resisted extinction and gradually (very gradually in a few cases) realized that being historic might not necessarily be such a bad thing after all. Not all the new breed of travelers, it turned out, were so enchanted with contemporary accommodations. Indeed, quite a few of them were looking for just the sort of atmosphere the old hotels offered in abundance, even if it happened to be in a now unfashionable or inconvenient part of the city. Sometimes it turned out that a beguiling sense of history could be provided in buildings that were not hotels at all originally but still had architectural distinction. Thus Singapore’s old post office became the elegant Fullerton, the former High Commissioner’s stately residence in Kuala Lumpur became an all-suites retreat called the Carcosa and more than a few fairy-tale Indian palaces underwent extensive renovations and opened their doors to paying guests. Another successful strategy, pursued by many, was to add an ultra-modern wing while preserving all or most of the older sections and thus satisfying several tastes.
This wave of restorations and conversions began in the early 1980s, gained momentum in the 1990s and today extends through much of Asia, from India to China. The result, as seen on the following pages, is a collection of unique establishments where the past is not only present, but celebrated—and where one can discover what it was like to travel when a hotel was more than merely a collection of rooms and a restaurant or two.
The Shiv Niwas Palace was formerly a royal guest house. Situated on a hill overlooking Udaipur, the Shiv Niwas offers spectaculat views of Lake Pichola.
The one constant aspect of Hong Kong, especially during the last few decades, has been the certainty of change. New skyscrapers have gone up, it seems, almost overnight, tunnels and bridges have replaced ferry boats, one by one even the most hallowed vestiges of British rule have given way to the never-ending need for more space and ever taller buildings. Among the few reminders of the old days that still stubbornly remain, overlooking the famous harbor from Kowloon, is the Peninsula Hotel.
"The Pen," as it has long been popularly known, was conceived in the early 1920s by the Kadoorie family, who originally came from Baghdad and established an extensive business empire. It eventually included the China Light and Power Company and family members were rewarded for their charitable work not only with knighthoods but also with the first Hong Kong peerage. At the time construction started, in 1922, the Trans-Siberian railway had just been completed, making it possible for an English traveler to book a train ticket all the way from London to the waterfront station at Kowloon. It was felt that the new six-story hotel should be a suitably grand establishment to greet these adventurous arrivals.
Progress was interrupted three years later when British troops were sent to Hong Kong for possible military action in China and, seeing that structural work on the Peninsula was almost complete, promptly requisitioned it as a temporary barracks. They stayed for 14 months and after they left it was necessary to replace not only the flooring but also all the bathtubs. Already a kind of survivor, the Peninsula finally opened its doors to paying guests on 11 December 1928.
Socially, it seemed at first to suffer from a disadvantage. The Governor lived on the island of Victoria, across the harbor, and so did most of the great merchants, whose mansions looked proudly down from the mountain there. Kowloon, by contrast, seemed remote and even a bit louche; according to Jan Morris in her book Hong Kong, old-fashioned ladies asked men, “Are you married or do you live in Kowloon?”
But the elegant Peninsula, with its ornate-columned and gilt-corniced lobby and luxurious guest rooms, helped change all that. Afternoon tea in the lobby became a ritual, the place where one ran into everybody who mattered. It also became the smartest place to give a dance or cocktail party, especially among the younger set, to drop in for lunch or a haircut and soon it was perhaps the best-known building in all of Hong Kong.
What few, if any, of these visitors suspected was that the manager of the barbershop was a spy, a naval commander no less, taking advantage of the informal atmosphere to gather military intelligence. This was revealed when the Japanese launched an attack on Hong Kong in December 1941; after a brief but spirited defense, the colony capitulated on Christmas Day, the surrender being signed at the Peninsula and the Governor being confined for two months in one of the hotel’s suites before he was sent to a prison near Shanghai.
During the war years, the Peninsula was renamed the Toa and was reserved for Japanese officers and high-ranking dignitaries, while Hong Kong itself sank into misery and destitution. Half the population had gone by 1945, either by choice or forced to leave by the Japanese at an estimated rate of 23,000 a month throughout the occupation. When peace finally came, the once-bustling colony was in a sad state and, some felt, unlikely to ever recover.
They were spectacularly wrong. Within an amazingly short period of time, Hong Kong had regained its vigor and was on its way to scaling new economic heights that were previously unheard of. Newcomers poured in, both from foreign countries and also from mainland China after the Communist takeover in 1997. It became a unique phenomenon, immensely wealthy, glittering and in a state of almost constant change.
Meanwhile, the Peninsula continued to stand guard over the harbor, adapting to the new world in some ways, resisting it in others. Air conditioning was installed in the great, colonnaded lobby, but it remained a meeting place for world travelers, with the same diminutive bellboys and the same impeccable service. When a new, somewhat ugly Cultural Centre was built across the street in the early ’90s, blocking the famous view, a 30-story tower was erected atop the old building, providing an additional 130 rooms (making a total of 300), a spa, two helipads and a Philippe Starck-designed restaurant offering a splendid, unrestricted panorama of Victoria and the port.
The hotel also has a fleet of Rolls-Royce limousines to ferry guests back and forth to Hong Kong’s new airport, a helicopter service for those who want speed as well as style and a dazzling array of high-tech equipment in every room and suite.
Throughout 2003, the Peninsula celebrated its 75th anniversary with a series of gala events that reaffirmed its status as both a Hong Kong legend and an establishment still capable of taking on any would-be competitors.
Hong Kong’s Peninsula Hotel today. A modern tower wing was added to the original structure in the 1980s, preserving its famous view across the spectacular harbor.
Art works like this bronze mythological tortoise and a collection of antique teapots add to the Chinese atmosphere of The Peninsula.
The Peninsula’s lobby with its ornate columns and high ceilings. Soon after the hotel’s opening in 1928, this became the most popular place in Hong Kong to meet for tea and cocktails.
A corner of the hotel’s Spring Moon restaurant. The restaurant has a counter that serves over 25 types of Chinese tea.
Archival photographs from the Peninsula’s past adorn this wall in the hotel’s business center. Not among them is the surrender of Hong Kong to the Japanese in 1941, which took place at the hotel.
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