I have the great fortune and pain of traveling rather frequently on business. I see my share of Marriotts, Hiltons, and Holiday Inns. My skin has been inadvertently exfoliated by overbleached towels. The sound of blackout drapes scraping across curtain rods is all too familiar. I can find ice machines in my sleep.

Every once in awhile, though, I get to stay in cool places. It used to be that my September trip to Anaheim was the tops on my list. Oh, you need me to stay in a Disney resort where I get discounted tickets to see “The Mouse”? Darn. Twist my rubber arm.

Sorry Mickey, after last year’s rather lackluster performance, you’ve been bumped from the top of my list…by a president, no less. Well, actually, the son of a president who built a hotel and named it after his dad, who happens to share the same name.

Image courtesy of hotel website.

I’m talking about the US Grant Hotel adjacent San Diego’s Gaslamp District. In short, fan-freaking-tastic. The property was recently renovated and restored to all of its original glory. The smell of wallpaper paste is still fresh in the hallways. Each lobby, foyer, and corridor is adorned with amazing paintings and sculptures. Hell, even my padded headboard was art. My room walls were covered with picture frame mouldings and the floors were covered with amazing carpets. Even the shower floor was festooned with a basketweave tile. Aesthetically speaking, this has to be one of the nicest hotels I’ve ever stayed in.

Image courtesy of hotel website

The service was as amazing as the decor. Short of the great housekeeping incident of Tuesday night, the staff took amazing care to ensure my every desire was met. Their valets, front desk staff and bellhops were courteous and attentive. The bellhop even took a subtle second to check my name on my luggage tag and thank me by name for my tip (and trust me, my last name is no walk in the park).

When I was having issues with my TV remote, guest services sent engineering up within 10 minutes. It tuned out I was attempting to use the Bose sound system remote for the TV, so they brought up the correct remote (which was missing). I asked the engineer for the location of the ice machine, which was unfortunately three floors down. He graciously offered to retrieve ice for me. Five minutes later, guest services called to make sure the TV was working and informed me that room service was on their way with the ice.

Knock Knock. Here comes my ice. Holy heck. I’ve seen smaller buckets overturned on football coaches’ heads. I had noticed a note on the weight-sensitive minibar fridge (it’s one of those that charged you $20 if you looked at the microscopic vodka bottle for more than 30 seconds) that said they had regular mini-fridges upon request. So, when guest services called to ensure that the iceman cameth, I asked about the legend of the minifridge so I could safely stow my healthy snacks for the duration of my stay. Not only did they say “yes,” but there was no charge. Apparently they’re free on a first-come, first served basis. I was happy. My yogurt was thrilled. My carrots were ecstatic. I think I heard my grapes singing with glee. (Well, maybe that last part was a stretch. The last time I heard grapes sing was a Fruit of the Loom commercial, and I don’t think that situation ended well for anyone involved.)

Since I am on a campaign to shed the double chin off my ass, I trouped down to the hotel gym for a short workout to justify the dinner I was planning to consume later in the evening. I slid my room key into the door. The green light flashed and the lock clicked, but I couldn’t get the door to pull open. Hmmm. Let’s try that again. And again. And again. No dice.

At this point, I figured there was an idiot in the room. I admitted defeat and trouped up the steps to the front desk where a staffer practically skipped back down to assist me in my folly. He slid his master key in and pushed the door to let me in. Then he wished me a happy workout and went on his way, never even hinting at the “what a dumbass” kind of sarcasm that I so richly deserved.

Yep. This is a classy joint. AND that’s classy with a “C”, not with a “K”.

Such class comes with a pricetag, though. I was fortunate to stay on a special rate, so I didn’t have to pay the $369+taxes and fees the King room retailed for (at full price). In this case, though, if you’re a high-end traveler, or you’re looking to have a special getaway with historic grandeur in San Diego, I think you’ll be hard pressed to beat the US Grant. Keep an eye out for deals, though, especially for weeknight or off season travel. I found some surprising deals online.

One thing I know for sure. As long as I have breath in my body, my children will never so much as step foot in the lobby of this place. They’d break something within five minutes and college plans would be replaced with dishpan hands for life.