As my husband and I arrived in Santa Monica on our drive south on the Pacific Coast Highway, we were two days away from flying back home after a tremendous week in California. As had been our practice the entire trip, once we had an idea of which town we wanted to stay in that particular night, I would search online at lodging options.
In Santa Monica I found the Shore Hotel, located across the street from the famous Santa Monica Pier. After going over the details of the property, some reviews plus availability, I mentioned it to Mister Rain as he steered us closer to this next stop. “I was looking at Santa Monica hotels last night,” he said, “and I saw that place. I liked it. Let’s stay there.”
Entering room 310, I was met with a more modern, bright space than what the usual chain hotel provides. I instantly loved it as did my husband. Setting my bags down, I turned to check out the bathroom and gasped.“Oh my god. The shower is open.” Mister Rain turned to see what I meant. “Whoa,” was his reaction.
Both of us walked into the bathroom. The shower was large and very nice, as was the rest of this exposed lavatory. I am a bathtub girl but there was none which meant I would have the privilege of showering. Soaper. I mean, super.
Look, we live 100 miles from the Poconos so I know there are all sorts of quirky things that can be found in a hotel room. But my husband and I have been married for 30+ years, the only hotel amenity we are interested in is separate beds!
There was a balcony overlooking the pool area and to the right, the pier. Seemingly dropped down into a compact space on a busy, main road, the Shore Hotel was an oasis.
Tired after another exciting day. we decided to order room service. When the knock came, I was alone. Mister Rain had gone back down to the lobby area to look around. Answering the door, I found a gentleman in a suit carrying a tray containing our dinner. He stood respectfully in the hallway, away from the open door , waiting to be invited into the room. I did, leading him to the desk to place the tray. “We didn’t have any regular bottled water so I upgraded you to Fiji.” As soon as he had set the tray down, he handed me the check to sign, immediately walking away to stand by the door. I took the portfolio to him, thanking him. I have stayed by myself in many a hotel, often ordering room service yet I have never been treated so carefully and politely by a hotel associate delivering something to me in my room.
My husband returned with two glasses of complimentary champagne, giving a celebratory vibe to a burger and a salad. He went to wash his hands while I arranged our food. I heard a low whirring sound coming from the bathroom; looking in that direction, I could make out the lowering of a large shade the size of he shower’s glass wall. A privacy cover, at no extra charge. For the record, I would have paid.
Our meals were great, the sliding door to our balcony open to the light breeze and Southern California sun. While we were eating, Mister Rain received a text from the gentleman who had checked him in, asking if everything was okay. The thought of this kind of service from a regular hotel chain is laughable. We fell more in love with this property, checking online to see if there were other locations. Sadly, there are not.
Once the sun had set, the pool became a vibrant shade of blue while the pier across the street lit up like a Christmas tree.
In the morning, after our secluded, individual showers (just in case there was any question), we begrudgingly said goodbye to the Shore Hotel and the Santa Monica Pier, departing with two plastic champagne flutes and the knowledge that all future hotel stays would be measured against this one and, most likely, pale in comparison. Yes, we were sad we were leaving but we were Shore-ly glad we had stayed.
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