Paris Match Report

In the summer (which is further back that I care to think about) Lovely Wife and I gleefully abandoned our children and took ourselves off to Paris for a long weekend and it were fabulous.

Being the very careful, spendthrift people that we are we booked ourselves into Le Meurice, an incredibly opulent hotel on Rue de Rivoli right beside the Jardin des Tuilieres in the 1er arrondissement. The location quite simply couldn’t be bettered. We were slumming it obviously.

The hotel is very, very grand, five star over-the-topness everywhere and it is really rather lovely. This is Parisian belle époque at its height.



In fact the hotel is so lovely that Dubai’s very own Mohd Al Abbar had taken over the whole of the two top floors for his family and entourage and had rather commandeered the place which was pretty annoying. Given that we were paying EUR500 a night I dread to think what his little stay cost. Beggars belief. There were very large chaps with badly fitting suits loitering around everywhere and whenever His Emaarness Al Abbar came into the lobby there was a frenzy of activity, all of which left the Parisian’s looking on in mild bemusement and of course no one had a clue who he was.



The hotel rooms are very chic, but very old-worldy, which I really like and you certainly have a sense of great luxury staying here. The hotel boasts a Michelin 3 star restaurant in one of the most beautiful rooms I have ever sat in (inspired by Le Salon de Paix at Versailles apparently); it’s all gilt-edged mirrors, beautiful frescos and stunning paintings. We decided not to eat at this restaurant as we wanted to explore further afield. With hindsight I wish we had but that’s another story.

The hotel is awfully proud of its long and prestigious history but one thing that it fails to mention is that it was used as the German Army headquarters throughout the occupation. In fact General von Choltitz, the military Governor of Paris signed the document of the surrender of the city in the Hotel Le Meurice on 24th August 1944. Von Choltitiz is often regarded as the “Saviour of Paris” as he refused to carry out Hitler’s direct orders to completely destroy the city.

Sorry, I digress!

For our first night I had booked us into a Michelin 2 star restaurant called Le Gourmad which is a very famous seafood restaurant in the 1er arrondissement and a short walk from our lovely hotel.


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This restaurant, which opened in 1872, is a bit of a Parisian institution and I am afraid has been resting on its laurels rather too long.

I rather liked the first floor room, but Lovely Wife wasn’t keen at all and would only comment that it was obviously designed by a man!

The first shock horror of the evening was being handed a wine list the size of an encyclopaedia with the wines (all French) arranged by region. I hadn’t really thought about this much but for the past 17 years or so of living in Hong Kong and Dubai we have predominantly been drinking New World wines and as a result my knowledge of French wines is really quite sketchy. The second shock horror was not seeing a single wine at less than EUR100 per bottle. Frankly I thought that was an outrage and a complete piss take. I am convinced we got given the tourist wine list as I am quite sure no local would have accepted paying these sort of prices.

The food was very disappointing. I was really looking forward to trying this restaurant but to be quite frank I could have cooked better at home myself and so left feeling very ripped off and very let down.

Lunch the next day restored my faith somewhat. We stopped at a bistro in Place du Marche St Honoré which is a great area for restaurants. St Honoré has a heap of restaurants along three sides of the square and is a lovely quiet area to sit outside and watch the world go by.


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We ate at Le Zinc D’Honoré which is a very typical bistro; wooden floors and panelling, the obligatory turn of the century Pernod adverts and marble topped tables all crammed up close together. The menu is scribbled on little blackboards, the wine comes in big carafes and the service is brisk, friendly, very efficient and professional. It was great. Lovely Wife and I had two fantastic salads to start with which were huge and filled with all sorts of wonderful little goodies. I had an excellent entrecote to follow just to help me through the afternoon of sightseeing.

For dinner we decided to head back to Saint Honoré as it was a very short walk from the hotel and we chose another restaurant called ‘Nomads’ which was filled to the brim, was very lively and looked really fun. We were not to be disappointed. Another great meal, excellent food, served properly and professionally.



Lunch on our last day was at Cafe Marly which is located within the Louvre courtyard and has a fabulous terrace overlooking the pyramid. This is clearly quite a touristy place but lunch was delicious, the setting is quite fantastic and it was a wonderful way to end our weekend.





Paris is still a great place to eat, it was wonderful being able to just walk around, stop at a little side street cafe, have a cold beer or glass of wine, to be served by people who knew what they were doing and took pride in doing in and to eat, generally, decent food that was well prepared.

We’ll be back.

The Galle Fort Hotel

The Galle Fort Hotel
Galle
Sri Lanka
Booking: +94912232870
Email: info@galleforthotel.com

Chris Ong and Karl Steinberg own the Galle Fort Hotel: Ong jacked in a career in investment banking in Malaysia and he and partner Steinberg bought the 17th century Dutch villa following a trip to Galle staying in a Muslim-owned guesthouse in the fort (where Madam was more than a little suspicious about her rather exotic guests).

Steinberg's a pleasant chap, a little shy perhaps. But Ong is a real character - scandalous, arch and highly amused, he's the cook and a fantastic one at that. Together, the pair have transformed a ruin into what must stand as one of the most stylish boutique hotels in the East: a fantastic, uber-funky 14 room slice of sheer post-colonial lavishness, the Galle Fort Hotel is an absolute must for a meal, but also the best place to stay in Galle by far. Rooms start in at around the same price as the badly-run Sun House, coming in at way under a third of the outrageous rates charged by the Amangalla down the road. And the Galle Fort, for my money, is a much better place to stay than the Aman, which may be posh but is also snotty, doesn't have AC in its dining room and serves odd food. Honestly, if I wanted to eat vichyssoise, Galle is probably not the first place I'd choose to eat it...

Now I must be clear here: we didn't actually stay at the Galle Fort. We'd blown it and decided to stay at the Sun House, but we ended up spending most of our time down at the Galle Fort before finally fleeing to Colombo after deciding we'd rather eat our own earlobes than spend another night at the Sun House and, when it comes down to it, Galle. But Chris took us around the rooms and they are utterly stunning: we ate there, hung around there and generally used it as a bolt-hole, much to our second host's amusement. And it's lovely.

The food is amazing. Ong is a self-taught cook and his talent for presentation, for innovative menus that combine asian, fusion and european dishes, flavours and textures means that every meal is a delight. There's choice on the menu and the kitchen will do pretty much anything you ask of it within reason. Chris' chicken soong starter and his amazing tarte au citron are still standout experiences for me, but I have to confess I spent three days stealing from him quite happily.

If you've had enough of the local food and you want to eat stunningly well in Sri Lanka, better than you can in Colombo, then the Galle Fort is the place to be. If you want to stay in Galle, then give it up (it isn't cheap) and stay at the Fort.

The Sun House Hotel, Galle

The Sun House Hotel
Galle
Sri Lanka
Bookings: +94 91 4380275
E-Mail: info@thesunhouse.com


What more could you want to make your boutique hotel experience unforgettable than the facilities offered by the Sun House in Galle, a former colonial bungalow converted into a small, exclusive and luxurious hotel?

The Sun House offers a gurgling twit British owner who appears to have escaped from a comedy show, limited and inflexible dining, a set of threadbare towels and sheets, broken plumbing and a nice, steady stream of rat's piss onto your pillows as you sleep. It really is the perfect way to come to a state of fear and loathing in Galle.

Please don't make our mistake. Please don't stay at the Sun House. The sooner they go out of business, the sooner someone higher up the food chain can do something decent with the place.

Geoffrey Dobbs won't hesitate to tell you that he made his money 'Out East' and doesn't have to work any more. He's bought up quite a few bits and bobs in Galle, including the Dutch House (over the road from the Sun House), Lunuganga, The Beach House and Taprobane Island - you can't take away from the man his act of faith in the sheer beauty of Galle or his entrepeneurialism in buying up all this real estate and letting it out to wealthy tourists at rates that are really, really hefty by Sri Lankan standards (the Sun House comes in at $200 a night, perfectly acceptable beachside B&B's come in at $20. And a Sri Lankan won't earn $200 a month).

But nobody wants to have their conversation before dinner interrupted by some crumpled, gangly fool wandering up and issuing his 'Little Britain' style catchphrase: "Hello. I'm Geoffrey. I'm the owner."

To do this properly, you have to put on a hopelessly dippy upper class English accent. Try Tim Nice But Dim and you're getting close. Oh, and don't forget to do it constantly - preferably then looking confused as your guests look irritatedly up at you and then following up with an embarrassed shuffle, a cheesy grin and, 'Oh, sorry! Wrong couple!'

Follow that up by providing threadbare sheets and towels in the room, a constantly fish-dominated menu (try that with a wife who doesn't like fish and who doesn't want to eat a green salad followed by chicken curry every bloody night of the week) and leaky plumbing staunched by wet towels and you're starting to stretch the meaning of 'boutique hotel'.

Then chuck in charging guests for the use of the hotel tuktuk, an inability to provide anything but the most venial of bashi bozouks as a tourist driver or guide and no lunch menu and you start to create a boutique experience that only the English would recognise: the slightly painful and demeaning discomfort that public schoolboys have always secretly missed.

The tuktuk (Sri Lanka's ubiquitous moped-driven three wheeled transport) is of course necessary to get down to Galle without ending up in a sweaty heap. The driver they provide for day trips does not, of course, speak English and will take you to every crap tourist trap in the area that pays commissions to drivers, including The Mad Monk of Galle.

But the daddy was the odd smell in the room, the constant presence of powerful incense burned by the staff every time they made the room over and the skittering in the roof cavity at night. We eventually put two and two together and spotted the tell-tale dark yellow drips that had solidified on the wooden beams. The bed was being constantly spattered by ratpiss from the rodents in the ceiling space.

We'd already taken to eating our meals down at the superb Galle Fort Hotel, to escape the constant 'chicken surprise' menu. But now we'd had enough. We fled to Colombo, checking out early and declining Geoffrey's offer to spend our last night in the more expensive Dutch House (an offer made to other guests and accepted with pathetic, grovelling, fawning gratitude by an English party that was staying there at the same time as we did. A true Fawlty Towers moment).

The Sun House staff's reaction when we checked out early and told them why? 'You have to expect that. This is a boutique hotel!'

Good grief.

I can't prove that the parasite-linked dermatitis we both had treatment for when we got home was linked to Geoffrey and his rats. But in my heart of hearts, I know I will wish him and his enterprise ill for all time.