I had heard about the “museum de wheels” long before I stayed here. In a dramatic act of conservation and showmanship, the Museum Art Hotel was famously hoisted onto railway tracks back in 1993 and rolled 120 metres along a city street, relocating in order to make room for Te Papa, Wellington’s exceptional national museum.
Online, the hotel is pitched as being “among the top 10 art hotels”, a confident claim to fame but one, as a Kiwi expat, I was keen for it to live up to.
It’s a typical Wellington day when I check in: a gale blows along the waterfront, white-caps tip the waves in the harbour, and my hairstyle has been less than artistically whipped into Dali-esque surrealism.
The hotel’s sombre black exterior with its street-side brass sculpture barely hints at the interior riches. The ground-floor lobby, however, beckons guests into an ambient world of russet and gold, the hotel’s signature colours that extend throughout its rooms, elevators and hallways. Dark wine walls, dark-wood furnishings and extravagant flocked wallpapers form the backdrop for the eclectic gallery of art works, 80-plus pieces carefully curated by the hotel’s owner, Chris Parkin. This extensive private collection of large – and small – scale contemporary works from predominantly New Zealand artists range in form and medium from painting and sculpture to an MV Agusta Tamburini motorcycle and a guitar autographed by the Rolling Stones.
I couldn’t help feeling disappointed by a hotel that, despite its eye for art, lacked a certain artistry
A peruse through the gallery catalogue – nicely done but annoyingly only available upon request at reception (why not scatter a few through the lobby and make them available in the rooms?) – provides artist details and blurbs about each piece. According to the catalogue, the common thread of the collection is “the nature of the human condition and each artist’s attempt to make sense of it”. The art certainly supercharged a thought-provoking journey and lived up to the billing. Trouble is, the lobby gallery is only half the hotel experience, and “making sense of it” proved far more difficult when it came to the accommodation itself. Pitched as a luxury experience, my suite fell short in several ways.
The single art work in the room was a wonderful piece by Peter Morin. I would have liked to sit in front of it for a while to appreciate its depths – except it was positioned above, not facing, two uncomfortable and cushionless armchairs reminiscent of my accountant’s waiting room. And a lamp had been placed, bizarrely and frustratingly, right in front of the art work, obscuring its bottom half. There was also nothing in the room to enlighten me of the artist or the name of the piece (I sought out the details later from the catalogue at reception).
In fact, the entire layout of the suite’s living area lacked thought, logic and comfort. It was as if a disgruntled staff member had played a prank and deliberately rearranged the furniture to guarantee the least relaxation and enjoyment of the space.
The placement of the uninspiring blonde-wood furniture was confusing: why position the large writing desk between the flat-screen TV and the chaise longue? Why place those rigid, waiting-room armchairs, instead of the chaise, in prime position for TV viewing? Why position the chaise, which simply begs to be reclined in, so it offers an unimpeded view of the car park opposite? I didn’t know where to put myself. One morning, having spurned the dining table and chaise, due to lack of atmosphere, I ended up weirdly eating my (perfectly poached) eggs Florentine at the desk.
The kitchen was sleek and well equipped, but both it and the living area were wearing at the edges and, I’m sorry to say, not entirely clean (greasy fingerprints on the cupboards; a coffee stain on the side of an armchair). I’ve stayed in budget accommodation that has paid more care to such things.
Another curiosity: upon check-in I was handed a complimentary packet of freshly ground coffee. “Excellent,” I thought: the website had boasted of the in-room espresso machine and I was craving a caffeine fix. But I soon discovered the coffee machine required coffee “pods”, available for in-room purchase; the complimentary coffee was for use in a plunger. Pointless really when you’re on the doorstep of some of New Zealand’s best cafés. Mysteriously, the machine’s steamer had also been deliberately “deactivated”. I felt like I was being told I couldn’t be trusted with the equipment.
On the plus side, the bathroom (generally my most anticipated part of a hotel experience) was large, well-scrubbed and tasteful. The deep Japanese-style tub was just perfect for lazing about in after a hard day of shopping and gourmet grazing, and the good-sized walk-in shower with monsoon shower head ideal for a sumptuous refresh in the morning.
In the bedroom, although the décor mostly tended towards plain, the gold and rust decorative wallpaper with bamboo motif was gorgeous. The bed – not the promised king but two deluxe singles pushed together – gave an uneven sleeping experience, one mattress being firmer than the other.
I couldn’t help feeling disappointed by a hotel that, despite its eye for art, lacked a certain artistry. Perhaps too much focus has gone into the lobby gallery and less into remembering that relaxing and sleeping are also important, and that it’s the details which make a luxury experience, well, luxurious.
Museum Art Hotel, 90 Cable Street, Wellington 6011 New Zealand,
04 802 8900; museumhotel.co.nz