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| - There is something to be said for a resort hotel that uses high-threadcount sheets and pillow cases in its suites, where the pillows are just right and after sitting in an airplane 70 hours a week, the bed urged me to spend a night in its sweet embrace... to sleep, perchance to dream.
The Concierge would always meet us upon check-in and ask if we wanted (this) or (that) and after while, once they knew our habits, things happened without being asked, although dinner was about the only thing that changed from time to time and we would be asked a day in advance what our preferences were for the next day. (One year, we spent 103 nights as guests here.)
The hotel always had a Mercedes (summer) or Porsche (winter) rented for each of us pilots (when our wives were with us) or usually just one when it was just one crew in town for the weekend. The boss' secretary would make our reservation and once the hotel staff got to know us and our habits, we hardly ever had to pick up the phone for anything. It just happened.
My boss and I were always put in suites every night we stayed there. Massages twice a day, at least an hour long... absolutely to die for. My wife would jump on an America West (or brand X) flight just to be pampered by someone else for a weekend. (Every now and then, the big boss would allow our wives on board. I think he just liked redheads...)
Sun. Laying by the pool for hours. Swimming. Hot tub. Sauna. Exercise room. Massage. More drinks. Sun. Laying by the pool. Swimming. Hot tub. Sauna... followed by another massage. More drinks. Maybe the boss-man would invite us out to his golf club to play: I suck at playing golf, so he had someone that made him feel good about his game. (Every once in a while, he took pity on me and arranged for a few lessons.) Then take my arm-candy bride to dinner at Durant's.
Just sleeping 10-12 hours a night was heaven.
Get the idea?
What rating can you give paradise?
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