“Basically, I’m the John Galliano of flowers.” Settled comfortably into the plump cushions of a Louis XVI chair at the Four Seasons George V, Jeff Leatham matter-of-factly delivers the perfect analogy for his place in the world of floral design.
    Dressed casually, with the sleeves of his thick black turtleneck pulled fashionably low over his fingers, he waves toward the ravishing 17th-century Flemish tapestry, the richly colored Savonnerie carpet and the other elegant appointments of the Galerie dining area. “Each palace is different, of course, but they all tend to have 18th-century decors, which makes them somewhat similar. What I wanted to do here was to create a new energy, something that would set the George V apart.”
    Like Galliano, who revolutionized the classic houses of Givenchy and Dior, 31-year-old Leatham has done just that. Rather than merely adorning the George V with tasteful arrangements, he has practically turned the hotel into a fabulous backdrop for his daring creations. In fact, the word “arrangements” hardly begins to convey Leatham’s work; “installations” is perhaps more apt. Recently, for example, the space in front of a majestic mirror was occupied by 15 transparent four-foot-high vases holding up a sheet of glass, which in turn was topped by dozens of smaller vases filled with vara orchids, forming a stunning bright-purple carpet. Behind them, bunches of deeper-hued tulips and black calla lilies tilted out of the top of yet more tall vases, completing the dramatic tableau. The entire composition took up about 100 square feet and, as always, elicited astonished oohs and aahs from passing guests.
    “Of course, I couldn’t do this sort of thing if Didier Le Calvez didn’t give me carte blanche,” says Leatham, referring to the Four Seasons George V’s general manager. Indeed, if Leatham is Galliano, Le Calvez is LVMH’s Bernard Arnault, spending close to $1 million a year so that Leatham can give full reign to his creativity. With Le Calvez’s enthusiastic support, Leatham has blossomed into a celebrity florist whose talents are in demand at couture shows and more international events than he can handle. His growing renown has led to TV appearances, this year’s publication of Flowers by Jeff Leatham (Filipacchi) and the manufacture of a new vase designed for his signature “tilted” arrangements. In turn, his ravishing displays have helped propel the George V to the top of “world’s best hotels” lists since its reopening three years ago.
    Leatham’s edginess is in keeping with the hotel’s historic reputation for offering state-of-the-art luxury. When it opened in 1928, the George V boasted such revolutionary amenities as fire alarms, two-line telephones in every room and suites with two bathrooms so a couple could be ready to go down to dinner at the same time. In the decades that followed, it remained one of the French capital’s most prestigious addresses, attracting Parisian high society, haute- couture shows and an international Who’s Who, including General Eisenhower, who made the hotel his headquarters during the Liberation of Paris.
    In December 1999, the George V reopened following a $125 million refurbishment. Returning guests soon discovered that it integrated all the technological bells and whistles expected of a 21st-century four-star establishment while retaining the inimitable cachet of a palace. The new chef, Philippe Legendre, quickly racked up one, two and then, this February, three Michelin stars for the hotel’s gourmet restaurant, Le Cinq. His cooking is, as the French say, à se mettre à genoux (worth getting down on your knees for), with such elegant and imaginative preparations as smoked Breton lobster roasted with chestnuts and a roasted rack of venison dusted with crushed chocolate-covered almonds. His deft touch is also evident at La Galerie, the hotel’s more casual restaurant, where the Parisian gratin gather for lunch or tea.
    While Legendre was collecting stars, the hotel’s new spa was busy earning kudos of its own (Travel & Leisure regularly ranks it among the world’s top 10). Lightly perfumed with its signature Ambre de Népal, this serene retreat offers a heated pool and beauty treatments ranging from shiatsu massages with green tea service (a room is specially outfitted for this purpose) and Margarita body scrubs to the more mundane manicures and pedicures. American clients are especially taken with the facials, which start with a full back massage and last 90 luxurious minutes.
    Yet in spite of these stellar amenities, the two things guests still seem to notice most are the extraordinary warmth and personableness of the staff—and those amazing flowers. Little wonder. Over the years, Leatham has treated visitors to breathtaking displays, some of them integrating butterflies, couture gowns, designer shoes—even six-foot-tall resin orchids. Sometimes humorous, often sensual, they are always what luxury should be—surprising. “What I really love is to play with color and texture, to create emotion,” he explains. “And I love to make people happy.”
    Making everyone in this 245-room hotel happy Leatham-style requires seven full-time employees who work out of a cramped basement room. Here, shelves are crammed with vases, a computer is wedged in the corner, and the walls are covered with press clips and glam shots of Leatham from his days as a model. (Originally from Utah, he worked in the Paris fashion business for several years before starting his career as a florist in 1996.)
    Days typically begin at 7 A.M., when the flowers arrive directly from Amsterdam. With Sade blaring from a small JVC stereo, three workers tend to the first order of the day: unpacking the newly delivered flowers, trimming stems and getting them into water. Next, long-stemmed roses are run through a machine that removes leaves and thorns (“Foliage detracts from the impact of the blooms,” maintains Leatham). Given that he uses some 14,000 flowers a week, the entire process can take several hours.
    Leatham then makes his rounds, personally inspecting each vase and giving instructions as to what needs to be replaced. “I usually change the entire color scheme about every 10 days,” he says, “otherwise I get bored. But even in between, I tend to keep tweaking things.” And every day, the water in every vase is changed, the stems on every flower trimmed. While his staff attends to this monumental task (a special trolley is needed to move the enormous vases he favors), Leatham prepares any special arrangements needed for that day’s guests. “Sometimes housekeeping tells us what flowers or colors a guest likes or doesn’t like,” he says, “although I don’t always pay attention. When Cher was here, I was told she didn’t like roses. But I knew she hadn’t seen what I could do with them. So I filled her room with all these incredible black roses, and she went wild!”
    By 6 P.M., everything is in place. As darkness falls, the most magical hours begin, with tiny votive lights flickering among the flower displays. “I want this place to feel sexy at night, to have a youthful energy,” enthuses Leatham. “And as you can see, I just love candles—it’s a Stevie Nicks thing, I guess. One of these days, you’re going to see me twirling around in the lobby!”
    He pauses, surveying the enchanting scene. “It’s perfect,” he sighs. “But in a few hours, we have to start all over again.”
Fours Seasons Hôtel George V, 31 avenue George V, 75008 Paris. Tel. 33/1-49-52-70-00; Fax 33/1-49-52-70-10. fourseasons.com.

If Interpol ever got its hands on the cell-phone speed-dial lists of the world’s rich and famous, its first question would probably be: “Who’s Joseph—and why are all these people calling him?”
    That would be Joseph Gardon, director of guest relations at the Hôtel Meurice. For more than 20 years he has been at the beck and call of the celebrities, CEOs and crowned heads who have made this hotel their Parisian home away from home. In other words, he’s the guy they ring up from their private jet when they arrive in Paris sans reservation. Or when they forget their cufflinks in their room. Or want to dine at a booked restaurant. Or are looking for an heirloom rose bush to take home to the wife. In short, he’s the guy who makes sure that everyone who stays in this legendary “Hotel of Kings”—be they tourists or heads of state—is treated like royalty.
    “Guests shouldn’t have to wonder who they should call for this or that,” explains Gardon. “So I let them know that whatever they want, whatever they need, they can call me, and I will have it taken care of.” This has made Gardon a sort of clearinghouse for requests that are then dispatched to concierges, housekeeping staff, dining rooms, the spa or any other part of the hotel. It also keeps him tethered to his cell phone, which chirps incessantly.
    One minute, it’s a woman who has left the hotel but forgot to lock her jewelry in the safe; the next it’s a gentleman whose wife sent along her Hermès scarf to have it cleaned at the hotel because she likes their laundry service. Then there’s the couple who want the living area of their suite transformed into a dining room. Gardon fields these and other calls from the hotel lobby, where he’s saying good-bye to departing guests, making sure all went well during their stay. A few minutes later, he’s off to the dining room, where he welcomes an actress giving interviews at the hotel that day. Then he sprints upstairs to a suite to make sure the arriving guests will find it exactly as requested, with the temperature at precisely 65°F and the bed facing north....
    Delivering this kind of service is an art form cultivated at the Meurice for nearly two centuries. The hotel’s story began back in 1817, when a prescient postmaster, Charles-Augustin Meurice, built an inn in Paris to welcome British travelers after their arduous coach trip. In 1835, the thriving business was relocated to its present site on the rue de Rivoli, where it became a perennial favorite with aristocrats: Queen Victoria; the King of Spain, Alphonso XIII (who brought his own furniture); the Prince of Wales; the Maharaja of Jaipur; the Grand Duchess of Russia....
    Parisian high society also flocked to the hotel, adding even more glitter to its gilded salons. Their lavish parties were briefly interrupted during World War I, when the hotel served as a military hospital, and again during World War II, when the Germans made it their headquarters. One of the residents was General Dietrich von Choltitz, who had orders to destroy all Paris monuments if the Allies captured the city. Fortunately, he was dissuaded and surrendered to French forces, leaving Paris’s architectural treasures intact. British and American military then used the Meurice as a base from which to search for their dead, missing and wounded.
    The postwar years saw the stream of famous personalities resume unabated. Florence Jay Gould, wife of U.S. railroad magnate Jay Gould, moved into the hotel, inviting the literati of the day for luncheons and other highbrow gatherings. Later, the Shah of Iran learned he had been dethroned while staying here, and Julia and other films were shot in the Meurice’s elegant salons. But for sheer shock value, no anecdotes can begin to vie with those about the flamboyant Salvador Dalí. The story recounting the day he had a flock of sheep delivered to his room—then shot at them with blanks—is only part of his surreal contribution to hotel lore.
    The Meurice entered the 21st century more resplendent than ever, thanks to a two-year, $65 million top-to-bottom restoration that was as painstaking as that accorded any historic monument. Indeed, it was carried out under the scrupulous direction of architect Jean-Loup Roubert, also responsible for restoring the Paris Opera.
    Upstairs, rooms and suites were reconfigured and given authentic decors to match every period in the hotel’s history, from Louis XV to Napoleon III. Rare-marble bathrooms, custom-designed dressing rooms and top-of-the-line French and Italian fabrics were among the luxurious touches lavished on these rooms. On the ground floor, Roubert also made major structural changes and directed a veritable army of French and Italian artisans who spent months laying mosaic tiles, painting delicate friezes and layering gold leaf onto ornately carved wall panels. Perhaps the most dramatic part of this massive restoration, however, was exposing and refurbishing the fabulous Art Deco glass roof in the Jardin d’Hiver, which had been covered up in the 1960s.
    The overall result is a glittering jewel box of a space, at once gilded, luminous and airy. Surrounded by these regal trappings, it’s not hard to feel like a king or queen—or at least like their privileged guest. Having Louis XIV’s Tuileries gardens as your front yard doesn’t hurt either. Nor does the frequent arrival of dignitaries accompanied by scores of uniformed and plainclothes police, squad cars and burly bodyguards.
    In any case, you can count on Gardon to foster whatever illusions of royalty you may entertain. “People today are more demanding than ever,” he notes. “And they have every right to be. They expect cleanliness, luxury, modern amenities and impeccable service, and we have to provide all of that.” There may not be Dalís ordering sheep these days, but there are businessmen who expect faxes to be delivered less than five minutes after they arrive, and the paper clip they requested to appear almost immediately.
    “New hires don’t always understand this,” he continues. “Sometimes they ask me, ‘Why should we move guests to another room when there’s nothing wrong with the one they’re in?’ I tell them their question is irrelevant. Their job is to show guests another room and another and another until they are happy. That is all that matters.” Louis XIV should have had it so good.
Hôtel Meurice, 228 rue de Rivoli, 75001 Paris. Tel. 33/1-44-58-10-10; Fax 33/1-44-58-10-15. meuricehotel.com.

Leonardo DiCaprio is coming to Paris. More precisely, he’s coming to the Plaza Athénée, and he’s arriving in a couple of hours. This bit of news doesn’t make pretty, twenty-something Eva Sanchez swoon; for this no-nonsense gouvernante, DiCaprio is simply another VP4—code for the hotel’s highest-level VIP guests.
    She sweeps into his room with an air of authority, taking in every detail with her expert eye. Her housekeepers have already been here, cleaning, fluffing and arranging. Now, an electrician, a plumber, a carpenter and a painter are in the suite, making double sure everything works perfectly and is in pristine condition. “We do this for all VP4s,” she explains, moving a bottle of hand lotion a millimeter to the right. “But I still come through and give everything a final look.” Satisfied that the flowers, fruit basket and Champagne are picture perfect, she consults her clipboard and moves on to the next highlighted name on the computerized list of the day’s arrivals.
    Next to each name is a string of codes indicating everything from preferred bed size to details about a guest’s réserve, the items regulars store at the hotel until their next visit. “This guest is an elderly gentleman who’s been coming here for years,” says Sanchez, pushing open the double doors to his suite. “His réserve is exceptionally large—in fact, he has so many personal affairs and is so particular about their placement that he has his butler come a day early to set everything up.” Clearly, the butler has been busy. His master’s suits are hanging just so in the closet, his favorite tapes are arranged neatly next to the stereo, his art books are stacked on the desk, his favorite knickknack is on the mantle, and his good luck charm is on his bedside table. But all is not perfect. Noticing that a bulb has burned out on a sconce, Sanchez immediately whips out her cell phone and calls in the electrician. During the gentleman’s stay, she will ensure that everything remains just as he likes it—including having his shoes lined up and laced to his specifications.
    Neither DiCaprio nor the elderly gentleman will probably ever see Sanchez. Yet it is her brand of exquisite attention to detail that has kept the world’s most discriminating travelers coming to the Plaza Athénée since it opened in 1911. Situated on the avenue Montaigne, just a few doors down from the new Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, it quickly became a favorite with the leading entertainers of the day—Josephine Baker and Rudolph Valentino were among those to sprinkle their stardust on this illustrious address. Later, as the avenue became the most prestigious shopping street in Paris, the Plaza attracted fashionistas from around the world, including the famously chic Jackie Kennedy.
    Taking a page from its neighbors in the fashion industry, the Plaza updated its look in 1999. Philippe Starck acolyte Patrick Jouin added elegant yet whimsical elements to the dining room, where France’s most famous chef, Alain Ducasse, serves up his rarefied culinary creations. Jouin also redesigned the bar, creating a space that is at once classic and hip; perched on amusing metallic Louis XV barstools, customers get a kick out of watching their drinks light up from below when set down on the iceberg-like bar. “Young people still want excellent service, but they don’t necessarily want their grandmother’s furniture,” says François Delahaye, the hotel’s general manager.
    Delahaye’s bid to attract younger generations was behind the decision to renovate the 7th and 8th floors in Art Deco style—the preferred choice of guests like DiCaprio. Yet even the more classic floors feel fresh, with savvy selections of fabrics in sophisticated tones adding a contemporary touch to the 18th-century decor. The overall effect is that of staying in the home of a Parisian friend with impeccable taste—and the means to indulge it.
    Sanchez is thrilled with the new look. “It is so much more gratifying to take care of rooms when they are this beautiful,” she notes. As for the other part of her job—catering to guests’ ever-changing whims—she considers it a personal challenge, approaching each task much like a general organizing a military operation.
    Good intelligence is vital. “These are our Kardexes,” she explains, opening a file drawer with hundreds of large index cards covered with notations and photographs. “This is how we keep track of guests’ preferences.” These range from how they want the bed turned down to the exact number and size of soaps they want in the bathroom and the dry cleaner that is to tend to their silk ties. Photographs help ensure these desires are crystal clear: “This photo shows how one man likes his shirts ironed and folded—the collar just so, the top two buttons buttoned, but not the third,” says Sanchez, pulling a Kardex from the file. In some cases, the entire room has been photographed so that when guests return—even a year later—everything is exactly how they left it. “If they left a certain book open to page 240, they will find it on the exact same table, open to that very page,” she explains.
    Needless to say, delivering this level of service requires excellent strategy, organization and communication, and like any good military commander, Sanchez masters all three. (Lucky for the Plaza she is so invisible, or an alert CEO would probably hire her away.) It almost seems that the more outrageous the challenge, the more she delights in pulling it off. “We had this one young woman here from New York who insisted that her entire room be disinfected,” she recalls bemusedly. “Apparently she had allergies or something like that. So we did it, and we had everyone who entered her room during her stay wear surgical gloves. We did all her laundry separately, and each piece was returned individually wrapped in plastic.” One imagines the poor woman sequestered Howard Hughes-like in her room, fearful of every Gallic germ. “Not at all!” laughs Sanchez. “She took taxis, went to restaurants and did a lot of shopping. In fact, she bought so many things that she asked the valet to buy extra suitcases for her. Then she had us pack everything, wrapping every item separately in tissue paper. It took three of us all day!”
    Being a perfectionist—and having a sense of humor—are clearly assets in this job. So does this exacting gouvernante kick back at home, letting a little dust collect on the coffee table or a dish or two pile up in the sink? “Not really,” she giggles. “I admit it, I’m pretty much of a neat freak.”
Hôtel Plaza Athénée, 25 avenue Montaigne, 75008 Paris. Tel 33/1-53-67-66-65; Fax 33/1-53-67-66-66. plaza-athenee-paris.com.

With its well-tailored elegance, the Bristol would seem an unlikely setting for a revolution. Less than a decade ago, however, it was the site of a radical change that profoundly altered not only the gastronomic landscape of Paris but the world’s expectations of the French capital’s palace hotels.
    Until then, these establishments had almost prided themselves on serving very good classic French food, but nothing fancy, thank you. In fact, it was widely assumed that this solid, tasty, predictable fare was what customers wanted (if they were after culinary fireworks, they’d go out). By the early ’90s, however, many hotel dining rooms were attracting so few guests that they were almost depressing, and seemingly unbeknownst to hoteliers, the word among savvy travelers was that the only reason to eat in your hotel was convenience.
    In 1994, Bristol owner Dr. Rudolph Oetker broke with conventional wisdom when he hired Michel del Burgo, a young chef with a reputation for being as talented as he was temperamental. The daring move paid off. Not only did del Burgo draw a new clientele to the hotel’s two spectacular dining rooms (the Bristol is unique in Paris—and in Europe for that matter—for having different dining rooms for different seasons), he contributed to the ongoing redefinition of luxury. Once again, a superb meal in a spectacular setting with outstanding service had become a delicious part of the palace experience.
    Del Burgo was so successful that in 1999 he was scooped up by Taillevent, the legendary three-star restaurant from which the George V—taking a lesson from the Bristol—had just poached chef Philippe Legendre. So Oetker struck again, recruiting Eric Frechon, who had made a name for himself with his nervy modern bistro, La Verrière d’Eric Frechon, in a remote corner of the 19th arrondissement. Under Frechon’s direction, Le Bristol, as the hotel’s restaurant is known, won a second star and is gunning for a third. Frechon’s shrewd culinary signature? A brilliant and surprising interaction between luxury ingredients such as foie gras and simple regional foods and recipes. Typical is a luncheon entree of endives rolled in slices of ham, gratineed with Parmesan and topped with slivered black truffles—a lavish rendition of a homey dish known to every Frenchman.
    For any serious food lover, being present in Frechon’s domain in the early morning is the ultimate in gastronomic voyeurism. One after another, his suppliers arrive in the immaculate and orderly kitchen where the air is already richly perfumed by enormous simmering stockpots. First comes the fishmonger with striped mackerel, huge flat turbot and silvery sea bass line-caught off the Ile d’Yeu just hours before. Then a rosy-cheeked elderly woman arrives with a big wicker hamper brimming with bouquets of fresh herbs gathered that morning in her garden. She in turn is followed by a pretty young woman who fills the room with a royal stink when she opens a small metal hamper containing something neatly wrapped in linen towels—truffles, of course.
    In season, the Bristol’s kitchens go through as many as five kilos of truffles and 700 grams of caviar a week. “The real extravagance here, though, is the fish,” says Frechon, an amiable Norman who’s been cooking since he was 15. “All fish is becoming scarce, but the finest quality fish has become frighteningly rare and staggeringly expensive.”
    Later, as the lunch service gets under way, Frechon is everywhere at once, tasting absolutely everything before it leaves for the dining room. Meanwhile, some 30 talented professionals go silently about their tasks. Among them are pastry chef Gilles Marchal and boulanger Jerôme Paysan, whose bread, baked twice daily on the premises, is so good that it’s regularly delivered to the Thai royal family.
    Watching the exquisite precision with which this kitchen runs, it’s hard to believe that on an average day it feeds between 300 and 350 people, exclusive of cocktail parties and room service. “To pull this off, it’s imperative to have a top-drawer staff and to convey to them exactly how you want things done,” says Frechon, 37. “This is especially important since we’re open seven days a week, and I simply can’t be here all the time. But I have some great people working with me—they know my cooking style so well that we hardly have to talk anymore.”
    Frechon makes running this complex show seem easy, which is very much in keeping with the character of the hotel itself. Almost invisibly occupying a prime stretch of the rue du Faubourg Saint Honoré, the Bristol is, quite simply, a supremely classy hotel. Of course, there’s nothing simple about being simple when it comes to producing such high-altitude luxury, and the hotel’s ambiance of effortlessness and flawless efficiency can largely be attributed to the fact that it’s had only two owners, the Jamet family, who opened the handsome limestone palace in 1925, and Dr. Oetker, a German industrialist who purchased the property in 1979.
    Under both owners, the Bristol has always exhibited a sense of restraint; instead of overgilding the lily, luxury is born of discretion and understatement. To Dr. Oetker’s credit, however, he also knows when to go over the top—one of the most enchanting and original swimming pools in Paris was the centerpiece of his extensive 1986 renovation. Designed by the same naval architect who worked on yachts commissioned by Onassis and Niarchos, this nautical piscine is located on the top floor. Set into a beautifully constructed teak deck, it offers fine views, a sundeck and the distinctive luxury of urban laps by daylight or starlight.
    Since 1995, the Bristol has carried out a rolling renovation of rooms and suites. While each room is unique, there are two different sections, each with a different style. The Residence, the newer wing built in 1945 on the site of a former Carmelite convent, looks out over the garden and has plush, feminine rooms with pastel chintz. The original building, built in 18th-century style, has a more traditional French decor, with higher ceilings, silk-covered walls, period furnishings and—like everywhere else in the hotel— original works of art. Some suites have expansive terraces and private gyms, and all rooms have vast Carrera marble bathrooms, reputedly the largest of any Paris hotel.
    Best of all, perhaps, is the room service menu tucked into the desk drawer. Offering the same fare available in Eric Frechon’s restaurant, it’s a veritable summons to spectacular indulgence. Imagine for a moment you and someone you love enjoying scallops with white truffles, pigeon breast roasted with juniper berries and chocolate profiteroles with bourbon vanilla on your private terrace, looking out over the rooftops of Paris....
Hôtel Le Bristol, 112 rue du Faubourg Saint Honoré, 75008. Tel. 33/1-53-43-43-00; Fax 33/1-53-43-43-01. hotel-bristol.com.

In one of the most magnificent 18th-century salons in France, a chorus line is busily practicing C’est la Fête!, the opening number of a musical to be staged the next day by employees of the Hôtel de Crillon. A professional choreographer exhorts the happy amateurs to do their best, corrects a step here and there, and then begins the drills again.
    The head waiter from Les Ambassadeurs, the hotel’s gourmet restaurant, belts out, “Cuisine au beurre, c’est le meilleur!” (Cooking with butter, it’s the best!), as one of the dancers, a tall elegant man with a boyish face, breaks out of the ranks to answer his cell phone. Minutes later, Philippe Krenzter, 38, the Crillon’s directeur général—which is to say the boss of everyone in the room—rejoins the chorus line, kicking high with the best of them. And you thought the manager of such legendary lodgings would be a haughty aristocrat with no patience for frivolity….
    “The biggest luxury today is human contact and sincerity,” says the affable Krentzer, restoring himself after the rehearsal with a cup of sublime hot chocolate in the hotel’s winter garden. “You see, the whole concept of luxury is in constant flux. Things that were once spectacular have become commonplace—for example, many people now have fancy faucets in their marble bathrooms. So we have to keep renewing and reinventing what we offer our guests, coming up with ideas that will strike them as truly wonderful and unimagined pleasures. One of the things I’ve done here is to make customer relations the heart of the Crillon experience.”
    Krentzer, who came to the hotel in January 2002, is eminently qualified to be resetting the pendulum of a Paris palace hotel. A graduate of the celebrated Lausanne hotel school, he went on to work at the Four Seasons, the Ritz, the Savoy and Claridge’s in London; the Four Seasons in Chicago; the Omni in Hong Kong and the Oberoi in Jakarta. “The key to our new concept of luxury is our team of four customer-relations agents,” he continues. “They discreetly interact with our guests to see if there’s anything we can do to make their stay in Paris happier and more fulfilling.” These attractive, intelligent, worldly young women speak seven different languages and can arrange everything from guided tours of museums to private visits to couture houses or jewelers. They’re also available to accompany guests shopping, to the opera or to dinner, perhaps for linguistic reasons or just for the pleasure of having some local company.
    Providing such personal touches is a tall order in a hotel with 147 rooms and suites, two restaurants, a terrace, tea room, bar and eight reception rooms. Krentzer manages the challenge by running the hotel “like a small village,” and he has no lack of imagination when it comes to dreaming up ways to give guests personalized experiences. Recently, for example, he opened an Ecole des Fleurs. “Bilingual flower-arranging classes are a pleasant way for our guests to make contact with Parisians and to learn something new,” he says. “I hope to do more of these sorts of things, but of course it’s important not to do anything that would shock or unsettle such a dignified place.”
    And dignity is something the Crillon has in spades. While most of France’s famous châteaux are found in leafy settings far from urban crowds, this one actually overlooks the square that functions as the spiritual grand salon of France, the place de la Concorde. Designed by architect Jacques-Ange Gabriel in 1758 at the behest of Louis XV, the magnificent neoclassical façade and adjoining site were acquired in 1775 by architect Louis François Trouard, who completed the structure with a splendid private mansion. It was within these august walls that the Treaty of Paris recognizing the independence of the United States was signed on February 6, 1778. Ten years later, Trouard sold the building to the Count de Crillon, and it remained in his family until 1909, when it changed hands and reopened as the last word in posh Parisian accommodations.
    Many of the 18th-century treasures here have been impeccably maintained, although the furnishings of one salon—its wood paneling included—are now on permanent display at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Wandering around the ground floor, one has the quiet thrill of inhabiting rather than just gazing at some of the most stunning and historic salons in Paris.
    The hotel’s main dining room is perhaps the most beautiful in the capital with its soaring marble walls, marble checkerboard floor, huge crystal chandeliers, winsome murals and gilt-framed mirrors. It’s this rare pedigree that’s at the heart of the Crillon.
    That doesn’t mean it’s stuffy, though—far from it. The Crillon is pure romance. In fact, there is perhaps no more wonderful way to experience the magic of Paris than to sip Champagne on the balcony of a hotel suite, gazing down at the neat grid of lamps illuminating the inky night like sentries, and marveling at the statues, fountains and Egyptian obelisk of the place de la Concorde. Just beyond, all of Paris glitters at your feet....
    And while the Crillon may be centuries old, it is definitely not old-fashioned. Beneath its polished parquet floors and Aubusson carpets, this venerable establishment has one of the most modern infrastructures of any hotel in Paris. It was thoroughly renovated in 1981 by the Concorde-Taittinger group, and a more recent soup-to-nuts overhaul of 60 rooms has equipped them with the latest in high-tech gadgetry.
    Indeed, Krentzer knows that keeping up with the competition isn’t enough—he has to stay out front. This means constantly keeping a finger on the pulse of change and responding immediately. While innovations such as cell phones and the Internet have dramatically altered the Crillon’s way of working, evolutions in travel habits have also resulted in major changes. Not that long ago, much of the palace clientele was royalty or individuals who had inherited great fortunes—they would stay for weeks or months at a time with no regard for what they were spending. “Such insouciance has largely become a thing of the past,” says Krentzer. “Now the typical stay is three days. This means that we have a smaller window of opportunity in which to create a highly textured and emotionally vivid experience for our guests. That is why the heart of our efforts is rich human contact through the warmest, most professional and most detailed service we can possibly provide.”
    These and other trends have virtually redefined the job of general manager. Like his colleagues at the other palaces, Krentzer has also had to deal with everything from the aftermath of 9/11 (Americans make up about 40 percent of the palace clientele) to the government-imposed 35-hour workweek, not to mention the new demands in promotion and communication that require him to spend almost a third of his time traveling.
    And of course, presiding over the only Parisian palace still under French ownership confers certain privileges and pressures all its own. “The world expects a certain eternal elegance and style from France, but that can also be intimidating. My job is to remove the thorns from the rose, so that everyone leaves the Crillon with a perfectly Proustian memory.”
Hôtel de Crillon, 10 place de la Concorde, 75008. Tel. 33/1-44-71-15-00. Fax 33/1-44-71-15-02. crillon.com.

Every Tuesday through Saturday, starting promptly at 6:30 P.M., one of the most charming shows in Paris—a bilingual revue with no script but endless improvisation, laughter and wit—begins anew as Colin Field, 41, parts the heavy brown paisley curtains and unlocks the doors to the Hemingway Bar at the Hôtel Ritz. No sooner has he slipped on his immaculate white waiter’s jacket and taken his place behind the bar than the attractive older blonde who’s been lingering in the vestibule presents herself and orders a Dakota (vodka, carrot juice, beef bouillon, salt, pepper, Tabasco, Worcestershire sauce).
    Field concocted the drink in honor of his father, a former RAF gunner. “It wasn’t that difficult to find the inspiration— I just tried to think what might be consoling if you were manning a machine gun in midair,” he says, with an endearingly telltale blush that hints he may have used this line before. Mixing the drink with the sure hand and precision of a chemist, Field continues his chat with the blonde while wielding his cocktail shaker, then finally serves her drink. She takes a long sip and says: “J’adore Colin Field.”
    Most people, in fact, adore Colin Field, who’s become a unique institution at the Ritz during the nine years that he’s been head barman at the Hemingway. This cozy little bar, formerly known as Le Petit Bar (to distinguish it from the Bar Vendôme on the other side of the hotel) is entirely Field’s creation. He was in fact hired to revive the famous drinking hole of writer Ernest Hemingway, who “liberated” the hotel on August 25, 1944.
    A regular at the hotel before the war, Hemingway returned to Paris as a war correspondent, anxious to revisit the place of which he had often said, “When I dream of life after death, the action always takes place at the Ritz.” Since 1940, though, the Ritz had served as the official residence for Nazi dignitaries, including Hermann Göring, who reputedly spent a lot of time in his room high on morphine and dressed as a woman. But by the time Hemingway pulled up in his jeep wielding a machine gun, the Germans had already pulled out—all that was left to do was celebrate their departure with a round of dry martinis.
    “I knew exactly what I wanted to do with this bar from day one,” continues Field. “First, it was important to respect the fact that this had always been the Ritz’s black-sheep bar, which is why people loved it so much. Real luxury, of course, often has a slightly dissolute edge,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “Anyway, I always say that the Hemingway is the Left Bank, and the Vendôme is the Right Bank.” In other words, the Hemingway is spirited, bohemian, artistic, unconventional and convivial, as opposed to, well, buttoned-down, wary, calculating and conservative.
    Field, who originally hails from Rugby in northern England, where his father managed a chain of five movie theaters and was well known as a local showman and bon vivant, developed a taste for the finer things in life early on. “My father was enamored of the restaurant scene, and he taught me how to use a snail holder when I was still a small boy. Thanks to him, I became fascinated with the complexity of a formal silver service, and by the time I was 14, I’d already decided that I wanted to be a bartender in Paris.” Why Paris? “I was completely smitten by the glamour and elegance of the city, so after I finished my A-levels, I crossed the Channel to attend hotel school here—it seemed infinitely more interesting than the other possibility, which was attending East Sussex University.” Field worked at a variety of bars around Paris before the call came from the Ritz. “You know, there’s nothing special that happens in this bar,” he says modestly. “It’s just that I’m more in love with it than anyone else. Still, certain bars end up having such a bright reputation that they become a lighthouse for a hotel, which is important, given that a bar is the easiest way of experiencing a hotel.”
    Now the vest-pocket bar has filled up, and Field breaks away to mix a Kashenka, which he describes as “a dry middle-of-the-evening cocktail I invented for a pretty Polish cabaret dancer who worked in Paris in 1991.” It’s Polish vodka flavored with macerated strawberries, poured over more fresh strawberries and garnished with a rose petal. At least that’s the basic recipe. “I tailor every drink to the customer and make them all from scratch” says Field. “We don’t even slice oranges or lemons ahead of time—otherwise they’re dead by the time you put them in the drink!
    “Working here is like putting on a little show every night, which is why I always need five minutes to myself before I go on,” he continues. “I love this job because it’s totally unpredictable. As you know, ‘Everything happens at the Ritz,’” he says, paraphrasing Hemingway. “And most important, everyone expects to have a transporting experience here.” Indeed. But does this still happen?
    Beyond having the remarkable Mr. Field maintaining the flame of the Ritz’s glamorous and harmlessly naughty reputation as the place where such larger-than-life characters as F. Scott Fitzgerald and Coco Chanel took their pleasures in large doses, just how is this grande dame faring at the venerable age of 105? Is the hotel that contributed an adjective to the English language—ritzy—still up to its own superior standards? The short answer is that the Ritz is getting on quite brilliantly, thank you very much.
    Neither mummified into a pastiche of what it once was nor inadvisedly modernized, the Ritz today succeeds by continuing to meet its own relentless standards of excellence while catering to a whole new layer of modern needs. Since 1988, it has boasted one of the most spectacular health clubs in the world, a $70 million sanctuary that occupies a subterranean level of the hotel. With a decorative theme that is quite appropriately ancient Rome, it offers an indoor pool and an impressive array of exotic health and beauty treatments, including ozone-inhalation sessions to increase the oxygen in the blood, and a massage machine that purports to dissolve cellulite.
    As inviting as the spa may be, odds are you’ll be in no hurry to leave your room. While the Ritz offers the chance to stay in some of the world’s most lavish suites, it’s the “standard” double that continues to earn the hotel’s reputation. In these rooms, the beds are made up with hand-ironed linens and lamb’s wool blankets, and the bathrooms are ingeniously well lit and faced in marble and honey-colored stone, with big piles of thick, softly scented towels. The details are unforgettable, including all the trademark inventions of founder César Ritz, such as hand-stitched pink silk lampshades and key-style toggles on every light switch.
    The Ritz also has one of Paris’s favorite restaurants, L’Espadon, where talented chef Michel Roth has won two stars by reinterpreting some of the dishes that the hotel’s original chef, the famous Escoffier, made famous, as well as adding his own superb creations, such as a tart of cèpes or wild duck with salsify and smoked bacon. It’s also worth noting that the hotel has a first-rate cooking school with a program that runs from morning demonstration lessons to monthlong courses for professionals.
    Whether learning to make a millefeuille vanille, stopping in for a drink with Colin Field or indulging in the full Ritz treatment, no one leaves this hotel without a memory they’ll never forget._s
Hôtel Ritz, 15 place Vendôme, 75001 Paris; Tel. 1/800-223-6800 or 33/1-43-16-30-30; Fax 33/1-43-16-31-78/79. ritzparis.com.