’s a little something to supplement your income.” She actually blushed and wouldn’t take it until I unrolled it and showed her it was a million. “Wouldn’t it be nice if this was real,” she sighed.
The movie was Tea with Mussolini, a pretty good film but not really my taste. After a round of hot towels, we landed on time in concourse C. Nice flight.
The monitor said our connection to Toronto was at gate E2A, a first for me. Concourse E is where Air Canada’s flights leave from but this is a UA plane. I ask the customer-service agent about it and she says that United is taking over Concourse E but right now it sucks because there’s no Red Carpet Club over there. We ensconce ourselves in the closest RCC, at one end of Concourse B, and perform dueling laptops. I do my traditional thing of asking if there is any food, but in Chicago they don’t put the food out at lunch time “because people eat too much.” Great way to cut costs, United… only put food out when people aren’t hungry. Instead, take a cue from Air Canada whose Maple Leaf Lounges put RCC to shame.
Next: A short hop to Why-Why-Zed
[This message has been edited by QuietLion (edited 09-18-1999).]
Sometimes life is stranger than art. Such an evening was the one Hunnybear and I had last night, starting with the short drive from our apartment to the brand-new W Hotel at Fourth and Seneca. We packed for a week and took the car so that we could sleep as late as possible (i.e., 5:15 a.m.) the next morning. The carriage entrance for the W was on Seneca St.—there’s nothing in front of the Hotel but an enormous bus stop. Fourth Avenue is pretty much one long bus stop. We pulled up and three other cars were just kind of waiting around but not pulling into the drive. I finally weaved through them and stopped in front or the valet area.
Our first impression of W service, unfortunately, was not good. The valet Ahmed, who was probably older than the 14 he looked, spoke in a very quiet voice with a thick Middle-Eastern accent. “Nuttle nuttle gromish?” he asked. I figured, how many possible things could he be saying? “We’re checking in,” I replied. “Nuttle nuttle grimish gromish luggage?” he probed further. “Yes. Yes. We have luggage.” He then looked around bemused, then he disappeared into the hotel. Hunnybear and I started hefting our luggage out of the car as hotel staff in smart black uniforms stood and watched. Then Ahmed came back out, wheeled a hand truck over and put our luggage on it. He wheeled our luggage three feet into the hotel, plonked it right down in the middle, and said, “Nuttle nuttle gromish help with luggage.” He was about to wander off, so I asked if I could have a ticket. He handed it to me. “Would you like my last name?” I asked. I watched as he copied it down.
Like the W New York, the lobby is stark and hip with loud music playing. Everything is black and glass. The curved reception desk is staffed by bouncing young clerks dressed in black. There’s no Starwood Preferred Guest line, in fact no line of any kind, just kind of a free-for-all. But as I approach, one of the clerks frees up, a 25-year-old Asian girl, and I approach, greeted by a big smile. “Where’s the Starwood Preferred Guest line?” I ask. She throws her hands up in the air and says, smiling, “I am!” I tell her my name, but she can’t hear the beginning of end of it because of the loud music, so I spell it: L-I-O-N. She says she needs my American Express card, so I give it to her. I don’t sign anything. She takes out a cool pen that writes calligraphy with silver ink and writes down a room number on a black envelope the size of a card key. Slipping the key inside, she hands it to me: room 701.
“How many floors does the hotel have?” I asked. “Twenty-five right now,” she says. Maybe they're planning to add more later. I ask if it would be possible to get a room on a higher floor because I’m a Starwood Gold and it’s a Free Friday. I don’t know what one has to do with the other, but people like reasons. She fiddles around for awhile, says apologetically several times that they are fully booked, and proceeds to move us to room 1701. As we part, she says her name is Diana and to let her know if we need anything. A nice check-in experience although somewhat reminiscent of shopping at The Gap.
By this time a bellman has glommed onto our luggage and follows us up to our room. The room is very, very nice. There is a plush window seat running the length of the exterior wall, a luxurious king feather bed and lacquered black furniture accented by black-framed black-and-white photographs of Seattle. Our bellman shows us the features of the room. The cordless phone reaches 15 floors. The other phone has a button labeled “Whatever Whenever,” which apparently is the W equivalent of “Service Express.” You press that button for anything at all. There is a snack and soft drink bar, but as is becoming more and more frequent, no alcoholic beverages in the mini-bar. There is a video player and a CD player. If I want a video and they don’t have it, they’ll go out and buy it for us! I didn’t have occasion to test the claim, but it was pretty cool. I tipped Royce, the bellman, $5, and he beamed as if no one had ever tipped him before.
OK, here’s the kicker. On the bed are two pairs of pajamas with a discreet W embroidered on them. Next to them are an invitation to a pajama party on the second floor starting at 8 p.m. Apparently we have inadvertently been moved into a canceled room of someone who was invited to this party. It’s all very confusing, and we wonder if it’s something Starwood is putting on for some of its best customers, where we would fit right in, or if it’s some private party where we’ll stick out like a sore thumb and everyone else knows one another. I try to get information out of Royce and the concierge, but they don’t really know anything except that it’s very fancy and exclusive. We are intrigued and try to decide whether or not to go. The concierge says hey, if you got invited by mistake, put those pajamas on and go for it because it’s supposed to be incredible. Hmm.
Meanwhile, we have tickets to the Mariners game at the new ballpark named after an insurance company. They paid the Mariners $40 million dollars to name the ballpark after themselves, but they didn’t pay me anything so I just call it “the new ballpark.” It’s about a 20-minute walk straight down Fourth Ave. to the park, and we arrive a bit late. Hunnybear’s coworker is there waiting with our tickets, which are in section 345. This is my third game in the new ballpark and there really aren’t any bad seats, so even up in the top deck behind the left-field foul line, it’s a pleasing sight to see the freshly cut grass under the stars. The rest of the ballpark is not so pleasant an experience. Long lines are everywhere, making it undesirable to buy refreshments and difficult just to walk around. Signage is poor—the entrance to our section said “344 & 346.” We finally went in and discovered that yes, 345 was in there too. We stayed for a couple innings then walked back.
When we got back to the W, we poked our heads into the second-floor ballroom and—wow! People were walking around carrying iridescent green martinis and wearing pajamas and blue paper fezzes, which ladies were handing out at the front door. We decided to go for it, went up and changed, and came down in pajamas and fezzes. The mystery of the party was finally solved: it was a party being thrown by Nordstrom celebrating their new line of—get this—lingerie. Guests were designers, artists, and some of Nordstrom’s best customers. In the center of the room were models displaying—ahem—the wares. A fabulous band with two guitars, three fiddles, two drummers, and a keyboard entertained us through the night, and the seafood buffet was absolutely amazing. If this is the same food they serve downstairs at the hotel restaurant, Earth and Ocean, I’ll definitely be back to try dinner there. The green martinis turned out to be “emerald drops” made with Belvedere vodka and Midori. Halfway through her second one, Hunnybear declared that they are officially as dangerous as the Peach Kamikazes at Cutters.
It turned out there were two ladies we knew at the party—in the “best customers” category I think—so we felt more comfortable and had a great time. We even got our photo taken in a big bed outside the ballroom. We left just before the homemade ice cream came out (no good could come of that), went upstairs, and hit the Whatever Whenever button for an ungodly 5:15 wakeup call. As in the Westin La Cantera in San Antonio, they suggested a follow-up call fifteen minutes later. Nice touch.
The wakeup call came as promised the next morning. “I’m not getting up,” said Hunnybear. “This bed has an even bigger tractor beam than the other one.” Get up we did, though, and Hunnybear hit the Whatever Whenever button to ask for our car. We saved the remainder of the Aveda shampoo (man, does that Aveda soap bar smell good) and headed out. Checkout was much less hectic than checkin, although we experienced the famous “charged the secret Starwood rate for Free Fridays” phenomenon I have heard about from other FlyerTalkers. They took it off with no problem, though, and we ended up paying only $30 for parking, movie (10 Things I Hate About You, not bad) and a local call (85˘ flat rate).
A flight at dawn
We made the beautiful dawn drive to the airport with the top down and got to the MasterPark lot in 16 minutes. We got my favorite shuttle driver who was bright and cheery and didn’t let us touch our luggage. Once again I tipped him $5. I just love great service.
We are second in the First Class/100K line, but only one agent is taking customers because the other one’s computer is rebooting. Meanwhile, a dude in the peon’s checkin section is standing up on the luggage scale waving his arms and asking if anyone else is here for our flight, the 7:15 to Chicago. But he doesn’t turn around and look our way! “This flight is closed,” he declares. I go up to the agent who is rebooting her computer and she suggests I go tell him, so I trot down to his station and do so. He is very nice (turns out to be a Canadian) and checks us in immediately. I tell him to be sure and put the orange priority tags on our bags because in Toronto they actually pay attention to them. Then in unison, he and I both say, “unlike in Seattle.”
I noticed something new for SEA checkin: men in blue suits with walkie-talkies are monitoring all phases of the checkin and boarding process. One asked if all the people in our line were full-fare FC or 1K (it’s amazing how many people stand in the wrong line), then came down to where we were waiting for the train to the North Satellite and said something into his walkie-talkie about the train arriving or not arriving. Another was in the jetway reporting on the length of the line. I’m hoping this is United’s response to persistent problems with handling the morning crush of customers in Seattle. Nice to see they care.
There is no line to check in, but once we get into the jetway it takes about five minutes to get to the plane behind the 30 or so people waiting there. Ideally they would board these things through two doors, but I’ve never seen that with a 757. Next best is what they do, boarding by the door between coach and FC. I love stepping onto the plane and turning left. We get our coffee quickly and take off on time, although the ground agent came onto the plane and made repeated announcements for people to sit down. His tone of voice said, “I’ve had it up to here with you unruly customers.” I think Saturday mornings have a lot of infrequent flyers because of the weekend specials and e-fares.
Breakfast was “sampler #2.” I asked what was on that but Marjorie, the stewardess, said I ought to know because I flew so much. She went and told me and it was very good: a little wedge of Montecristo (grilled ham and cheese), a chicken sausage, some home fries, a broiled tomato, and a fruit plate. Hunnybear is going to email Sheila Lukens for the recipe. Service was average for this type of flight, which is to say pretty good, although veteran Marjorie was a little bit crusty at first, saying her paycheck was a little light and complaining about the 10% over six years the FA union had negotiated for them instead of ownership. I pulled out one of my million-dollar-bill business cards, folded it up like a tip, and slipped it to her saying, “here’s a little something to supplement your income.” She actually blushed and wouldn’t take it until I unrolled it and showed her it was a million. “Wouldn’t it be nice if this was real,” she sighed.
The movie was Tea with Mussolini, a pretty good film but not really my taste. After a round of hot towels, we landed on time in concourse C. Nice flight.
The monitor said our connection to Toronto was at gate E2A, a first for me. Concourse E is where Air Canada’s flights leave from but this is a UA plane. I ask the customer-service agent about it and she says that United is taking over Concourse E but right now it sucks because there’s no Red Carpet Club over there. We ensconce ourselves in the closest RCC, at one end of Concourse B, and perform dueling laptops. I do my traditional thing of asking if there is any food, but in Chicago they don’t put the food out at lunch time “because people eat too much.” Great way to cut costs, United… only put food out when people aren’t hungry. Instead, take a cue from Air Canada whose Maple Leaf Lounges put RCC to shame.
Next: A short hop to Why-Why-Zed
[This message has been edited by QuietLion (edited 09-18-1999).]
Sep 20, 1999 | 5:13 am
#9
Original Poster
Original Member
Join Date: May 1998
Location: Kirkland, WA
Posts: 6,932
The other thing I forgot to mention about the W Seattle is that the faucets were installed backwards in our room, or maybe inside out, I’m not sure. The one on the left was for cold water and you had to turn it to the right to make it go. The faucet on the right turned to the left as usual, but it was for hot water.
Sheraton Parkway North
As we step off the flight to Chicago, I turn on my Bat-phone (Nokia 6160) and see that I’ve got a message. It turns out to be from United Airlines. Apparently there’s a schedule change affecting a big itinerary that I just booked the day before! So in the RCC I hog two phones, one to view my United Connection itinerary and one to call the 1K hotline. I speak to Patrice and ask her, “Do I have a big problem, a little problem, or no problem?” She is very nice and competent and walks me through the schedule. There have been some minor time changes making one connection in Miami kind of tight, so she moves my incoming flight to one 45 minutes earlier. I then ask if she can fax me the new itinerary but they can’t do that because there is a segment on another carrier, she says, but suggests that since I’m in a RCC I just stroll over to the desk and have them print it out. Doh!
So I memorize the record locator and go over to the desk, which has nobodywaiting for three agents. They fight over me! I pick the loudest lady and ask her to print the itinerary. When I recite the record locator she nearly has a stroke. She cannot understand how I could memorize that six-letter code. She prints out the document, but goes on and on about my memorizing, so after a while I smile sheepishly and back away waving goodbye as her words trail off behind me. That was quite a feat, in her eyes.
After the long hike to concourse E, we go right aboard the 727 to Toronto. It’s a shock to see three pilots flying that little plane. It must be expensive. I understand why they’re phasing them out. We take our preferred seats in 1AB and I hang up our coats as the stewardess passes out the new Canada Customs form. Soon the steward who will be serving us appears and starts smashing ice. On a 727, every trip begins with the counds of smashing ice. I started making sound effects (“No! Stop! Ow!”) timed with every smash just to liven things up. There was a bit of a queue to take off but not as much as usual. A Champagne Gin Rickey for me and a glass of Chilean cabernet for Hunnybear and we were on the ground in Toronto before you could say “employee-owner.”
Canada customs was a breeze. Remember there are no restrooms in the baggage claim area, so use it before you go through immigration or lose it. It was only about five minutes until we heard the announcement for our flight, although they lied and said our priority bags would be on the priority belt. They were on the regular belt, mixed in just like in Seattle. I loaded them onto a cart. Carts are free in Toronto. In fact, you can use them to generate frequent-flyer points: use your credit card to pay the dollar deposit and when you return them outside you get a cash Loonie. You could spend the day renting and returning carts, cranking out the miles.
Hunnybear’s brother picked us up and we went for an amazing steak dinner at the secret place that I’m not supposed to mention because only Torontulas are supposed to know about it. But I accidentally mentioned it in a previous post, so if the search feature were working you could find out. After I posted it, I got all kinds of flak from the locals saying it was a secret. Anyway, they’ve raised their prices slightly but it’s still a bargain.
We spent the night at the Sheraton Parkway North (5 more stays to Plutonium now). This is one of those suburban Sheratons that I don’t really care for, the kind of place you have a wedding or a company banquet for an auto mechanic shop. The décor is garish and loud music from the bar recalls the last days of disco. As usual, there is a Starwood Preferred Guest sign but no one staffing it and no obvious place to queue up for the next available agent. I hover about and only one guy who got there after me gets served before me.
There are a dozen people in the lobby trying to get rooms. The entire city is booked for the Toronto Film Festival, which is why we’re staying way up here. We get a room on the fifth floor—10 is tops and nine is the Club level. I don’t push the upgrade thing this time because I just have a feeling that in this hotel it won’t matter. Later I find out that Club level has mini-bars and robes. Our level has a hole where the refrigerator used to be and a nice (although not Heavenly) king bed. I’m supposed to get feather pillows because it says so in my profile, but there aren’t any in the room. Hunnybear calls down and it takes them 40 minutes to deliver two of the lumpiest foam pillows I’ve ever seen. I tell her to call the manager. She does and within two minutes we get one feather pillow, which they tell us is the last one in the place. At $139 Canadian discounted rate, this place is not cheap for the location, and I expected better. Not recommended; stay at the Westin Prince instead if you’re up in the burbs.
Next: is the Airport Sheraton any better?
Sheraton Parkway North
As we step off the flight to Chicago, I turn on my Bat-phone (Nokia 6160) and see that I’ve got a message. It turns out to be from United Airlines. Apparently there’s a schedule change affecting a big itinerary that I just booked the day before! So in the RCC I hog two phones, one to view my United Connection itinerary and one to call the 1K hotline. I speak to Patrice and ask her, “Do I have a big problem, a little problem, or no problem?” She is very nice and competent and walks me through the schedule. There have been some minor time changes making one connection in Miami kind of tight, so she moves my incoming flight to one 45 minutes earlier. I then ask if she can fax me the new itinerary but they can’t do that because there is a segment on another carrier, she says, but suggests that since I’m in a RCC I just stroll over to the desk and have them print it out. Doh!
So I memorize the record locator and go over to the desk, which has nobodywaiting for three agents. They fight over me! I pick the loudest lady and ask her to print the itinerary. When I recite the record locator she nearly has a stroke. She cannot understand how I could memorize that six-letter code. She prints out the document, but goes on and on about my memorizing, so after a while I smile sheepishly and back away waving goodbye as her words trail off behind me. That was quite a feat, in her eyes.
After the long hike to concourse E, we go right aboard the 727 to Toronto. It’s a shock to see three pilots flying that little plane. It must be expensive. I understand why they’re phasing them out. We take our preferred seats in 1AB and I hang up our coats as the stewardess passes out the new Canada Customs form. Soon the steward who will be serving us appears and starts smashing ice. On a 727, every trip begins with the counds of smashing ice. I started making sound effects (“No! Stop! Ow!”) timed with every smash just to liven things up. There was a bit of a queue to take off but not as much as usual. A Champagne Gin Rickey for me and a glass of Chilean cabernet for Hunnybear and we were on the ground in Toronto before you could say “employee-owner.”
Canada customs was a breeze. Remember there are no restrooms in the baggage claim area, so use it before you go through immigration or lose it. It was only about five minutes until we heard the announcement for our flight, although they lied and said our priority bags would be on the priority belt. They were on the regular belt, mixed in just like in Seattle. I loaded them onto a cart. Carts are free in Toronto. In fact, you can use them to generate frequent-flyer points: use your credit card to pay the dollar deposit and when you return them outside you get a cash Loonie. You could spend the day renting and returning carts, cranking out the miles.
Hunnybear’s brother picked us up and we went for an amazing steak dinner at the secret place that I’m not supposed to mention because only Torontulas are supposed to know about it. But I accidentally mentioned it in a previous post, so if the search feature were working you could find out. After I posted it, I got all kinds of flak from the locals saying it was a secret. Anyway, they’ve raised their prices slightly but it’s still a bargain.
We spent the night at the Sheraton Parkway North (5 more stays to Plutonium now). This is one of those suburban Sheratons that I don’t really care for, the kind of place you have a wedding or a company banquet for an auto mechanic shop. The décor is garish and loud music from the bar recalls the last days of disco. As usual, there is a Starwood Preferred Guest sign but no one staffing it and no obvious place to queue up for the next available agent. I hover about and only one guy who got there after me gets served before me.
There are a dozen people in the lobby trying to get rooms. The entire city is booked for the Toronto Film Festival, which is why we’re staying way up here. We get a room on the fifth floor—10 is tops and nine is the Club level. I don’t push the upgrade thing this time because I just have a feeling that in this hotel it won’t matter. Later I find out that Club level has mini-bars and robes. Our level has a hole where the refrigerator used to be and a nice (although not Heavenly) king bed. I’m supposed to get feather pillows because it says so in my profile, but there aren’t any in the room. Hunnybear calls down and it takes them 40 minutes to deliver two of the lumpiest foam pillows I’ve ever seen. I tell her to call the manager. She does and within two minutes we get one feather pillow, which they tell us is the last one in the place. At $139 Canadian discounted rate, this place is not cheap for the location, and I expected better. Not recommended; stay at the Westin Prince instead if you’re up in the burbs.
Next: is the Airport Sheraton any better?
Sep 20, 1999 | 5:35 am
#10
Original Member
Join Date: May 1998
Location: Canada
Programs: AC SE 2MM, HH Dd, Bonvoy G; IC S; AA; DL
Posts: 14,496
Though somewhat sterile (I prefer smaller boutique non-chain hotels and, horrors, quality family run motels, a dying institution in North America), the Toronto Airport Sheraton has been excellent the couple of times I have stayed there.
Sep 20, 1999 | 7:44 am
#12
Original Poster
Original Member
Join Date: May 1998
Location: Kirkland, WA
Posts: 6,932
Sunday we drove down to London to visit Hunnybear’s new niece Hannah. On the two-hour drive down in our friend Jonathan’s BMW (he’s in Seoul for a couple months) we got stuck behind some kind of caravan of motorcycle cops. They were driving in the left lane, varying their speed from right about the speed limit, 100 km/h, to about 120. Nobody was willing to pass them for about an hour, then Hunnybear, who was driving as it’s her neck of the woods, s-l-o-w-l-y passed them on the right, expecting flashing lights at any moment. They never came.
In London we ate at Katzenjammer’s Deli. It was excellent. I recommend the #10 Reuben, Reuben, Reuben. Everybody in the restaurant was oohing and ahhing over little two-week-old Hannah. We paid in Canadian money so it was basically free.
The drive back was faster because there was no cop caravan. We checked into the Sheraton Gateway Toronto Airport. It’s right in Terminal 3, so you could actually walk to your flight if you were taking Canadian, but not to United, which is in Terminal 2. They have a separate desk for Starwood Preferred Guest, but once again no one was staffing it. How rude! Checkin went smoothly nonetheless, although the room we got had a view of the parking lot instead of the airplanes and was not on the club floor. I think the hotel was sold out, though. For the first time in my life, I was able to use a UA coupon to reduce the rate to CAD$120/night from the weekend rate of CAD$170. I have my coupons arranged in order of expiration, and it turned out the first one I gave her was already expired. That means I went 15 months without being able to use one of those things. Amazing. I guess I need to try harder.
Although we weren’t on the club floor, she said we were on the SPG floor, which meant upgraded amenities (usually coffee maker and robes). They had the new bad policy for charging for calls over 20 minutes, but the phone lines were so noisy I couldn’t connect anyway. (It was the same at the Sheraton Parkway North.) It’s probably the local phone company’s fault, not the hotel’s. I was finally able to connect the next morning at the Maple Leaf Lounge.
The hotel was very standard and certainly a good option for anyone with an early flight. We used the video checkout and, as usual, the checkin in Toronto went by the book. There were a couple people ahead of me in the FC line and the agent asked for my upgrade coupon. I used a confirmable upgrade.
This was the first time I’ve taken an A320 out of YYZ. It was a nice plane for a one-hour flight, but I’m a little wary of taking it LAX-MIA next month. There are three rows of FC, and I was in 1B. Seats 1AB have the little cutout for extra legroom like in the 757; 1CD don’t, but 1C has more protection from incoming traffic. The bulkhead in front of 1B stops about six inches from the edge of the seat, so boarding passengers almost bump into you, although not nearly as badly as seat 9C on a 757. I think I have 1B on the LAX-MIA and it looks like the best bet all things considered. This is the only small plane United has with video, but we only got to see the Rod Serling safety presentation, not Jeopardy. I asked purser Katie about it, and she said if they didn’t have to pass out and retrieve headset cords there might be time, but as it was it wouldn’t work. She was very nice. Choice of muffin or bagel in FC on this flight, but being a Zoner I passed.
Next: Are Americans allowed to watch movies starring a man named Cuba?
In London we ate at Katzenjammer’s Deli. It was excellent. I recommend the #10 Reuben, Reuben, Reuben. Everybody in the restaurant was oohing and ahhing over little two-week-old Hannah. We paid in Canadian money so it was basically free.
The drive back was faster because there was no cop caravan. We checked into the Sheraton Gateway Toronto Airport. It’s right in Terminal 3, so you could actually walk to your flight if you were taking Canadian, but not to United, which is in Terminal 2. They have a separate desk for Starwood Preferred Guest, but once again no one was staffing it. How rude! Checkin went smoothly nonetheless, although the room we got had a view of the parking lot instead of the airplanes and was not on the club floor. I think the hotel was sold out, though. For the first time in my life, I was able to use a UA coupon to reduce the rate to CAD$120/night from the weekend rate of CAD$170. I have my coupons arranged in order of expiration, and it turned out the first one I gave her was already expired. That means I went 15 months without being able to use one of those things. Amazing. I guess I need to try harder.
Although we weren’t on the club floor, she said we were on the SPG floor, which meant upgraded amenities (usually coffee maker and robes). They had the new bad policy for charging for calls over 20 minutes, but the phone lines were so noisy I couldn’t connect anyway. (It was the same at the Sheraton Parkway North.) It’s probably the local phone company’s fault, not the hotel’s. I was finally able to connect the next morning at the Maple Leaf Lounge.
The hotel was very standard and certainly a good option for anyone with an early flight. We used the video checkout and, as usual, the checkin in Toronto went by the book. There were a couple people ahead of me in the FC line and the agent asked for my upgrade coupon. I used a confirmable upgrade.
This was the first time I’ve taken an A320 out of YYZ. It was a nice plane for a one-hour flight, but I’m a little wary of taking it LAX-MIA next month. There are three rows of FC, and I was in 1B. Seats 1AB have the little cutout for extra legroom like in the 757; 1CD don’t, but 1C has more protection from incoming traffic. The bulkhead in front of 1B stops about six inches from the edge of the seat, so boarding passengers almost bump into you, although not nearly as badly as seat 9C on a 757. I think I have 1B on the LAX-MIA and it looks like the best bet all things considered. This is the only small plane United has with video, but we only got to see the Rod Serling safety presentation, not Jeopardy. I asked purser Katie about it, and she said if they didn’t have to pass out and retrieve headset cords there might be time, but as it was it wouldn’t work. She was very nice. Choice of muffin or bagel in FC on this flight, but being a Zoner I passed.
Next: Are Americans allowed to watch movies starring a man named Cuba?
Sep 20, 1999 | 5:48 pm
#14
Original Member
Join Date: May 1998
Location: nyc, ny, usa
Posts: 364
Hey great report!
I too, went to the secret steak house a few weeks ago and was thoroughly satisfied. IT definitely puts Mortons and Ruth's Chris to shame (sorry Catman!).
I remember staying at that Sheraton a few years ago. Do they still have that mini golf course in the middle of the lobby area?
I too, went to the secret steak house a few weeks ago and was thoroughly satisfied. IT definitely puts Mortons and Ruth's Chris to shame (sorry Catman!).
I remember staying at that Sheraton a few years ago. Do they still have that mini golf course in the middle of the lobby area?