Journals of a Hotel Manager

Things happen on an island with great timing.  A coconut will choose to fall just when a person passes underneath to either scare the hell out of him or render him unconscious, depending on how fast that person walks.  However, when the barge with our much anticipated supplies of toilet paper, ink cartridges, cement and a rare box of sirloin arrives, the tide chooses to be the lowest in months.  The barge runs aground in the channel.  It sits like a beached whale awaiting the rising of the tide.  I had to dispatch a dive master who is a good swimmer to rescue the sirloin.  The cement and toilet paper can roast in the sun.

Our HR director went on an R&R over the weekend.  The office was unmanned.  Upon his return he was shocked to find a voice mail informing us of a bomb to be detonated at 11am.  The voice was menacing.  The culprit unknown.  The threat sounded real.  The only problem was that the message was 3 days old.

My question is: is this a coconut about to fall at any moment or the tide which will eventually rise?

Luckily the island is small and a search for a bomb turned up empty.  Let’s hope for the best.  Most of the time the coconut misses.

At Charlie’s insistence, I allowed him to drive me back to Dubai for my departure. A thick layer of gray smog enveloped Dubai as we approached. The economy has dealt Dubai quite a blow which is evident as many construction sites are being left unfinished. The much hated and anticipated Sky Train is nowhere near to be completed. The iconic Burj Dubai poked into the sky like a jagged stalagmite. Charlie told me the construction has also been halted.

As we drove down the main thoroughfare, we remembered how it had been no more than a two-lane road with sand and acacia bushes on the side when we were working in Dubai all those years ago. Now with six lanes on each side, this road connects to all the emirates from the blue Arabian Gulf to the golden desert in Oman.

The traffic is less congested than a few years ago since many businesses went bust. The word on the street is that more than 6000 work visa have been canceled and hundreds of cars have been left at the airport with keys still in the ignition - their owners couldn’t even be bothered with having the cars sold. Such is the ruthless impact on this artificial paradise that the rumor is circulating about closure of and compulsory unpaid leave at several top end hotels.

Despite its modern image, workers on their Sunday best can still be seen on the curb of the highway hoping to flag down the rare bus to take them to the city. Bangladeshi and Pakistani maintenance workers with shovels and brooms on the highway wear their traditional turban and long tunic under the safety vest, while their Indian supervisor waited in the safety of the car with nothing but a clipboard and a bottle of water in his hands. The faces in crowded buses that ferry manual laborers between construction sites and their accommodation are mostly brown, weary and lifeless.

In many ways Dubai hasn’t changed. The rich carry on living in majestic villas built by immigrant workers who work mostly at night to avoid the searing heat during the day. The laborers continue to pour into Dubai to earn about $100 a month because they cannot find a job at home. The locals in their flowing robes never cease to jump line in supermarkets and at taxi stands, and no one dares to argue with them. The numerous America-style mega malls still consume gazillion-watts of electricity to keep the neon signs lit, the air cool and the appearance of utter luxury.

I wonder if the bubble of Dubai will finally burst with the current economic crisis. Their oil reserve has long been on the brink of depletion hence the development into this man-made attraction. Despite my lack of fondness of Dubai, as the plane lifted off and the wounded concrete jungle faded into view, I wish Dubai all the best of luck.

Burj Dubai photo as of Jan 21st, 2009 from Wikipedia.com

Well, I am actually near the Oman border in a small desert oasis called Al Ain.  There are so many vacation days outstanding in my calendar that I need to take and with hotel occupancy hovering at around 50%, I think I deserve a few days away from the rock.

I worked in Dubai some years ago when Dubai was just starting to wake up to the new money.  Today Dubai is an exact copy of Las Vegas in my opinion, only bigger and louder without the topless shows.  Throughout the years I have visited Dubai regularly on business trips and seen the tremendous changes.  Let’s just say you could not even pay me to come to Dubai to spend my R&R.

Al Ain is about 90 minutes drive from Dubai and has a totally different feel to it.  It has palm fringed boulevards with a low mountain range on the horizon.  There are no horrific traffic jams or shiny skyscrapers that tickled the sky.  The air is cleaner and the sky bluer.  Hence the destination is popular with expats who live in the hustle and bustle of Dubai as well as for travelers who are looking for a more authentic desert oasis experience than on fake ski slopes or on beaches under the shadow of incessant construction sites.

The hotel I am staying at happens to be the hotel chain I worked for in Dubai all those years ago.  The newly appointed GM used to work at the same hotel so he cut me a pretty good deal.  It’s just my first day here and the temperature in the desert in January is surprisingly cool, especially at night.

The smell of shisha, the taste of a succulent lamb kebab, and the distant evening prayer calls brings back many memories.  Let’s see if I will recuperate enough in the coming few days to recall some of the crazy stories of living in Dubai.

Security report was the highlight of the morning briefing. Apparently at around 2am, the security officer who toured the spa area found a broken padlock on the stone path.

Our spa is near the main entrance of the hotel. It is one of the best on the island. We boast eleven treatment rooms, each with its own over-sized Jacuzzi bathtub, indoor/outdoor shower, steam room and a pair of antique wooden doors with intricate carvings. Even the padlocks are kind of historic.

As the security officer was investigating he heard giggling from one of the rooms. Surely enough that padlock was missing and even the antique door received an ugly gash. Upon entering the room, he found two Caucasian women and a local young man frolicking in the Jacuzzi, stark naked. There were a dozen or so beer bottles scattered around the room and the three intruders seemed unfazed by the disturbance.

The problem was the security officer was a local boy. He found it difficult to admonish a buleh woman, let alone two naked white women. He unleashed his embarrassment and anger at his own kind, and told the naked young man in the local language to leave the spa immediately. The threesome giggled some more. The security officer called for back-up and was smart enough to call Jane, our Australian spa manager, who had seen her fair share of naked women and was not afraid of them.

The two female guests were not even our hotel guests. They were staying at a cheap B&B somewhere down the beach. The young man, one of those super-tanned attractive youngsters collectively known here on the island as ‘cowboys’, had heard of our famous spa and decided to show off to his new friends. Sadly, there is no point in chasing after him for the damage to our antique doors. He probably makes $5 a day selling ice cream on the beach, where he picks up older, lonely white women who would buy him beers and a good dinner.

There is no luck with the women either. They claimed that they had nothing to do with breaking the door. All they were guilty of was just trespassing. There is no point blacklisting them in our reservation since they will never be able to afford a hotel in our caliber.

All I can do is just be happy that they didn’t wake me up in the middle of the night (I needed a good rest after the union meeting), and source two more antique doors for my bruised spa.

Never a dull moment in my life.

What the xxxx?  I can hear you say now: You are not alone after last year’s economic turmoil.  There are many other hard-working people out there who ended up without a job.  You should count yourself lucky just to have a job.

But after a year’s work trying to keep this hotel competitive in the market, cutting costs in terms of labor (Mr. Owner’s favorite tactic) while we actually need more bodies to improve our services, personally flying to different countries in the world on sales calls in cattle class just to keep the costs down, the news still came as a big disappointment.

My first reaction is, and has always been, digging out my resume from some folder labeld ‘EMERGENCY PROCEDURES’ and sending it out to other companies.

But which company is paying out bonus now?

NYE: an evening packed with action until the morning.  Here is a rough chronicle of what occurred:

3pm                 Mr. Owner called to say that he decided to celebrate at home. HURRAY!  Called F&B to release his reserved table and assign staff elsewhere.

4pm                 Called Mrs. T, one of the leading local socialites.  She had screamed at the staff at her private party the previous night that the Oysters Rockerfeller we served were different from the recipe she was used to.  I managed to calm her down and promised her the best table of the house - the one usually taken by Mr. Owner.

5pm                 Cleared most of my email in preparation for the long  night ahead.

6pm                 Ran home to take a shower.  Browsed through my selection of suits, shirts, ties and cuff-links.  The last time I wore a suit was in Japan on a sales trip 5 months ago.  The pants still fit, great.  Started to sweat the moment I put on the jacket.

7pm                 Walked through the lobby of the garden wing.  Touched bases with duty manager.  Shook hands with all employees in sight, including kitchen and stewarding area, to wish them happy new year.

7:30pm             Mr. Owner changed his mind and decided to come to the restaurant anyway, with a party of 8: DAMN!!  His table had been given to Mrs. T.  Spoke immediately to F&B Manager and found another table at his least favorite restaurant.

8pm                 Walked through main lobby.  Shook more hands.  Sat down in a corner at the fine dining restaurant to taste their NYE menu with resident manager.  Eyes glued to the entrance.  Got up numerous times to greet guests and shake hands.  Restaurants were full: Good.  Food came out lukewarm: Not good.

9:30pm             Walk through back of the house to shake employee hands.

10pm               Mrs. T was delighted.  Everything was perfect, especially the best seat of the house.  Mr. Owner was also happy.  Phew!

10:30pm           Enter main ballroom to survey the set up for the NYE party.  Shook hands indiscriminately,  guests and staff alike.

11:15pm           Got yelled at by female guest with a pillow in her hand.  She was upset that she could not sit at a table with a RESERVED sign on it.  Explained to her patiently the meaning of RESERVED.  Staff had already set up a table for her especially at the corner.  But she only wanted that table with RESERVED sign.  It had a small sofa, perhaps the purpose of her pillow??  She was asked to vacate the table by three different staff since her teenage son was sleeping on the sofa.  She claimed that she felt like a second-class citizen.  I offered again to set up a table anywhere she wanted.  But she refused and said she was going to the beach.  I thanked her for the comment and let her.

Midnight           Fireworks set off brilliantly against a fairly clear sky and over a calm sea.  Mr. Owner turned to ask me “How much is this costing me?”

12:05am           Shook anything that looked like a hand.

12:10am           First glitch report of 2009 came in via Blackberry.  Guest complained that a glass of champagne of $20 including tax and gratuity at the party was too expensive.  We should have given free champagne.  He resorted to return to his room and ordered room service champagne instead.  He failed to notice that the party had free entrance, free 11-piece band, free fireworks and free gifts.  At least in the room he will have ESPN.

12:45am           Private tête-à-tête with Security Director to discuss what to do about the two skimpily clad ladies who may be soliciting business among the crowd.  They claimed that they had a room at the hotel, but could not remember the room number.  Highly suspicious.

2am                  In bed.  Set alarm to 7am for another day in paradise.  Suddenly realized that the year reads 2009.

© 2009 Global Hotel Nomad (SH)

photo courtesy riverson228 flickr.com

NYE? Just another day in banana republic for me.  Here is why:

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In order to mollify Dr. S and to prevent any other complaints about the construction noise, I managed to locate the home owner.  I stated the fact that the construction noise was disturbing our guests.

“I am willing to make a deal,” said he, “but it’s going to cost you.”

Gritting my teeth, I tried to sound cool, “Name your price and I will see what I can do.”

“I can stop the construction until January 8^th, but you’ve got to give me three fennel balls.”

“Did you say fennel balls?”  I was baffled, “You mean fennel, as the vegetable?”

“Yes, fennel balls.  I need three.  If you can give me them, I will stop the construction.”

I agreed to look into it and hung up the phone.

Surely he was not pulling my leg, I thought.  His voice was decidedly distorted by the construction ruckus but I swore that he had said ‘fennel balls’.

Does fennel possess balls?

I walked out of my office and grabbed the first manager in sight, who turned out to be Andrew, my director of rooms, and asked him if he knew any fennel balls.

Andrew reacted exactly like all young people nowadays when being asked a question.  Without thinking he sat down in front of a computer and googled ‘fennel balls’.  After several combination of search criteria, he muttered, “Are you quite sure that he used the word ‘balls’?”

“That’s what it sounded like to me,” I was slightly defensive.

As we were both certain it had something to do with cooking, we reasoned finally that the home owner probably meant ‘fennel bulbs’, a raw ingredient to make dishes such as fennel and risotto balls according to ‘Chef Gone Wild’, or fennel matzoh balls as ‘Jewish Holiday Cooking’ advised.  It would be hard to find fresh fennel bulbs from our local market therefore the home owner was hoping that we could use our resourceful supplier for the hotel.

It would be a small price to pay for these fennel ‘balls’ in exchange for 10 days of peace and quiet on the construction front.  Joy to the world!

© 2008 Global Hotel Nomad (SH)

The grind of the festive begins by being yelled at on Christmas Eve.  What a surprise!  Guests can be most unforgiving at this time of the year.

With a full house, the home owner of a nearby luxury mansion has decided to start construction of his pool and patio recently.  The noise annoyed Dr. S, a guest from NYC, who had specifically requested room 408 with ocean-view windows that caught a hint of the construction sounds.

Of course, this is entirely my fault.  As a hotel manager, I must be devil reincarnate to some of the guests.  If the sun does not shine on a tropical island, it is my fault.  If the water is murky on a dive trip due to rain, it is my fault.  If the fishing excursion resulted in no fish being caught, again it is my fault.

As the minions tried in vain to find an alternative for Dr. S in a fully occupied hotel, who had refused any room in the hotel other than 408, which is quite impossible since there is only one such room, I listened attentively to his observation about my carelessness and incompetence to permit this catastrophe.  An arrangement of upgrade to an ocean front suite, a free spa treatment and a complimentary dinner at our fine dining room later, Dr. S was calm enough to send an email to his contact at our sister hotel in another country to vent off his remaining anger.  He graciously copied the email to me.  I will make sure to seek him out and wish him happy holidays at tonight’s Christmas buffet.

One of my mentors had said to me when I was almost in tears when a guest blamed me for something I did not do, still a young apprentice of 18 at my first hotel, “A good hotel manager needs skin of a crocodile.”  I remembered it ever since.

Talking about animals, rat complaints have dropped to just one last night, only a day after the rat god ceremony.  And the cobra was not sighted anymore.  I wonder if the divinity has a thick skin.  Surely they cannot grant every wish.

I wish I could turn the sun on and the rain off when my guests demand it; ask the elusive sea turtles to appear on cue when my diving guests descend; and above all, to make our neighbor home owner, a free citizen with his own rights, stop construction during the festive when my guests are most sensitive.

This may, after all, be too much to ask.  I think I will just grow another layer of crocodile skin.

© 2008 Global Hotel Nomad (SH)

The busiest season which in hospitality industry jargon called ‘the festive’ is officially underway.  It is characteristically evident by a full hotel, unusually large number of families and boisterous children, endless buffet, better dressed guests, and a depleted stock of champagne.  This is often the most trying season for hotel staff as well, who work overtime while the rest of the world enjoys the holidays.

Despite the economic crisis, our hotel occupancy has soared and will maintain its momentum well into the New Year.  On top of that, the owner of the hotel has decided to come and spend his festive season here with us, with a family of fifteen in tow.

I am planning a pre-festive gathering in my accommodation tonight.  All expatriate managers live in apartments and small houses on hotel grounds, near the parking lot.  It will be a good opportunity to charge their (alcoholic) batteries before the crunch.  But this morning my gregarious resident manager Lincoln, a loveable dude from Philly, came in to work with an ashen face.  During the entire morning briefing he muttered no word, especially when Mastra reported that the God of Rats prayer ceremony had gone successfully and we were to expect the rat problem to be resolved.

By noon Lincoln was pale and perspiring profusely.  I urged him to see a doctor but as the man he is he said he just needed some rest.  In another 20 minutes he couldn’t even walk himself back to his house.  We put him in a guest room that was out of order.  Poor Lincoln was not himself and was constantly in the bathroom.

Our in house doctor went to check on him but couldn’t find anything wrong except that he was very uncomfortable.  We put Lincoln in a car and drove to the nearest local clinic, where a blood test showed abnormally high white blood counts.  Lincoln was apparently doubled up in pain with a hugely bloated belly and running a fever.  Perplexed and worried, the clinic decided to evacuate him to a hospital in the capital.  The last I heard was that Lincoln was in a helicopter being rushed to the capital.  His next of kin, his sister in Philly, had to be informed and I also had to inform my boss of this development just in case anything worse was to happen.

I am facing a full house for two weeks, owner’s visit and the festive without my resident manager.  Life in hospitality industry is never dull.

Poor Lincoln, his festive is surely ruined.  I hope he recovers soon.  He will be missed at our party tonight.

© 2008 Global Hotel Nomad (SH)