Travel Rogue

June 14, 2005

Ever-unimpressive: Paris Las Vegas Hotel

When I was a kid, my parents and I used to drive from San Diego to Las Vegas once a summer. I loved the city even then, back in its seedy days before the Bellagio and Wynn Las Vegas. I loved the bright, flamingo-colored lights of the Hilton; the hot, dry sun; the smell of suntan oil and fruity drinks with paper parasols. Now that I'm older, I still have those yearly pilgrimages to the City of Sin, but more often than not, it's for some conference or the other. The gritty Vegas I remember as a kid has given way to luxury spas and Zagat-rated restaurants. Not that I mind, I've never had the attention-span to gamble, I'm more of the poolside lounger. For this visit, I decided to stay at Paris Las Vegas. I have fond memories of an almond croissant enjoyed at the hotel's Le Notre cafe many years ago. The pseudo-cobblestone paths winding through the casino perfectly blend casual non-chalance with the typical Vegas overstatement. Unfortunately, the Paris Las Vegas hotel did not meet expectations. As soon as I checked in, I headed straight for the pool. Alas, the attendant booth was not staffed, and the cabana boys were stacking chaise lounges with nary a concern for hotel guests. When the attendant finally came back, she informed us that no towels were available, they were still being laundered. Almost inconceivable, a higher-end Las Vegas hotel that ran out of towels at 4p in the afternoon. There was no offer to bring us a towel, so we all shifted uncomfortably on the hot concrete pavement, one foot to the other, until the towels were wheeled out. But that was only the start of a long string of discontents. I was expecting a FedEx package to be delivered to the hotel. I also expected to receive it at check-in. Seems a simple thing to me, the hotel knew I was going to check-in at a certain time, it should have been second-nature to have my package waiting for me at the front desk. Instead, I was given a phone number to call and schedule a delivery. Alright, so I did. I was told to expect the package in five minutes, it took a half hour. I don't know why, but I still tipped the delivery guy, more out of habit than anything else. Additionally, there was no coffee machine in the room. It is such a simple appliance, so integral to neverending Vegas evenings, in a hotel that strives to be ooh-la-la French! And it just kept getting worse! At 3am in the morning, I discovered the need for a feminine hygiene product. Called down to the front desk, was put on hold, then transferred, then told to visit the shop by the elevators. Again, it doesn't seem like a massive undertaking to have one sent up via room service or via maid service. The final blow came as I was leaving to catch my 8:30a flight back to Chicago. Le Notre was not yet open (and still remains the sole saving grace of the Paris Las Vegas hotel), so I went to the more formal cafe across the casino to get a cup of coffee and breakfast to go. I was told, "Sorry, we don't do take-out." Now perhaps I've become too much of a citygirl, but it would seem to me that a bagel could be served both on a plate and on a napkin with the same effect. By that point, I was so tired of Paris Las Vegas' lack of customer service, I didn't even put up a fight. It seemed more effort than it was worth to say, "I'll have the egg-bagel sandwich, hold the plate, hold the silverware." What was even more amusing is that no comment cards were available in the rooms, and were not offered upon checkout. I had to ask for a comment card post checkout, and this was even after I informed the front desk that I worked in the travel industry. Unbelievable.

Posted by carolyn at June 14, 2005 09:20 PM

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