Mr & Mrs Smith

This review of The Spire in Queenstown is taken from our guidebook Mr & Mrs Smith Hotel Collection Australia/New Zealand.

Time spent on the best powder runs can be compared to our slalom towards Queenstown and the Spire. Anticipation gives way to calm. Power demurs to grace. And, in our case, after soaking up a few moguls, we settle into a tranquil rhythm. Why the bumpy start? At Queenstown airport, Mrs Smith gets her bags and I get my ski boots. And that’s all. Just as I am wondering what exactly I’ll be wearing to the Cocktail bar at the hotel I’d heard so much about, in steps our host, who has driven from the Spire to greet us. The quietly spoken man calmly gathers our belongings, brushes off the setbacks and sets about lifting our spirits, in a prosaic, Scandinavian kind of way.

Our host’s poise as he drives us to our contemporary hideaway helps us pause and delight in Queenstown’s pale grey lake hooded by snowcapped peaks; we learn that in a town with about 11,000 residents and more than a million visitors a year, there’s not one traffic light.

That’s how smoothly time flows here. The Spire is located in the very heart of New Zealand’s all-season adventure capital and it is the town’s chicest retreat, discreetly hidden in a narrow lane, behind a stacked-stone façade. Delivered to the door, what bags we have are whisked away, and we step into the Spire’s cosy foyer to be met by the hotel’s general manager, who exudes courtesy and warmth and – that universal sign of all useful people – proffers hard news. She knows where my bag is (before the airline does, I suspect), has made arrangements for it to be on the earliest flight the next day, and has also planned how to keep up morale until it arrives.

Mindful of our needs, she ushers us upstairs, and we are drawn from the ground floor’s Copenhagen cool to Kyoto-style red-and-black enamels on the three upper levels. Our Double King Suite’s decor returns us to calming creams and autumnal tones in stone, timber and fabrics, our room warmed by a minimalist gas fireplace, a rich, brown fur throw on the designer couch and the softest strains of Verdi and Vivaldi. Framed through the floor-to-ceiling balcony window is the apse and steeple of the town’s 19th-century stone church. Even a bottle of champagne is on ice and a side plate of chocolates awaits. We are then assured that our peace and privacy will be uninterrupted. (Even mundane but essential matters of keeping rooms refreshed are handled with the utmost discretion; we discover the next morning that the staff uses a combination of monitoring and two-way radios to sneak in diplomatically when guests are out.)

Soon enough, although bag-less, I am showered and luxuriating in a Spire-provided robe. Mrs Smith is purring in the Eames recliner, soothed by the fragrant, local Evolu products. My towelling get-up though, however comfortable, is not best suited to Queenstown’s after-dark scene – even when teamed with ski boots – so the kind people downstairs organise for a fine, earthy Central Otago pinot noir and a pair of juicy burgers to be delivered to our room. (Fergburger, a local brand, is incomparable in its genre and witty in its titles: do not leave town without trying its tasty takeaways.)

Food is something at which the Spire excels, as the sensational breakfast the next morning reveals. My rösti and ham arrives like a precious meteorite hurtled to earth: all crusty dark on the outside and buttery, magma-soft potato in the centre. Mrs Smith enjoys a special herbal tea served with graceful ceremony, and we are both uplifted by the pop-modern colour of the Rosenthal china.

In fact, the whole place is very easy on the eye: iconic furniture by Eames and Starck, as well as one-off artworks by contemporary New Zealand talents, make the Spire stand out from other hotels by miles. There’s even a well-appointed boardroom for business meetings – or some Texas hold ’em or cable sports if you’d prefer.

In-house know-how at the Spire is the most thrilling influence on our stay. Before we arrived, there were tips about on-piste and heli-skiing options. Then, during our trip, more advice is given about the area’s wine, food, history, geography and art.

This care and genuine interest in our happiness sees us escorted to the not-to-be-missed restaurant showcase for Amisfield wines in nearby Arrowtown, where we are exhorted to try an idiosyncratic hot chocolate with chilli. Later we are encouraged to sample dark ale and tapas with the locals at Eichardt’s Bar on Queenstown’s waterfront. And then there are Mrs Smith’s squeals that evening at the pillow gifts (a travel kit of Evolu delights). All this they take care of. So, did the Spire arrange the perfect timing of the powder dump at nearby Coronet Peak? Or organise for the panoramic beauty as I crest the ridge below Green Gates in a spray of crystals? I don’t know for sure, but given their knack for hospitality, I wouldn’t rule it out: that is the dedication to detail at this most heavenly of hotels.