What's the point after five stars?
MANILA, Philippines - We ar-rived in Tokyo in the perfect season — the last weekend of the sakura (cherry blossoms) — the time when Japanese hold hanami or flower-viewing parties. Some bring out their tents and beer as they celebrate. We did join them one afternoon and their excitement was indeed contagious like they, too, were seeing the sakura flowers for the very first time. Claude and I, of course, had a photo taken with snow-white and pink blooms in our hair and even on our eyelashes. (Okay, false eyelashes on Claude.) To Claude, what was more beautiful than the flowers was the people’s reverence for the occasion, knowing well that such beauty will soon be gone just like the ephemeral moments of life.
To me, what is most impressive is how they can predict the exact sakura blooming period in every part of Japan, which lasts two weeks. In the newspapers they had a map of Japan with dates indicating the precise blooming period in every region. And once, when the weather officials erred, they were forced to officially apologize. (Yes, “force” and “officially” were the words they used in the newspapers.)
Not only is almost everything predictable in Japan, but it’s expected to be 100-percent accurate. And to the minute. Our Japanese date moved our 5 p.m. appointment to 5:02 p.m. I was so amused and was tempted to negotiate for 5:01p.m. just to see him panic. But I realized I was in Japan where I was expected to be nice and polite. The most common words one hears while touring Japan are sumimasen (excuse me) domo (thank you) and dozo (please). With the swine flu fears now, I wish we Filipinos had adopted the Japanese greeting of repeated bowing instead of the Spanish beso-beso.
While in Japan, your standards and expectations will naturally get higher. Not only must everything be in order and functional but at the same time it must be beautifully traditional. So you can just imagine our gold-star expectations as we were billeted at the Tokyo Peninsula Hotel. Tokyo na. Peninsula pa. 
The Peninsula Hotel chain started in Hong Kong in 1928, marking the beginning of an Asian hospitality legend. There are now eight Peninsula hotels all over the world and I have stayed in four of them: Manila, Hong Kong, Bangkok and most recently Tokyo. The other four are still on my wish list. The Tokyo Pen lobby is probably just a third the size of the 1,100-square-meter Manila Pen, but being just opposite the Imperial Palace in the prestigious Marunouchi financial district and a three-minute walk from the shopping capital of Ginza, that is screaming luxury enough.
As we stepped into the four-month-old Tokyo Pen lobby, my eyes were drawn to the center where I thought I saw hundreds of fireflies. As I looked closer, they were actually over a thousand sparkling crystal bulbs in a concave chandelier. The beautiful cushions were exclusively designed by Kyoto kimono artist Jotaro Saito. Everything looked and smelled clean and new. And the best piece of all, which I can still describe a year later, was the spectacular bamboo sculpture by Japanese designer Keisin Hama. It commands attention because it is so huge, resembling a dragon lying across the universe. Close to it is a male staff member whose sole job is to guard the art work from curious fingers like mine.
As Claude was checking in, I made a quick mental recollection of what I had packed and was confident I had a wardrobe befitting this luxurious lobby. Then my eyes involuntary crossed and somersaulted as they turned to Claude and his suitcase. I started to ventilate as I imagined what was in Claude’s small suitcase, for my artist hubby’s idea of “smart casual” is wearing long pants. He doesn’t understand what’s the big deal, especially when we are most unlikely to bump into people we know. When we were in Lourdes, France, he refused to take the miraculous bath insisting there was nothing wrong with him. I said his sense of dressing has to be cured. He, of course, did not find that amusing. Then I relaxed when I remembered the cool weather, assuring myself that he would always be in long pants and shoes.
We had breakfast at the Hei Fung Terrace, reputed to serve the best Cantonese food in the whole of Tokyo. If Pen Hong Kong has Felix, Tokyo Pen has Peter, an elegantly casual and playful French dining room where guests go through a long, dark, steel tunnel and surprisingly find themselves on a grand stage in a grand theatrical setting with matching spotlights. No matter how jaded you may be, your heart will surely skip a beat. The expertise of Chef Gerhard Doll (formerly of the Manila Pen Old Manila) and the breathtaking view from the top overlooking the Imperial gardens on one side and the Ginza on the other and the foie gras and truffle and naturally excellent wine on the menu certainly justifies the (big) burn in diners’ pockets. We were fortunate to be the chef’s guests or else we would have spent our entire allowance on one dinner.
But one meal that I would certainly want to repeat and I have written so on my wish list (Oh, God, make it come true) is the French toast with caramelized banana at the lobby. It is by far the best presented and most delicious breakfast in all my travels and hotel stays. And the detailed and gentle Japanese service that went with it is just beyond words. Even American-born Japanese PR director Mark Kobayashi agrees with me: it is the kind of detailed service that only the Japanese can do.
We exercised at the hotel’s indoor heated Olympic-size pool; almost got married at their wedding chapel; sadly could not afford time at their spa which was frequented by women in their 20s; and dared not go to the gym for fear of seeing Transformers pretending to be treadmills. We ate at all five of the restaurants, bought super-beautiful cakes at their patisserie and shared them in the room while I sipped thick cream espresso from our shining retro-looking all-stainless-steel espresso machine. It was so nice and compact; admittedly, nicking it did enter my mind. That retro espresso machine also made it onto my wish list.
One can never mention the Tokyo Pen without describing the bathrooms. The mirrors are steam free and our toilet seat was heated. The toilet cover automatically goes up and down because of a sensor. Our bathtub was big enough for us together and, with one click, the lights dimmed and soft music played for our own romantic spa. I just wished it had an attachment for a wine bucket.
It was a perfect room and a perfect holiday for our nth honeymoon. The minimalist clean lines of furniture reminded me so much of Claude’s functional art pieces, making me all the more convinced he must really have been Karouda-sang in his past life. The downside is the room was so comfortably luxurious (a very important balance) that we did not want to leave. Despite the nippy spring weather, we canceled our planned trips to Kyoto and Narra. Other than our honeymoon 10 years ago, this is the first time ever my peripatetic hubby preferred to stay in the room. We agreed next time to stay in a so-so hotel and climb Mount Fuji; but our time at the Tokyo Peninsula was our sakura. We savored it, for such moments are hard to come by.
Happily reminiscing about it all a year later, I honestly cannot imagine or understand why there are six or even seven stars in some rating scales. I read somewhere that if you keep on adding spoonfuls of sugar to your drink, you can only taste the sweetness up until the fourth spoon. (I haven’t tried it, though. Stingy me cannot afford to waste sugar.) Adding more sugar after the fourth spoon does nothing other than make the drink more expensive, so what’s the point? The writer likened the same thing to hotel stars which makes sense to me. Are gold faucets and gold beds really necessary? Isn’t that simply excessive? Well, if they would miraculously change my hubby’s taste in clothes, I would want them. But on second thought that’s part of his charm and I love him dearly for it.
To me, the five-star Tokyo Pen is a star for all seasons. So what’s the point after the fifth star?
