W     San Francisco

San Diego, Mexico City and Seoul coming up…W is on the edge, the cutting edge—well, maybe not that far out, but there’s an edge here. A grand dame she ain’t, don’t bring Granny—she won’t like it—the elevator’s black light is too dark, the rock music is too loud and the writing on everything is too small. She probably won’t understand that wheels, is where you valet park or sweat and wet is the fitness center and indoor pool, although she would know what to do in the lift and WC. Starwood Hotels boutique W group is not only trendy, it comes with its own ready-made lingo.

The main entrance of the San Francisco W is through a three-story glass rotunda. Across the shiny black and white marble floor is a café bar and to the right, a long lounge, the living room. It'is velvet, leather and chenille comfortable with huge chairs, soft sofas, martini-olive throw pillows and chess and tic-tac-toe boards inlaid in some of the large, low tables.

To get to the registration desk, one lugs their suitcase—feeling somehow they’ve come in the wrong way—through the living room. Unless, of course, they’ve come by car and discovered valet parking at wheels which is right next to welcome.

W’s restaurant, XYZ, is a sleek-looking, upscale spot serving, for example, "pork porterhouse chop with pears, maple glazed potatoes and anisette sauce." W Café, in the living room, dishes up the likes of lattes and scones in the A.M. and W burgers and focaccia pizzas until one the next morning.

The guest rooms are for cocooning. Curl up on the window seat under a cushy throw and stare at the lights on the Golden Gate—the incoming traffic’s white lights and the red tail lights of the traffic headed north. A corner room with windows on two sides is definitely a plus here. Dramatic architectural photos of San Francisco hang on walls of pale sage. Rich brown leather covers the desk chair, window seat and a big ottoman cum table. Shutter out the world with the painted wood shutters.

The bed is scrumptious. Down pillows, comforter and bed pad are covered with great sheets. A tiny teddy waits for hugs. If one simply must have some of the bed linens, orders can be placed from the bedside W catalogue. Just hit the whatever/whenever button on the phone—it puts you through to someone who just does it, whatever.

W post-it notes, a leather stationery tray, letterhead with the W cut out, not embossed, and a full set of techy hook-ups (including Starwood Turbo Net High Speed Internet Access, whatever?) are on the desk. The media center, complete with TV, video, CD and radio includes web TV for lying in bed and getting email or sport scores at a more leisurely pace.

Kudos for having a coffee maker in the room with complimentary tea and coffee. Roasts for making the telephone a major profit center, although I suppose I’m the last one who cares, everyone else has their own cell.

The big, big bathroom has a big tub, big towels and a strong shower. W’s own line of Aveda products are perhaps not quite the same stuff you buy at the Aveda stores, but are, nonetheless, lovely.

W is in the area San Franciscan’s call Yerba Buena Gardens. It’s a great location. The Moscone Center, the multi-multiplex Metreon and ice skating are across the way. It’s hiking distance to Union Square and MOMA, San Francisco’s Museum of Modem Art is next door.

As I checked out, the elementary school teachers arriving for their conference did not appear to fit W’s überhip image. Perhaps they’d come to say their ABC’s at XYZ.

By Kate Crawford     September  2003

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