M
y first inkling that Aspen, Colorado ‒
where I’m going to watch a bit of polo ‒
could be unlike any other destination I’ve
visited comes when I notice dogs around
me on the flight from Los Angeles. Four of them, in the
cabin, immaculately groomed and behaved, and
nonchalantly accepting the attention of their various
humans. And all heading for Aspen.
The chatty flight attendant gently ribs the ground crew.
“Those guys put a kid in the service row,” she says as she
swaps the boy sitting next to the emergency exit for an
adult. Just before the aircraft starts taxiing, the captain
emerges from the cockpit and, grinning at the congregation,
closes the door. It’s that kind of flight.
Once we’re aloft, breathtaking views of basin and range
country repeat dramatically until suddenly, the sky is full of
Aspen around the tilting wing: Aspen Mountain, Aspen
town, and bare aspen trees backlit golden in the late
afternoon against the snow and the brown land. It’s
an unforgettable introduction.
Unlike most winter visitors to the remote Sawatch
Range resort town, I’m not here for the skiing or the
snowboarding, the snowshoeing or even the fat-tyre biking.
I’ve come for the St. Regis Snow Polo World Championship,
which is being staged in Aspen for the sixth consecutive
year. And of course, I’ll be staying at the title sponsor’s local
property, The St. Regis Aspen Resort.
As I check into the red-brick, three-storey hotel,
there’s a champagne sabrage ceremony in the courtyard, a
St. Regis tradition in which bottles of bubbly are opened
ceremonially with a sword. The hotel bears an elegant,
well-shod air, a testament to the philosophy of John Jacob
Astor iv, who opened the first St. Regis in New York in- Its raiment is not new, but is impeccably tailored
and durable, an old-money understatement of confidence
and quality that cares little for the clean severity of
Starckian minimalism and even less for the garnering of
New Age credentials for mindful well-being. A house that
knows how to have a good time.
Champagne-refreshed, I’m taken to my room, where I
find a warm sweater and beanie considerately provided by
the hotel’s lobby shop, Alps & Meters. The room is cosy,
smallish, without desk or chair but with plenty of closet
space for heavy coats and ski pants. Rugs and wood flooring
lend a comfortable, old-world feel, one reinforced by the
restrained lighting, though I find myself having to go to the
bathroom to do anything that requires a bit of visibility.
The famous St. Regis soft bed and pillows are certainly in
evidence, but being one of those hair shirts who prefer hard
bedding, I’m unable to appreciate them. And there’s no
obvious usb port for device charging ‒ an absence that
resolves itself on my third day when I find a bank of the
things concealed in a place that somebody not into his
seventh decade might have found intuitively.
But none of this matters because what really marks out
this property from so many others is the sheer ease of being
a guest. To walk through the front doors into the lobby is to
walk into a favourite aunt’s home. The lounge that leads off
from the entrance is dominated by a huge hearth with a
roaring fire; around it sit clusters of guests dressed in “Aspen
casual” and reclining in armchairs and on sofas, while a
dozen dogs ‒ again ‒ of refined breed vie with excited
#prestigetravel | JULY 2019 PRESTIGE 191