Where to Stay Now 2004

I've eaten room-service dinner on a balcony over the River Walk, sipped a smoking martini, enjoyed a crushed-pecan body polish, soaked in a tub with an Alamo view, and generally had a swell time sleeping around (usually swaddled in luxurious linens). Why all this hard labor? So I could tell you about the ten Texas hotels that—at this precise nanosecond in time—are my special favorites.

by Suzy Banks

October 2004

WHEN I WAS A THREE-FOOT-TALL traveler who frequented chain motels, I went wild over the miniature bars of Ivory soap, the cellophane-wrapped glasses, and even the sash across the toilet seat. These days, it takes a bit more to thrill me, and hoteliers don't shrink from the challenge, wooing me with everything from high-thread-count linens to palatial spas with treatment menus as thick as Gideon Bibles. While Texas boasts plenty of notable lodgings—the famously inviting Mansion on Turtle Creek, in Dallas; the chic hideaways at Cibolo Creek Ranch, near Big Bend; the hip Hotel San José, in Austin; and a bevy of historic grande dames like Austin's Driskill—I went looking for something more than just a great stay. At the risk of sounding like a Hollywood agent, I was searching for places that popped and sizzled. Sure, newness didn't hurt, but what I was really looking for was nowness. In other words, to make the cut a hotel had to have the kind of buzz generated not only by material goodies like goose-down pillows, rooftop pools, and fancy shampoos but also by such intangibles as a sense of humor or a ton of class. And who am I to judge? Well, after a lifetime in Texas and a decade as a travel writer, I figure I've spent the night in hundreds of beds in this state alone. So with all due respect to your personal favorites, here, in no particular order, are mine.

 

Hotel ZaZa

Dallas

If Madonna, a French count, and a set designer from a production of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Bombay Dreams decided to open a hotel, the result would be Hotel ZaZa. Since its arrival on the scene in 2002, this whimsical palace of enlightened eroticism and raging urbanity has remained wildly popular. One weekend when the hotel was sold out, a man was so desperate for a room that he offered the front-desk clerk a $900 bonus (to no avail). Another time, someone scalped his room reservation on the street out front for quite a profit. And just try to wedge your way into the outdoor poolside club, Urban Oasis, on a Saturday night, when lights bathe the perky cocktail crowd in changing shades of pink, green, blue, and orange and fan-generated breezes spin the giant beach balls in the pool. Unlike some hotels, ZaZa's personality doesn't evaporate as soon as you leave the public spaces. Naughty Helmut Newton photographs and exotic furnishings such as a huge wooden horse from Indonesia line the hallways, and the concept suites are odes to individuality, from the red-black-and-Warholed Art Suite to the tailored, masculine Metropolitan Suite. Even the spacious, high-style standard rooms have their eccentricities: Nightly turndown service includes lighting votive candles and leaving a box of, say, Milk Duds on your pillow, and minibar selections go beyond a diet cola and a bag of mixed nuts. (The Shag Bag includes condoms and gender-specific vitamins.)

Insider tip: ZaZa condos and a spa are currently being constructed smack up against one window of, yes, the Zen Suite. Scenesters will be happiest with a room overlooking the pool, known for its late-night parties; sleepsters should request a room facing a quiet side street (although all rooms come with complimentary earplugs).

 

Riverwalk Vista

San Antonio

There's a teddy bear on the bed, a rubber duck in the slate shower, and on the desk, a Siamese fighting fish swimming in a glass bowl. Now, before your cloy-o-meter sounds the alarm, let me assure you that, except for these few playful accents, the rooms in this renovated former wholesale grocery are otherwise the picture of pared-down simplicity: crisp white linens, leather club chairs, polished longleaf-pine floors. But never fear: You won't have to do without modern-day necessities like Internet connections, white-noise machines, flat-screen TVs, and DVD players. Thank goodness the innkeepers realized that piling on the frippery would only detract from the building's 121-year-old architectural strengths: soaring ceilings, brick walls, and enormous ten-foot-tall windows that frame intimate cityscapes. The views from the hotel's seventeen rooms play like film clips from a (nearly) silent documentary: sightseeing barges cruising under arched stone footbridges, gaggles of tourists crossing Losoya and Commerce streets, and the Tower of the Americas revolving in the middle distance. Should you decide to join the passing parade, you're only one block from the Alamo, across the street from a trolley station and the Rivercenter Mall, and steps from landmark eateries like Schilo's Delicatessen and Tex-Mex stalwart Casa Rio.

Insider tip: The Hugman Vista, a corner suite named in honor of the architect who dreamed up the River Walk, is tops for its views, while the Joske's Vista, overlooking the ornate facade of the venerable department store (now a Dillard's), is a bit quieter.

 

Mansion at Judges' Hill

Austin

Perhaps because this new boutique hotel sits only a couple of blocks from the University of Texas campus, I suddenly felt the need to develop an objective, scientific formula for my lodging critiques. Could I figure out how to assign numeric values to intangibles like historical importance? The hotel is, after all, the latest incarnation of the Goodall Wooten mansion, which began life in 1900 as a wedding gift to Ella Newsome and Goodall Wooten from her parents and has served over the years as a society showplace, a dormitory, a sorority house, and a rehab center. Would it be possible to quantify its restored turn-of-the-century grandeur, factoring in such variables as massive columns, original longleaf-pine floors, a wraparound verandah, coffered ceilings, and period furnishings? Could I devise an ooh-aah quotient based on its high-speed Internet access, free parking, imported linens, and sumptuous bathrooms? Would these questions best be resolved over breakfast, lunch, or dinner in the Mansion's ambitious restaurant—or should I just sleep on them?

Insider tip: With its matched Victorian bedroom suite, ornamental marble fireplace, and French doors opening onto the second-story verandah, room 24 reeks of days-gone-by elegance.

 

Hotel Paisano

Marfa

With its blue-and-white-striped awnings, six flags of Texas flapping over the entry, geranium-filled window boxes, and whitewashed stucco walls, this 1930 Mission Revival confection, designed by the prolific El Paso architect Henry C. Trost, is like a vivacious hostess, fresh from a little nip-and-tuck and dolled up in a new party frock, waving wildly at you to join her. Who could resist? The lobby alone made me glad I stopped by. Without a howling coyote or string of chile-pepper lights in sight, it is elegant, classic Southwestern: expanses of dark glazed tile, hand-hewed wood beams, the mounted heads of a Longhorn and a buffalo. For some reason, I was struck by an overwhelming feeling that something was about to happen here, something I didn't want to miss. Maybe it was because the Paisano had been the region's social hub back in the day and, famously, the headquarters for the cast and crew of Giant in 1955. Maybe it was because it reminded me of the horde-free Santa Fe of the seventies or because a late-summer storm was rumbling outside. Or maybe it was because the town is in the midst of a boom. So I lugged my suitcase up to my second-floor room (What? You expect to be catered to in Marfa?) and flung open the French doors that face the courtyard. After a recently completed three-year renovation, the rooms are tastefully outfitted with dark-wood furniture and floral fabrics. The straightforward baths are all-white, and mine came with a little window at a modest height that let me keep an eye on the main drag while I showered. I stretched out on the plump king-size bed, from which I watched the comings and goings at Jett's Grill, across the courtyard, and happily waited for something to happen.

Insider tip: If you're planning to stay here for more than a night or two, check into one of the suites. Complete with living areas and full kitchens, they're vestiges of a Houston developer's plan in the seventies to convert the hotel into condominiums.

 

Hangar Hotel

Fredericksburg

Housed in a Quonset-hut-style military hangar on the edge of the tarmac at the Gillespie County Airport, this time warp works hard at transporting guests back to the high-flying days of World War II, albeit with an overlay of nonregulation luxury. What with the vintage searchlight and red-and-white-checked water tower snuggled up next to the hotel, the boogie-woogie Muzak, big black phones, easy chairs covered in bomber-jacket leather, and airplane nose art on the walls, I half expected to find a group of flyboys knocking back a few around the fireplace in the Officers' Club, where the diversions include a pool table and a grand piano. Military standards are strictly enforced when it comes to housekeeping: You could eat your K rations off the black-and-white hexagonal-tile floors in the bathrooms, and the sheets (370-thread-count Egyptian cotton, sir!) are starched, pressed, and tucked in tight enough to send a bounced quarter clear to the ceiling. The mahogany-and-rattan furnishings and the rustling palms just outside the windows give the rooms a South Pacific feel (which might inspire you to visit the Nimitz museum complex in town). The nostalgia fest continues at the adjacent Airport Diner, with its wood and creased-chrome paneling, swivel stools at the counter, windowside booths, and menu of burgers and malts. If you have to ask who would want to stay at a small-town airport and watch corporate jets, vintage Cessnas, and the occasional B-17 land, you obviously are not—or are not married to—an aviation buff.

Insider tip: On Friday and Saturday nights, pianist Duncan Holmes fills the Officers' Club with music from the forties.

 

Hotel Icon

Houston

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