STARR PASS? SURR PASSES EXPECTATIONS

Why the griffin?   Who knows--but I like it!

How do you feel about Marriott hotels?  I kind of like them.  And Steve has held many, many meetings at Marriotts.  Which means lots of Marriott points.  Which means free stays at Marriott.  Which means lots more stays at Marriotts.  And that’s a good thing; they’re nice!  And a few weeks ago, we stayed for the first time at their fancy dancy brand, “JW Marriott.”  And boy, that was a REALLY good thing!

Fred & Lynette on their wedding day

We were going down to Tucson to have a lunch celebrating Steve’s sister Cindy’s birthday—which actually was over a month ago, but I’m positive you don’t want to hear the details of that explanation—and decided that while we were there we’d just be wild and have dinner with our friends Fred and Lynette, too, and, oh boy, stay the night.  (As you may recall, I LOVE staying in hotels.  One of my hobbies, you might say.)  So I checked around and discovered “we” (read, Steve) had earned enough points for a room.  I was planning on booking us at the Marriott University Park (located right at the University of Arizona, see how they did that—University Park?), where we have very happily stayed many times.  (After all, Steve went to the UofA for eight years, I think it is as he tells it, to earn his undergraduate degree, and still considers himself a Wildcat.  I guess we should be grateful he isn’t actually still a Wildcat.  That just a short eight years did it for him.)

 

Abbott and Costello

The last time we stayed at the Marriott University Park we had the nicest exchange with a gentleman named Michael who played host at breakfast.  He had such an interesting way about him—hearty and friendly and interested and just a je ne sais quoi aura about him (hey, that’s French for I don’t know what.  I mean I do know what it means; it means I don’t know what. Wait!  I think I'm hearing...  Hey, Abbott!)  And he talked very knowledgeably about UofA football.  Which was enough for Steve to bond with him immediately.  We even ended up asking him all about things in addition to college football and had a great lengthy chat while we ate our breakfast.  He turned out to be as interesting as he first appeared (even to me, who is fine with college football, but frankly, I don’t want to eat an entire breakfast over that topic alone).  He was charming and gracious and fascinating.  A true ambassador of hospitality.  We now, when trying to jog each other’s mind about which Marriott we’re referring to, use him as the defining point:  “You know, the one with that guy who was called to the Middle East by the military to teach them how to be gracious and curry favor.”  Of course!  The Marriot University Park!  (See?  I told you he had more to offer than UofA football.  Not that there’s anything wrong with UofA football, I hasten to add before Steve divorces me.)

GO CATS!

But despite that fabulous experience, this time I happened to notice that, for the same number of points, we could choose to stay at the new-ish JW Marriott Starr Pass.  And I snatched that chance without a second thought!  (Yes, sad but true, fancy trumped really nice guy, this time around.)  See, most of Tucson and all of its resorts (virtually all of which I’ve had the pleasure to stay at—and enjoy) are on the east side of the 10 freeway.  It’s not that it’s a freeway-ish town; it just so happens that when you drive down there from, say, Phoenix, you get off the 10 and head east on any one of a dozen or more exits, and there you are, in Tucson.  The 10 is really the western border of most of Tucson.

Glenn Ford - W O W!!

Well, what’s west of the 10, you ask?  Ha!  West of the 10 is desert and mountains.  Really beautiful desert and mountains.  As in, The West.  In fact, it’s so nice and desert-y and Glenn-Ford-in-a-cowboy-movie-like that it’s the location of many dude ranches.  (Wait, I think we’re supposed to call them Guest Ranches now.  Who would have thought that even “Dude Ranch” would become politically incorrect?  Pardon me while I’m sick.)  So guess where the JW Marriott Starr Pass is?  Exactly!  West of the 10.  And that means, if you’ve been following closely, that it’s in the desert and mountains.  Not very far from the freeway and the rest of Tucson, but nestled into mountains and desert and about a million saguaros, nonetheless.  Feeling like a million miles away.  And that, truly, is neat. 

So we booked our room and headed down.  We had just a fabulous lunch with Cindy and her partner Imarra at this neat little restaurant called Delectables, in the area of Tucson called Fourth Avenue. (And guess what, it’s on Fourth Avenue.  They’re really good at naming things down there in the Old Pueblo.)  And we had a really fun dinner with Fred and Lynette, too—this time at a Vietnamese restaurant whose name I don’t think I ever learned, darn it.  Very fun, with great food and lots of colors everywhere, and a sort of general charming chaos.  I’d recommend it, if only I knew the name. 

And in between lunch and dinner, we headed west!  To the Starr Pass (OK, I’m going to stop calling it the JW Marriott Starr Pass at this point.  Too long to keep typing, annoying to keep reading, I imagine.  Starr Pass will do it, agreed?  This isn’t an advertisement for Marriott, after all.  I swear!)  Even as we crossed under the 10 to the mysterious West Side of the Freeway (this reminds me of the A.A. Milne

poem about, “You must never go down to the end of town without consulting me”--but back to my point…) things were looking good.  Just heading in that direction is awfully pretty.

And as the road wound around and around, we were really enjoying the scenery.  Really felt like we were out in the desert (despite the housing developments arising all around us, that is).  We finally turned around the last bend, and there it was.  The Starr Pass.  Standing tall amid the saguaros.  Nicely nestled on the side of the foothills, even blending into the desertscape—as much as a giant, six-story, 600+-room resort can blend in to the scenery, that is.  But from the moment we saw it, life was good.

The Starr Pass

Truly, virtually every aspect of being there was just great. 

Discussing the parking situation.

The only down side to the whole thing was our very first experience.  We decided to park ourselves.  (Make that, we parked ourselves when Steve misinterpreted my, “There’s a sign that says ‘Guest Self-Parking’” to mean, “Stop!  Turn here!  Park!”)  Which was a bit of a bummer, as it turns out, because the resort is kind of long and stretched out, and this parking garage is on the complete opposite end as the lobby.  Strange, but true.  We thought we were having a golden moment when we found a spot right by the elevator and then, doubly golden, as we approached the elevator a man going the opposite direction said, “Just arriving?  Enjoy yourselves!” with a little grin.  Which we happily mistook as a lovely and friendly greeting, not realizing till later that he was most likely being facetious and secretly snickering at what lay ahead for us.   

Which way, please?

And what lay ahead was a trek of oh, I’d say roughly two and a half miles--through lovely corridors, I’ll grant you that--to the lobby.  Along the way we only had to ask one cowboy and two Indians for directions.  We even passed an outer corridor with a view of the pool, outdoor lounge, and small mountain to one side, and a larger but still small mountain on the other side covered with saguaros.  Covered!  And we learned something, too.  Did you know that, despite all those wheels, suitcases get REALLY HEAVY when dragged long distances?  Now we all know.  Just a little travel tip for you.

When we reached the lobby, however, all was forgiven.  It’s just lovely!  Sort of Mexican/Indian classy, earthy, yet elegant décor.  Somehow they’ve managed to combine heavy wood furniture and leather appointments with that sleek, clean modern look.  To very nice effect.  Just lovely, I tell you.  There are stone walls and sleek tile floors.  There are rustic but beautiful wrought iron candelabra chandeliers.  (Although all I could think of was, DO NOT STAND HERE GAWKING UP AT THIS GORGEOUS BUT GIANT, HEAVY CHANDELIER IF YOU WANT TO LIVE.  Just in case.)   The carpets have a pattern of Indian rugs in them.  The ceilings not only have vigas, but latillas, as well, if you can imagine.  Of course you can’t—only a few people living in Arizona, or possibly Mexico, even know what that means.  Luckily, I am one of them.  Vigas are those rustic wooden beams you see in the ceiling; latillas are lots of little sticks laid right next to each other that cover the ceiling

Cool chandelier.  See the vigas and latillas?

between the beams.  (And now you’ve learned even more than just something about your wheeled suitcase.)  There’s a huge, and I mean two-story huge, picture window overlooking a small mountain (containing a golf course, if you can believe that), the pool, and tons of saguaros.   So as you can imagine (and yes, this I think you really can imagine) we forgave them the long trek from the car.

Until we were sent to our room.  Which was three-fourths of the way back to the car.  Avec suitcases.  (Why did we each have a heavy suitcase when we where there for only one night?  There’s just no reasonable answer for that.  I will tell you I suggested we use one suitcase, but that idea was rejected immediately.  So.  That’s all I’ll say about that.)  But the bright side of that, and I always try to look on the bright side, especially when Steve is doing the really heavy hauling, was that our trip to the car would be pretty short now.  See?  Always a bright side.

But let me hasten to add that check-in was quite a nice experience.  Our agent, who was very classy, dressed in a snazzy jacket and looking very handsome (not a requirement, certainly—but so nice, don’t you think?), was friendly and professional all at the same time.  He handed us our keys, then went into the back on a secret mission and came back and presented us with a gift bag (containing water—which we’d need for the journey to our room, no doubt—and iced tea).  Boy, once you get to that frequent traveler level, the perks just keep on coming.  A gift for us for accepting a free room!  He wished us a nice stay as we left.  And it was sincere!  I could just tell.

Photo courtesty of TripAdvisor

Our room, when we arrived a half hour later, was worth the trip, as well.  Not over the top, but so nice and lovely with dark furniture and a breathtaking view of the pool, (small) mountain, and golf course.  The bathroom was fabulous—lots of granite and mirrors and a separate tub.  And fluffy towels.  Aaah.

F & L again!

We didn’t get to have dinner there, since (have you been following?) we had dinner with Fred and Lynette.  (Remember?
Nameless Vietnamese place?)  Next time, I’m sure we will have dinner there, if only because the patio setting at Primo looks so inviting.  I’m sure the food is pretty fine, as well. 

Signature Grill   So pretty!

We did have breakfast in the Signature Grill the next morning.  Our first meal with only each other for company.  So we brought our books.  (Not that we don’t love each
other’s company; we both just love to read and that’s not something one can really do when one is

Reading at breakfast

socializing with others.  We’ve found others usually frown on it and come to the conclusion that you are not great company.  So, often at breakfast, we read until I keep interrupting Steve to tell him something funny I just read, or point out something I just saw fly by the window, or ask him about those eggs he ordered or maybe his book….  So actually we begin by reading, but by the end of the meal, books have closed.  My apologies to my very patient husband.) 

How cute is that?

And the Signature Grill was grand!  The room is quite pretty, with more stone walls, windows all around with breathtaking views, and a smashing breakfast buffet.  They served these teeny tiny little glasses filled with muesli and granola, topped with raspberries--that's not the kind of thing I usually eat in the morning, but it was so cute I had to take one; and it was just delicious!  Steve told me that, earlier that morning, someone had gone through the lobby offering those little treats on a wheeled cart for anyone who was up and at 'em early.  Neat!
  

Keep your mitts off my bagel

And they did this cool thing with the bagels.  You know how, at a buffet, there's always the dilemma of how to get the guests to NOT grab the rolls with their grubby paws?  So they always put out tongs, certain that everyone will use them.  Yeah, right.  Well at the Starr Pass, they've come up with a clever (but hilarious) system to make sure one's hands don't touch someone else's bagels.  Bagels on a stick, with little wooden separators between each one.  So sanitary!

The sweet blue-eyed Jessica

We were waited on by a pretty, friendly server named Jennifer, who took care of our every whim in a very professional and eager manner, and was very concerned when we pointed out that at the top of the menu it mentioned “Belgium” waffles, whereas further down it referred to them—most correctly, thank God!—as “Belgian” waffles.  See, that would be like saying “France Toast” instead of French Toast, to use a breakfast analogy.  We thought it was amusing (imagine how fun we are at parties); she thought it was something that needed correcting, and fast.  And we’d thought perhaps she would simply roll her eyes at these two weirdos who instead of delighting over the fabulous breakfast buffet the Grill had served up (and it was fabulous), were editing the menu.  So we were impressed.  (And relieved, I have to say.)

There was one little glitch in our breakfast experience.  Just a little thing.  Apparently, there was a convention going on while we were there.  And it was apparently for the Cord Blood Registry.  Which I’m sure is a fine organization, helping you save your baby’s cord blood (yes, as in, umbilical cord) for future treatment for serious conditions that may arise.  Heck, I’ll support that.  But was I wrong not to want to be reminded of that as I walked into breakfast?  Was I wrong to feel horror as the hostess escorted us past a much-larger-than-life billboard showing a giant baby’s stomach and belly-button and the words CORD BLOOD—as we were on our way in to eat?  Gross!  Call me insensitive if you will.  I say it was major icky, and I’m sticking by it. 

Breakfast, anyone?

After breakfast, we discovered another great thing about the Starr Pass.  They have a gift shop!  Hallelujah!  Did you know many hotels are giving the gift shop the old heave ho?  Oh, the pain!  You can always count on hotel gift shops to have neat stuff—jewelry, stuffed animals, interesting articles of clothing.  And then there’s all the stuff that one must have in a hotel—snacks, books, magazines, band-aids, and who knows what all?  But there’s this awful trend these days toward eliminating the gift shop.  (Who are these people who travel and don’t need Advil?  Nail polish remover?  Books?  Trinkets?  SNACKS???  That’s just not the way we travel, I can tell you that—despite our large suitcases.)  So anyway, not only does the Starr Pass have gift shops--a series of shops, all connected--but they're quite nice!  They’re all pretty and large and have lots of great stuff.  Including very friendly staff.  The lady who helped me, for example, told me lots of interesting things about when she used to work at Disneyland.

Interesting, indeed.  And once again, very friendly, indeed.  And not only did I find tasty snacks, I even bought a cool Tucson t-shirt.  Very successful gift shop experience all around!

When it was time to check out, we were bummed to leave.  We hadn’t even been there 24 hours, yet we’d been treated to great, friendly, and efficient service from every single staff member from the moment we stepped off the elevator.  (Which is

Scary Indian

actually where we were greeted by our first member of the staff—who hurried to walk us a bit of the way toward the lobby—probably so we didn’t get attacked by Indians.  Just kidding!  About the Indians, that is.  The gentleman really did walk us part way!  And was just lovely.)

Our whole experience was fantastic.  I’d stay there again in a heartbeat.  Even if we have to use dollars instead of points.  My only advice is to drive to the lobby first, before checking in.  (Like, duh, you wouldn’t do that anyway.  I’m going to have to talk this over with Steve once more—why did we park first, again?)  If you do that, it’s all sunshine and roses from there on.  Wait, or is it green lights and good things?  Lollipops and rainbows?  Anyway --  you’ll love it.

I dare you not to!

(What's your favorite place to stay?....)