My secret shame while staying in a $25,000-a-night luxury suite

March 17, 2026 — 5:00am

As a travel writer, I probably have a different relationship to hotels to most readers.

I’m strictly not there to enjoy them but to find out what’s good and not-so-good about their service, facilities, location, food and ambience.

Often, it’s about checking out the simple things. Whether there’s tricky technology in the rooms or simple switches (hooray) to turn the lights on and off. If there’s a separate sheet under the doona (good) or poor lighting in the bathroom (bad).

Travellers have different tastes, budgets and expectations, so the most important thing for me is to define the general ambience of a hotel because I know some people are uncomfortable in glitzy hotels, for instance, while others thrive on their buzz.

And that means, as often as I can, spending a lot of time in the hotel, even if the temptation is to go outside it and explore.

Years ago, an actor told me, “I can’t enjoy the theatre any more because I’m always so critical of what’s happening on the stage.” But that’s not the way for me with hotels. I will never tire of staying in good hotels, even though I’m there to find faults. And few hotels are faultless.

I’m very aware that, being hosted, it’s a privilege to sometimes stay in rooms I could never afford in my wildest dreams. So, I make sure I enjoy every minute. Why else would I be there?

I’m mindful that staying in a hotel should be a treat. Hotels are not just lodgings but investments in time, comfort and, hopefully, pleasure. I have my personal preferences, of course. I love nothing more than a classic European hotel with a storied history, preferably one which still retains its old charm.

I want the hotel I’m staying in to be as far away from the style of my home as possible, so bring on the chandeliers, taffeta curtains, plush carpets and teams of people to tidy up after me. I often wonder, though, what the maids, concierges and waiters think of me, especially in very posh places where the guests travel with trunks of expensive clothing, tip in the hundreds, and order lavishly on room service.

Last December, I stayed for a couple of nights at the legendary Le Bristol at 112 rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore. It was the first hotel in Paris to receive the “palace” accreditation, which elevates the hotel above the mere five stars.

In 1925, the 18th-century mansion, near the Elysee Palace, was transformed into a hotel and named for a British lord.

It’s situated in fashion central, amid all the flagships of luxury brands such as Hermes and Dior, and it’s one of the most luxurious and stylish hotels in Paris, owned and operated by the Oetker family, which owns beautiful landmark hotels around the world.

Lucky me. I don’t pretend I wasn’t thrilled to be there.

And to make it even better, I discovered the hotel had generously assigned me the Lumiere Suite. The tariff on the back of the door read €15,000 a night plus tax. It felt like heaven, although maybe not $25,000 worth.

The ceiling was painted like a blue sky with white clouds. The floors were beautiful parquetry with thick carpets in the bedroom. The furniture was Louis (VX and XVII.) There were gilded mirrors, fresh roses, chandeliers, oriental rugs, and two of everything: two desks, two white marble bathrooms, two mini bars, two sitting rooms, plus a dining area, and a walk-in wardrobe that was as large as my last Parisian apartment. The library had books I wanted to read.

Why would I want to leave?

So, I didn’t. I stayed in. When would I ever have the chance to luxuriate in Le Bristol again? However, there was one slight problem. With the floundering Aussie dollar, a baguette via room service was going to cost me more than $100. That wasn’t in the budget. So, I propped myself on the very comfortable bed, turned on the TV, found a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie, and demolished a packet of chips I’d bought at a supermarket that morning.

Bliss.

I wonder what the maids thought of me the next day when they discovered my dining habits weren’t exactly queenly? It’s often like this when I travel alone. I really couldn’t care less about food, I’m there for the room. Even in a city like Paris, my hotel is the destination.

The writer was the guest of Le Bristol.