The Auberge du Vieux-Port is my favorite hotel in the world.
Or at least, my favorite hotel of the ones I’ve actually stayed at; it’s possible that, if I ever spent a night at Soniat House, the Auberge would be edged out in my affections.
But it would be difficult, because the place does so very much right. The service is very attentive without making me feel that I am too lowly for them. All the staff knew my name; the bartender remembered my preferences in wine; the manager recalled when I’d been to the restaurant and asked the next day whether I’d enjoyed it.
The amenities are extremely comforting without becoming embarrassingly hedonistic. The bath supplies smell of rosemary, and there are the makings of a truly phenomenal bubble bath in the jacuzzi. There is free wireless internet, which is how it should be, always and everywhere. There are chocolates on the pillow at night, and wine and cheese during the afternoon. This is a good place to stay if you like food, because the restaurant in the basement is persuasively French and has a well-stocked cellar. Many of these things are, theoretically, standard to a certain class of hotel, but here they’re done well, and not just because they’re expected. It makes a difference.
The room is huge. The ceiling is very high; tall windows overlook the river. The walls are a pleasant aging brick, and the floor hardwood; I like wooden floors, even if they are colder. The Auberge has the flooring, and then the slippers to take the edge off.
The location is good, too. Outside, one can walk around the old city of Montreal; I was there in the winter, so I did less of this than I otherwise might, but the staff seemed to know everything, and were quick with directions or a cab.
None of these features quite captures what is so excellent about the place, though, because what it does most right is conform unobtrusively but exactly to the needs of the guest. There are lots of hotels that have nice fittings but don’t seem to have been designed around a human being. Televisions that don’t face where anyone would actually sit. Closets the wrong size or placed inconveniently. Bathrobes plushy but too small to enclose anyone but a midget. Spa-quality bath supplies stored in a container from which they cannot be extracted except through a straw. Safe that won’t quite hold a laptop. Light switches in hard-to-reach places. Mini-bars stocked with all kinds of clever goodies, but lacking the comforts you’re really looking for. Turn-down service that adjusts things you didn’t want adjusted.
The Auberge gets all of these things so right that, when you stay there, your whole life seems magically to have gotten easier and less annoying. If only the rest of my existence had been organized by someone half so competent.
