The Sandburg Suite is the size of the ground floor of my house. I just flicked on the gas fireplace and sank into a plush wingback, my toes freed of shoes, curled and stretched on the thick berber. We had a close call with the Four Points. Staying there would have been a crime.
“You can’t go wrong with taupe.” When Maureen the hostess welcomed us to The Frontenac Club Inn today, she said, “Men like it here too.” It’s a heritage inn with no puff curtains – Queen kitch banished just blocks from the Royal Military College. This Inn is all about simple elegance and abundant comfort. A former bank, which closed in 1903, the building was a nightclub in the 20s, and then a “chock-a-block” dozen apartments until 1997. A guy named Bear and his wife Susan left Toronto to fulfil a lifelong dream and “sank everything they had” into the place. They’ve created a peaceful oasis a stone’s throw from lake Ontario, a short stroll from anything that matters in Kingston.
Queen Victoria should have left the capital here, but moving it to Ottawa probably saved this town. I like Kingston already, and all I’ve done so far is scrub my face in an antique pedestal sink and toss back a few beers Chez Piggy.
Tomorrow it’s off to prison. Joyceville penitentiary in the morning, Colins Bay in the afternoon. I’ll try to refrain from commenting on the king bed and feather comforter I crawled out of en route to the klink. CORCAN’s slogan is “Quality from the inside out” but everyone knows it’s better on this side of these walls.
