Description: I wish I could tell you that our stay at the Metropole was as magnificent as the Belle Epoque lobby we pass through, but it wasn't. Our rooms, five of them, were a sad disappointment.
Our stay began inauspiciously enough; we breezed through check-in. When we arrived at our first room, we unloaded our luggage and had barely entered the room when I noticed that the toilet was running. It never stopped. Our bellman called the desk, back onto the luggage cart went our bags, and down the hall we went. The three large ashtrays in room two made it unacceptable.
Exasperated, I told the bellman we had requested non-smoking, and the desk clerk knew this. Again, he called down, after some arguing we loaded the cart and headed for the elevator and a non-smoking floor. As I walked around the bed in our new room, voila, a piece of luggage that was not ours. The room already had an occupant. Another call to the desk. Another move. This time we actually got to unload and move in. The next morning, we were awakened by a dripping sound. There was water leaking through our ceiling onto the carpet. We called maintenance and soon a man arrived he headed for our bathroom saying, "You have water?" I smiled and pointed to the ceiling; his look of shock was priceless "OH!" he said and left. We received a call from the desk; we had to move immediately.
Each of our rooms was slightly different. All were small; all had horrible orange-and-pink bedspreads and gray carpeting. The furniture was retro, maybe even deco. The bathrooms differed greatly. The one in our leaky room was gorgeous, large, newly decorated and with a bidet. Our last one was small, tan, and had a tub that wouldn’t drain.
Now is there a happy ending? Yes, like the first-class hotel it is, the General Manager of the Metropole has responded to my e-mail and given us a full refund of our stay; not only that, but he has invited us back to stay in a suite with buffet breakfast on the house. Now that is class.
Actually, the buffet breakfast at the Metrople is quite grand; just don’t try to toast anything but regular bread. Bob, the radical that he is, tried to toast raisin bread and almost caused an international incident; Joe also tried to remove a newspaper, but was intercepted by Interpol (really it was the maitre d’). I -- now you have to promise not to tell -- smuggled out a little jar of jelly, and I have been looking over my shoulder ever since.
Location is the draw here. It’s an easy walk to the Grand Place, Bus 55 goes uptown, the tram and subway are below your feet, and shopping and restaurants are right around the corner. There is even an Internet café next door. Given an overhaul, the Metropole could be perfect; right now, it isn’t.
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