The finest hotels I’ve stayed in have all been overseas, strangely enough.
I once stayed at a hotel in Milan, Italy, where the woodwork was so exquisite that if you were in the bathroom with the door closed it felt as if you were in a bank vault, because the door closed so completely. (Opening the door would cause a detectable pressure differential, as the seal was broken. I almost suspect that you could drown in the room if the tub overflowed and you didn’t control the input of water; it wouldn’t run out under the door.) In fact, in that room – where I stayed until mid-morning on a Saturday – had some construction work going on outside my window on that Saturday morning: a crew of guys jackhammering concrete just four stories beneath my room… and I didn’t even know about it until I looked out my window. There was no sound of the work inside my room.
The Westin in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia is wonderful. I always wish that I had more than an overnight stop there, because that bed is like sleeping in a cloud.
And I stayed at a hotel in Jakarta, Indonesia that had cotton sheets that felt like satin, and a Kobe beef entreĆ© on the menu that was the most tender that I’ve ever had in my life. (Though I’d still prefer a New York strip steak on my own grill.)