Raffles hotel - the tale of the overdone egg and the uncooked burger

Now you're probably thinking that as this is a travel piece it'll be a rapturous review of what is probably one of the most famous names in luxury hotels in the world - Raffles in Singapore.

Well it's not.

"Been there, done that" so to speak, and if you're interested in taking time out to join me in a quick visit I made last year to Number One Beach Road, then you're more than welcome.

Instead this is purely anecdotal in illustrating how some tourists (mis)behave when abroad, with the focus being on those from my adopted home - France - and the country from which I hail, Britain.

And "the action", as such, took place as I made a return visit to Raffles just last week and featured two exchanges between guests and staff that left me with eyes agog, ears a-flapping and a fair measure of embarrassment.

The setting: it's mid morning around the rooftop pool and I'm recovering from a 13-hour trip, slouched over a cool drink in 32 degrees Celsius.

First up the French, who after all have a reputation for being among the most unwelcome when on holiday abroad as a survey of hoteliers carried out on behalf of the Internet travel agency Expedia.fr illustrated last year.

"I want some eggs," said a woman in heavily accented and gutteral English to the barman.

"Certainly madam. How would you like them?" came the smiling response. "Poached, eggs benedict, as an omelette or scrambled perhaps?"

"No none of those," replied the woman. "Just simple...How you say?"

"Boiled?" came the helpful suggestion.

"Yes boiled - three my-newts (French pronunciation remember). One for me and one for my friend."

"Very good madam. And would you like anything else with your eggs?"

"Just toast and some tea," she replied. "Earl Grey for both of us."

"Certainly madam. Just to recap then that's two boiled eggs, toast and Earl Grey tea?"

"Yes. That takes how long?"

"About 10 minutes," came the reply.

"No longer than that," snapped the woman in response. "We're hungry".

Um. Do you notice anything missing?

You know, the simple words "please" and "thank you" that most of us are taught from an early age help jolly along a simple request and aren't exactly difficult to remember.

It was a point I made to my "Nearest and Dearest" (N 'n' D, who happens to be French) as I smugly maintained that what we had just overheard was evidence enough that the French abroad have appalling manners and that their reputation as "arrogant and rude" holidaymakers was more than deserved.

As if to add weight to my argument, when the eggs arrived and had been downed there came the complaint that they had "Obviously been boiled for more than three my-newts as they were almost hard."

There was clearly no pleasing the woman.

But I was to eat humble pie somewhat a few moments later when a fellow Brit proved that he could be even more obnoxious when it suited.

It happened when he requested that local speciality, burger and fries "With no trimmings such as onions, tomatoes, cheese or any other similar muck, just some meat and a roll please."

"Well at least the man had had the good grace, if not the taste, to round off the whole 'order' with a 'please'," I mouthed across the table to my N 'n' D.

But my sense of smugness quickly disappeared when the burger arrived, as it was far from being to the man's satisfaction because "It's raw," he insisted. "Inedible (he actually said uneatable but I'll let that one slide) and I wanted it medium to well done."

The manager was called for. The man repeated his complaint that his burger hadn't been cooked as he had requested, and he went to great (and noisy) lengths to demonstrate that - as far as he was concerned - it was not just under but completely uncooked.

"Look at that," he said to the manager.

"Does that look as though it has been medium to well done?" he continued.

"No it doesn't," he said emphatically, not pausing for breath and pointing at the barman.

"He clearly doesn't understand what 'medium to well done' means. This burger isn't cooked properly and I can't eat it."

Apologies were made by the manager on the barman's behalf and the irate Brit was told that the kitchen would be asked to cook another burger "exactly as requested."

Sadly when burger number two arrived, it didn't meet the demands of the guest either, and as his grievance levels rose a couple of decibels so his manners deteriorated accordingly before he swore at the staff, accused them of not being able to understand a simple request and stormed off in a huff - burgerless.

Within the space of half an hour the hotel staff had been subjected to some pretty appalling behaviour by my fellow Europeans.

Was it, I wondered, simply that some people didn't know how to behave and as it costs a pretty penny or two to stay at Raffles, did that mean some guests thought they could afford to be downright rude?

And did the hotel's principle of pampering visitors and responding to their every whim and caprice encourage guests to give free rein to the very worst sort of behaviour.

I didn't, and still don't, have the answer, but one thing is clear. That old adage "travel broadens the mind" certainly doesn't apply to everyone.

The Raffles hotel, Singapore - a fellah can dream can't he?

Let me whisk you away for a few minutes to another world and a place that might even be regarded by some as harking back to a bygone era.

Sit back, close your eyes....er maybe not otherwise you won't be able to read what follows....and join me as I recount a recent stopover in Singapore and a stay at Number 1 Beach Road.

That's the address of the Raffles hotel, a place steeped in history (potted version to follow - more detail can be found here) and one of those magical names that conjures up all sorts of romantic images of a gentler, more genteel time perhaps.

Now let me admit straight up that I'm not in the habit of frequenting the watering holes and resting places of the rich and famous - far from it. Because that's what in a very real sense the Raffles hotel is.

It combines luxury with tradition, perhaps a little out of place in these times of financial woes and is definitely the stomping ground of those with probably more sense than money, world leaders and dignitaries, A-list celebrities and the like.

So what, you might wonder, was I doing there? Well it was a combination of factors really.

It's one of those hotels (along with the Old Cataract in Aswan) I've always wanted to visit, and I got the chance last week, partially as a late Christmas present from my nearest and dearest (lucky me) but also as a reward for overcoming my fear of flying and agreeing to force myself on into an oversized lump of metal to fly half way around the world in search of some winter sunshine.

Just one night mind you, and these are some of my impressions as I poked my nose through the door to see how the so-called "other half" lives.

The Raffles is of course rich with history and tradition.

Even though it's rather a throwback to British colonialism (writ large), certainly in terms of architecture and custom, it was in fact founded over 120 years ago by four Armenian brothers, Martin, Tigran, Aviet, and Arshak Sarkies.

It is without doubt a Singapore landmark and has been declared a national monument by the government. Its heyday was probably the first couple of decades of the last century, and it has in its time seen the great and glorious pass through its doors.

If its pristine white walls could talk they would probably have more than a few tales to tell.

The hotel bears the name of the founder of Singapore, Sir Thomas Stamford Bingley Raffles and it survived World War II and the Japanese occupation.

It closed for business two decades ago to undergo a serious multi-million dollar makeover, reopening in 1991. It has also changed hands several times and is now owned by a private international investment company based in Los Angeles.

So much for the past (a reminder once again that you can find out more should you wish to at the hotel's official website here) how about the present?

What exactly do those with deep pockets get for their money.

Well it doesn't come cheap, that's for sure.

Perhaps I shouldn't have (after all I wasn't coughing up the spondoolicks for an overnight stay) but I checked out the rates and GULP they start at something like 690 Singapore dollars (around $US 444 or €335 Euros) for the hotels simplest suites - the hotel doesn't have any "rooms" - rising to goodness knows what at the highest end of the range.

I guess it's a question of "If you have to ask, then you can't afford."

For that you get a warm and personalised welcome when you enter the voluminous lobby and you're escorted to your room - er sorry suite - by a member of staff.

Once there, all the buttons, knobs and doodahs of exquisitely furnished "quarters" are explained, your own personal butler drops by and then you're left to wallow in the splendour.

Now a note on the butler. Of course it's all very charming to have someone around who will cater to your every whim and fancy, but it's also a little disconcerting as such a service is usually carried out by the hotel concierge and unless you're tremendously exigent, you'll be hard-pushed to really find a use for him.

The most I managed was to have him book a table at one of the hotel's eight or so restaurants (I rather lost count).

The principle at Raffles seems to be that anyone staying at the hotel is not treated as a guest but as a resident, and such service, attention to detail and all round pampering can at times be more than a little overwhelming.

Spending just one night there of course didn't really give me the chance to experience all it has to offer, the billiard room, the spa, the pool, the splendid gardens or the shopping, but of course no visit to the Raffles - be it as a "resident" or just dropping in for a quick look around - would be complete without trying out the legendary Long Bar and knocking back a Singapore Sling, invented and first served there around a century ago.

Here's the recipe for anyone who's interested.

I had been warned in advance what to expect - a mixture of businessmen, tourists, ex-pats - sat at the bar or at tables overhung with huge wicker fans, music in the background and monkey nut shells all over the floor.

You see tradition has it that as you munch your way through the nuts distributed freely around the place, you deposit the shells - where else but on the floor.

"It's all very British," I had been told by a good friend - a foreigner who clearly must believe it's typical behaviour of my fellow countrymen. But to be quite honest everyone joins in and does as tradition dictates.

So there you go - the briefest of looks at the Raffles hotel.

Time to for me to return to reality and struggle home through the rain and the rush hour traffic.

It was certainly one of my personal "must dos before the Grim Reaper beckons" crossed of my wish list, but would I really have forked out the money to stay at the Raffles from my own wallet?

Perhaps but probably not.

There again, I'm always open to offers to make a return trip there (or anywhere else for that matter) if anyone is willing to sponsor me to indulge myself on wanton pleasure at their expense.

I'll even promise to write about it afterwards.

Well a fellah can dream can't he?