Hello again, friends!
The Isthmus Hotel chain has been synonymous with luxury and sophisticated service since the flagship opened in Panama City in 1904 to cater to visitors coming to view the man-made wonder of the canal. The Manhattan outpost, located on the very desirable southeast corner of Fifty-Fifth and Fifth, has long been a top choice for discerning travelers, especially those from Central and South America, who appreciate the bilingual staff.
The hotel underwent a soup-to-nuts renovation in 2019 with all rooms given a much-needed makeover. They’ve opted for a clean, modern look—the rooms feature a lot of ivory and pearl gray and may be the teensiest bit generic. The lights of each room are all on a master panel inside the door and offer three choices: Festival (every light in the room on), Romance (low mood lighting), and Nighty-Night (every light in the room off). I tried to figure out how to beat the system and turn some lights off and some on (the one next to my bed, for example). It seemingly can’t be done without a degree in electrical engineering.
I wanted to check the concierge’s knowledge of the area, so I requested the name of a salon where I could get an inexpensive pedicure within ten blocks on a Sunday. The concierge found me a place right away, but when I went to write down the address on the notepad next to the phone, I found the hotel pen was dry. Readers of this column may feel this is a tiny detail—and make no mistake, it is—but if a hotel is providing an amenity such as a pen, it should work.
The other aspects of my stay at the Isthmus were top-notch. The bedding was delicious, the comforter as fluffy as a mound of whipped cream; the toiletries in the sleek marble-and-chrome bathroom (which was massive by New York standards) were scented with sandalwood, and the water pressure in the shower was strong but not painful. My bags were delivered only two minutes after I arrived, and when ice was requested, it came within five minutes. Room service exceeded all expectations. The Isthmus in-room-dining menu includes some Panamanian flair with the additions of sancocho de gallina and chicheme, both of which I ordered and both of which were better and more reasonably priced than standard room-service fare.
Overall, I award the Isthmus Hotel in New York a solid four keys with a plea to any hoteliers reading this review: Put an individual switch on each lamp, one that’s easy to find and preferably with a dimmer. Thank you!
Stay well, friends. And do good.
—SC
“Our lights all have individual switches, and the table and floor lamps have dimmers!” Edie says.
“I can’t believe she complained about the pens,” Adam says. “I would never have thought to check the pens.”
“Ms. English has the staff check every pen,” Alessandra says.
“Yes,” Lizbet says. The Hotel Nantucket pens are Uni-Ball Jetstream—the best—and they write smooth and dark. She’s proud of their pen game. But the fact remains that no detail escapes Shelly Carpenter’s notice. Their lighting and pens are up to snuff, but there might be a dozen other things Shelly could find fault with.
When—if—she comes.
11. The Blue Book
June 27, 2022
From: Xavier Darling ([email protected])
To: Employees of the Hotel Nantucket
Good morning, staff! I’m pleased to finally be able to announce a winner of the weekly bonus that I promised you all back on opening day. The winner for the week of June 20 was front-desk manager Alessandra Powell. Alessandra received a glowing review from one of our guests on TravelTattler for her outstanding customer service. Congratulations, Alessandra! Keep up the good work!
XD
As they enter the final week of June, hotel operations lose their new-shoe stiffness and start to feel fluid and organic. (Speaking of shoes, Lizbet has traded in her stilettos for wedges, an idea she stole from Alessandra, and she’s far more comfortable.) There was one complaint on TravelTattler, about a missing Fendi scarf, that did some damage—a mystery that remains unsolved, according to Magda—but the rest of the reviews have been positive and Xavier finally relented and granted the first thousand-dollar bonus, to Alessandra because some anonymous reviewer raved about her. (If Lizbet had to guess, she would say it was Mr. Brownlee from room 309; he made no secret of the fact that he found Alessandra to be the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on.) Lizbet would rather have seen the bonus go to anyone else—Raoul, for example, the unsung hero of the evening bell desk, or Sweet Edie—but it went to Alessandra and no one has expressed any resentment. They’re probably intimidated.
Lizbet’s outlook has improved since Richie started working nights. Lizbet now leaves the hotel at five thirty, fits in a run or a ride on her Peloton, makes herself some dinner (she’s so tired, she can usually only manage a tuna fish sandwich or ramen noodles), then takes her laptop to bed with the intention of catching up on current events or bingeing a show so that she has something to chat with the guests about, but most nights, she falls asleep within five minutes of getting in bed.
Lizbet hasn’t been out anywhere socially since she and JJ broke up, and now that she’s finally ready, invitations are lacking. She’d thought that she and Heidi Bick had semi-confirmed plans on the eighteenth, but when Lizbet texted to definitively confirm, Heidi canceled. She said she needed “couple time” with Michael. Being ditched for someone else’s couple time made Lizbet feel like a lonesome loser. Lizbet has other friends, but unfortunately, they’re all tethered in one way or another to the Deck, and Lizbet doesn’t feel she can reach out lest it seem like she’s poaching from JJ’s territory or, worse still, desperate. Again, she’s hurt that Goose and Wavy and Peyton all seem to have abandoned her or “chosen” JJ like they’re children in a divorce. Not only does Lizbet miss them but she would like to know how things are going without her. Who has JJ put on the reservation book? Probably Peyton—she’s the most capable and would have been Lizbet’s choice if anyone had asked, which of course no one did.
It’s bright and early on the first of July—there’s something fresh and optimistic about the first of the month, and Lizbet has high hopes for occupancy at the hotel picking up. Edie pokes her head into Lizbet’s office and says, “There’s a woman out front who would like to speak with you.”
Lizbet jumps to her feet, ever mindful that Shelly Carpenter could appear at any moment. It’s the Fourth of July week, which is traditionally crazy busy, and it’s common knowledge that Shelly Carpenter tends to show up at hotels during stressful or extraordinary times.
But Lizbet’s spirits flag when she sees it’s Mrs. Amesbury. There is no universe where Mrs. Amesbury is actually Shelly Carpenter. Mrs. Amesbury came to complain to Lizbet the day before because cute Mrs. Damiani was breastfeeding her infant son in the lobby and Mrs. Amesbury found it distasteful.
“How can I help you, Mrs. Amesbury?” Lizbet asks. It nearly hurts, but Lizbet manages to smile. Mr. Amesbury—he’s the kind of husband who carries his wife’s handbag—is standing behind Mrs. Amesbury just as he was yesterday when Mrs. Amesbury complained about the breastfeeding.
Mrs. Amesbury holds out the Blue Book; it’s open to the restaurant section. “This has a glaring error.”
“Error?” Lizbet says, growing warm with panic. The Blue Book is her pet project. She double-checked all addresses, phone numbers, hours of operation, websites, and other pertinent details such as dress code, price range, and reservation protocol. She’s very proud of the book and has actually considered submitting it to a mainstream publisher. The world needs a Nantucket guidebook written by an island insider. “What kind of error?”