A helicopter to the Giant's Causeway? A new outfit at the drop of a hat? A few inflatable whales for your bath? In the first of a five-part series, Kate Holmquist becomes a concierge for a day in the Four Seasons Hotel in Dublin
Equipped with a new pair of black court shoes, an item I haven't had in my wardrobe since 1989, and a pair of 10-denier "nearly black" tights, I catch the bus to the Four Seasons Hotel in Ballsbridge and soon find myself fitted out in full concierge uniform. Little do I know that, by the end of the day, I'll know how to book a helicopter at a moment's notice, brew chrysanthemum tea, purchase a wardrobe for a guest a mere five minutes before the shops close and locate a homeopathic pharmacy within a few streets of Trinity College Dublin. Eccentric is a word that doesn't begin to describe the varied demands that I'll receive from the hotel's guests, some of them VIPs with household names, but most of them fairly ordinary even if they are fairly rich. But by then, I'll be so convinced by the Four Seasons philosophy of gracious service with a smile, that nothing will faze me - not even a request for a real live Kerry Blue Terrier.
As long as it's "legal, moral and ethical", I can provide it. A concierge, says general manager and regional vice president John Brennan, is someone with the right attitude who really enjoys extending themselves and going out of their way to give good service. Skills can be taught, Brennan says, but attitude, behaviour and leadership abilities are innate talents. An employee must be tolerant of diversity, be adaptable, have a strong work ethic and be genuinely committed to exceeding the customer's expectations of the hotel.
I get the message. A great concierge is born, not made. "It's all about the feeling you give a guest," says the hotel's chief concierge, Rhys Whalan, my boss for the day. Whalan is one of the few concierges in Ireland to have been awarded the Clef D'Or - a kind of invitation-only Legion D'Honneur for concierges. An Australian married to an Irish accountant, Whalan manages a dedicated concierge team (Irish hotels usually have the roles of concierge, doorman and bell-hop mingled into one job). Whalan presents a deceptively relaxed demeanour, while acting as manager of seven concierges. "The most important thing that defines a Four Seasons concierge is giving guests information that is seen as special and insightful," he says. Contacts in the best restaurants, limo companies and shops as well as on-call medical expertise are just a few of the resources at his disposal, although he says it's not what and who you know that counts as much as knowing how to find out. That's the journalist's dictum too, so I'm beginning to feel competent already.
It's a very "personal" profession, explains my boss's boss, John Fleming, rooms manager. Having started as a concierge 15 years ago in Toronto, Fleming has personally indulged some rather whimsical requests, such as providing a live bull and a live crocodile at five hours' notice for a company launch, and airlifting a piano to a snow-topped mountain so a guy could have a picnic there. We won't even go into the precise purpose of the inflatable whales required for one (adult) guest's bathtub. As every good concierge knows, you don't ask why.
SHORTLY AFTER MY shift at the front desk starts, a limo driver calls to say that his passengers have enjoyed their day in Co Wicklow, but now want to see the Giant's Causeway in Co Antrim. They don't want to drive there - even people who tour Ireland by limo get tired of driving - so they need a helicopter for the following day. It must be a helicopter that can fly over the North Sea to give the passengers particular camera angles. Two phone calls and five minutes later, we have acquired a high-powered helicopter at a cost of ¤9,500 for two hours - one hour there and one hour back, payable by credit card.
Not a bother compared with a recent helicopter challenge posed by a guest calling from the fourth hole of a golf course in Co Kildare. He wanted to play 18 holes, but had a plane to catch in two hours. So Whalan had the time it takes to play 14 holes to find a helicopter and have it waiting at the 18th hole, so that the guest would arrive at the airport in time.
Any concierge service that can be done within the hotel is included in the price of the room (prices start at ¤295 per room midweek and go up to ¤2,520 for the presidential suite). Any task that requires accessing services outside the hotel comes with a service charge - although sometimes the concierges extend themselves so far that a price can't be put on it.
A US family were staying in the hotel and decided that they couldn't leave Ireland without a Kerry Blue Terrier puppy - a live one. So Whalan found a puppy, purchased it, did all the paperwork and had the puppy delivered to the hotel room, where it stayed happily for a few days.
Then the family decided they wanted to travel elsewhere in Europe before returning to the US and they couldn't take the dog on that leg of their travels. So a concierge brought the dog home and looked after it lovingly, while another concierge spent three days finding a suitable flight home to the US for the dog, which couldn't travel unless temperature conditions in the hold were suitable. To you or me this anecdote may seem a little bizarre, but Whalan doesn't blink an eye as he relates the story.
A lot of the work on the concierge desk is secretarial, with concierges helping to organise guests' arrangements, always logging each task into a software programme called "Concierge Smart". Just as I'm getting to grips with this, a guest calls from her limo to say that her husband has mistakenly left her clothes and jewellery behind in yet another helicopter. She has an important engagement this evening, so replacement jewellery and clothing have to be found because the helicopter - now somewhere over Scotland - cannot make it back in time. For frequent travellers, losing luggage isn't uncommon so the concierge desk has a range of options. One is to ask a personal shopper to come to the hotel with a selection, which is the choice we opt for.
But last week, a female guest didn't realise that her husband had mistakenly shipped her formalwear back to the US until 5.55pm on a Saturday. So a female concierge phoned an exclusive store, asked them to remain open for half an hour, then raced there in a taxi. She selected two new dresses, shoes and jewellery and brought them back. The guest was delighted with the choice and the night was saved.
THE STRANGE THING,Whalan tells me, is that sometimes it's the smallest gesture that results in the most gratitude. He says: "You can spend 18 hours organising something for a guest, but if they're used to such service, they expect it. Our favourite tasks involve Irish guests who maybe have never stayed in a hotel of this quality before and you can do little things to make their stay special or romantic. They really appreciate it. We find that you can produce a new wardrobe for one guest who barely says thank you, but then another guest will be falling over you with gratitude because you had a safety pin handy to fix the strap on a ballgown." Those special touches include rose petals on the bed in some cases, but here's a tip: red rose petals stain white sheets if left for more than a few minutes. White or pale pink rose petals are better, but people always ask for red.
Then the order comes for chrysanthemum tea, which nobody has ever heard of before, and I hopefully eye the extravagant display of fresh white flowers in the foyer - no chrysanthemums there. Fortunately, there's a Chinese place that has it, and within minutes a car has been dispatched to collect the tea, which is duly brewed, then delivered to a deluxe suite.
As I return my focus to my post behind the desk, I see some young children going out for the day with their parents. Yet I already know, having just been in the room service area, that the kitchen has prepared, unasked, the young guests' favourite afternoon snacks for when they return: huge home-made chocolate chip cookies on large red plates on which each child's name is written in white chocolate. It gives me a warm glow. I feel rather like a fairy godmother. And when the anniversary couple from "the country" book in, I know that they're being treated to a "romance" special and that in the restaurant later, their dessert will be personalised with the date of their marriage by the pastry chef. Warm glow again.
WHAT'S TRULY AMAZING, though, is how the concierges seem to know so much about every guest and never fail to address them by name. I'm beginning to think the concierges are psychic. Whalan explains that there are certain memory tricks and sleights of hand that concierges do almost by instinct. I reckon his instinctive methods would keep a convention of body language experts and neurolinguists busy for a month.
At the simplest level, as soon as a guest books into the hotel, the research begins. During the booking process, reception staff discreetly find out as much as they can about why the guest is visiting the hotel, about their tastes and preferences and so
on. The special treatment starts - for every guest, regardless of whether they're a VIP - from the moment they arrive. The room will have that favoured snack or drink, for example. Children will find their favourite DVDs ready to go, free of charge.
Every booked guest who arrives in the hotel is greeted by name without having to introduce themselves. This is especially important for guests designated SA (special attention) and SR (special recognition). SAs and SRs often arrive by limo from the airport, so there's a GPS system in each limo that signals the switchboard about 10 minutes before a limo arrives. (By the way, the hotel keeps a Jaguar at the door for use on a first come, first serve basis.) The GPS alert means that when the guest arrives, the entire staff - doormen, concierges and others - know the guest's name. So it's "Hello, Mr/Ms Smith, Welcome to the Four Seasons," even if the staff have never set eyes on the person before.
To aid recognition, I'm shown pictures pasted up on the back of the concierge office door - the "show and know" station. Presumably, I see these pictures out of the corner of my eye every day for a week or longer before the guests walk in, so that when they turn up at the concierge desk, I can say, "Hello, Mr Whomever". This is particularly useful regarding billionaires who are SAs but who aren't recognisable celebrities.
One of these SAs has told us that he wants the Los Angeles Times on his breakfast tray - not yesterday's edition, today's, and the hotel wouldn't think of directing him towards the internet. They have a local service that can print an up-to-date edition, about 100 copies a go, so that's organised faster than you can say stop the press.
But that doesn't mean that the secret of catering to guests' needs is in a software programme. It's the human touch that counts. One night in the bar, a celebrity musician was holding court and a guest decided - around midnight - that he absolutely had to have this musician sign his guitar. The problem was: where to buy a guitar at that hour? So a concierge went home and got his own guitar, which he'd had since he was 15, and gave it to the guest who had it signed and went home with it.
Another celebrity guest wanted an enormous mixing-bowl sized coffee cup to drink out of in the mornings, but the hotel didn't have any and none could be found in town. So a concierge went home, got her own huge cup, cleaned it carefully, and put it on the guest's breakfast tray. The pleased guest made off with the cup when she checked out, which was rather disappointing for the concierge.
THAT'S HOW PERSONAL it gets, but one thing I find really strange is that people I know in "real life" come into the hotel and fail to recognise me because I'm in uniform. They look right through me and walk past. As someone devoted to "service", I'm off their radar.
I get a little thrill when a guest approaches the concierge desk who is recognisable not just to me but probably to 99 per cent of the Western hemisphere. (He wears his pants too high, okay? You're not getting any more information than that.) I follow Whalan's example and smile, make eye contact and inform. Yes, the Pearl Brasserie has fantastic oysters. Would he like a reservation? Very good. What time would he like to dine? I know I'll get him a table because Whalan always gets the best tables for his guests. Such power! Such fun! Then the VIP asks where the spa is, so I indicate the direction and walk him to the door because the policy is always to "graciously escort", even if it means taking only two or three steps.
We don't fawn over famous people, though.We offer them discreet acts of kindness and respect. The celebrities love this, since many of them practically live in hotels and hate being recognised, but wouldn't like not being recognised, if you know what I mean. A cool head is required at all times.
A guest phones from Naas and wants a concierge to stay on the line giving directions as he drives into Dublin and to the hotel. No problem. A female guest, who feels flustered travelling alone, is taken by a concierge - on her day off - around the city. When I'm asked to find a homeopathic pharmacy, it's not enough for me to guide the guest to the nearest Boots. I have to ring the hotel doctor, who informs me where to find the precise thing that the guest is looking for.
IS THERE ANYTHING Whalan won't do? Yes. One thing, he admits. A guest wanted 50 live pheasants so he could let them go in a field and "go shooting". Whalan thought this was unethical, so he referred the guest to a professionally run pheasant-shoot. Just to give me a taste of what the training process is like, the human resources department show me an orientation video (during which I'm treated to a bowl of Jelly Babies, it's those little touches that pull you in). The video tells me the inspirational story of Isadore Sharp, Canadian founder of the Four Seasons and a gentleman who is quiet and dignified with impeccable taste.
"Issy", the son of a Polish immigrant construction worker, started his empire with one stylish motor hotel in Toronto in 1961 and now operates 70 luxury mid-size hotels around the world. He's also the founder of the Terry Fox run, a Canadian event that raises funds of cancer research.Over a coffee break, Four Seasons general manager John Brennan, whose father Michael Brennan was group general manager of Doyle Hotels, explains that you can start out as a cleaner or spa attendant and progress to running an entire hotel. The average Four Seasons employee stays with the organisation for 15 years.
There are 350 employees in the hotel and everyone I meet is friendly and enthusiastic. None of the staff (covering 42 nationalities) pass you without smiling and saying hello, even in the vast basement of the hotel, a city in itself with Dublin-style street signs so that people don't get lost. It's this dedication, not just to their work, but to their organisation, that I find refreshing. They've got something, these Four Seasons people. By the end of the day, I'm thinking that being a concierge would have been quite a good career choice, especially if I could end up running a hotel. But my feet hurt like heck.
THE CONCIERGE: Highs and lows
Highs
Making other people happy is very enjoyable, especially when they'll never know how you pulled it off
Your co-workers are great fun, love their jobs and everyone supports each other
You get to see how the other
0.009 per cent live
The canteen serves great food and your uniform is provided free and cleaned daily
As part of your reward scheme, you receive free guest nights in Four Seasons hotels around the world
The job is unpredictable
Tips and commissions
Lows
Sore feet - standing and walking for eight hours without a break
If you haven't got nerves of steel, forget it
Being taken for granted by demanding guests