Refined, Recharged, and Re-inspired: A Cabin Attendant’s Wake-Up Call

It happened in a whisper.

We returned to our room after one of the longest days I’ve had in a while and something in me stilled. I hadn’t really had the time to enjoy the property the way I wanted to that day, all I had to go off of was the initial wow! moment — the kind that fades quickly, yet lingers in your mind long after.

The lights were dim, a glass bottle of water sat by the bed, my phone and watch charger were neatly coiled and tucked beside me — and beside my eyeglasses was a small bottle of lens cleaner. A politely staged breakfast menu and set of slippers on each side of the bed completed the seemingly small yet impressionable moment.

This was it.

The moment I felt what I always try to create onboard. A complete sense of calm, of being seen, without being watched. It was quiet luxury in its purest form — and I’ll never forget it. I wanted for nothing, other than to slip into the comforts of one of the best beds I’ve ever curled up in.

As a cabin attendant, I’ve had the privilege of staying in high-end hotels, this wasn’t entirely my first rodeo. But for the first time I felt like I was on the receiving end of the luxury I aim to convey for guests. When I travel for work, that’s always at the forefront of my mind. My brain spins around catering orders, itinerary changes, and never really unpacking out of fear of not being ready at a moment’s notice. 

We took a personal trip to the Gulf coast of Florida for a few days and decided to use some of my million+ points at the St. Regis Longboat Key Resort. This resort is a quick hop from SRQ and tucked quietly into Longboat Key, having just opened in the fall of 2024.

From the first moment I stepped into the lobby, I felt something different.

Not rushed, not overly curated — but confident. Intentional. As though the space trusted its own elegance to speak for itself. In fact - we almost missed the turn into the property due to the subtle entrance signage, or lack thereof. It seamlessly blends in with the extravagant scene of Longboat Key real estate. Not extravagant Florida such as Palm Beach or Miami, but rather Rosemary Beach-esque.

The valet service greeted us without haste and there wasn’t a wrinkle to be found on their uniform, which is impressive considering their speed and job in the Florida heat. I look at linen for a half of a second too long and it’s a mess. We flowed through to the check-in process and into the main lobby, as if we were gliding through a bespoke assembly line carrying us to our next destination. A breeze of fresh linen and garden air brushed past our faces, an elegant piano-version of a pop song that was on the tip of my tongue serenaded us. 

Flight crews have their routine of walking up to the check-in desk, standing with their ID and whatever hotel loyalty credit card or company AmEx as if in a scene of Groundhog Day. 

That was not this.

We were transferred to one of three lovely desks with blush colored, velvet seats where the champagne cart promptly behind us in tow. As I did everything in my power to politely sip the champagne, rather than drink it in one fell swoop, the butler informed us we had been upgraded to one of their suites and provided us with endless information about the resort. 

Staff were present and polished, yet never overbearing. And they didn’t need to be — they were already six steps ahead of us.

We stood to head to our room, but I found myself completely entranced by the main lobby bar. It was old Hollywood meets neutral coastal — bold enough to catch your eye, refined enough to keep it. The bar stretched floor-to-ceiling in an elongated oval, framed in brushed gold. The same blush velvet chairs from check-in had been reimagined into bar stools, offering the same indulgent comfort.

It wasn’t just the curated collection of high-end spirits that drew you in, but the way the blush and gold tones carried upward into an abstract floral installation above — a visual continuation that made the space feel like a gallery, not just a bar. I was already counting down the minutes to their nightly sabrage celebration.

I started to feel it. I wanted to be the guest that just flew in on their private plane, swept away by their black car service to the hotel and continued on their vacation and travels. It was me trying to embody the guests we serve and bring to life the expectations that they don’t even recognize that they have. I wanted them to feel a certain way, this way, that I was feeling. 

We stepped into the elevator and onto scalloped, pearl-like tiles. I ran my fingers along the white oak trim and stared into the frosted glass surrounding us on three sides. I knew I should press the button to take us to the suite, but instead, I stood there, already mentally bookmarking ways to recreate this design at home. There was no crystal, no flashy gold-plated accents — just the kind of timeless, coastal beauty that speaks softly but lingers long after.

As a flight attendant, hotel key cards end up in every corner of my life — wedged in wallets, lost in suitcase linings, falling out of pockets in the laundry. Most are forgettable. But every so often, I keep one — not because of the plastic itself, but for the design or the memory. Like the Four Seasons Montreal. Or the Viceroy in Aspen. This stay earned its place in that tiny collection: a coral pink key with a tropical motif that unlocked one of the most stunning rooms I’ve ever stepped foot in — the Marble Ringling Suite.

Of course there was cool marble underfoot — it was the suite’s namesake, after all — but that wasn’t what caught my heart. I can’t even remember where I dropped my bag (which, naturally, we carried up ourselves — old habits). My feet led me straight through the space and out onto the patio.

The view was a crescendo. Directly below, a turquoise pool bordered by dark wood cabanas, loungers, and umbrellas that looked like they belonged in a West Elm catalog — except, of course, these were custom. Beyond that: the winding lazy river, which I planned to overstay my welcome in. And further still, the ocean, blue on blue, the sky melting into sand.

I kept walking. The patio alone was larger than most hotel rooms I stay in. And then, beyond the railing — a lagoon. Not just a decorative pond, but an actual lagoon, where snorkelers glided past tropical fish and stingrays. It was the kind of view you don’t speak over.

Back inside, I wandered toward the wet bar — although that term doesn’t do it justice. Yes, there were miniature bottles of luxury spirits (jet-friendly sizes, naturally), but it was the tray beneath them that stopped me. A warm, deep beige that matched our aircraft’s interior almost perfectly, framed by a brushed gold edge and softened with gently rounded corners. I became obsessed. All week, I pictured that tray in our cabin — a custom boarding card resting on it, paired with a seasonal floral and welcome bite. Elegant. Subtle. Magical.

There’s something about a fluffy king bed topped with crisp white cotton sheets and a pillow-top duvet that excites and soothes me at the same time. The thought of waking up, peeking out from beneath the covers, and staring straight into the ocean? Heaven. I couldn’t wait to fall asleep — just so I could wake up, brew a Nespresso, and get lost in that endless view. That kind of comfort — indescribable. But I was already thinking about how to replicate it onboard.

Even the bathroom followed suit. No clutter of sample-sized toiletries — just full-sized, organic, chemical-free products with a soft, barely-there scent. I’m not proud to admit I’ve stolen a Grown Alchemist shampoo or two in my day (can you blame me?). But here? I couldn’t do it. It felt wrong to take from a place that gave so much.

Even the robe waited patiently on its hook, accompanied by a sachet of lavender.

This made me reconsider everything — from the products I stock in the lavatory to the way I prepare beds for guests drifting off to sleep across oceans. I immediately opened a note on my phone to capture brands, scents, and thoughtful details I wanted to bring onboard. Not because I wasn’t already doing a great job — but because this experience elevated and refined my craft. I was in student-mode and St. Regis was my instructor. 

Though meetings pulled us away during the day, we eagerly anticipated our return — and it was well worth the wait.

We returned completely exhausted, and I suddenly panicked — had I left the drapes open? (It’s turtle season, after all. Ocean-facing drapes must be closed after dark.) Thankfully, our butler had turned down the room and staged the coziest welcome I could have imagined.

This was the moment. 

Thankfully, our butler had turned down the room and staged the coziest welcome I could have imagined. Fluffy white slippers were placed at each side of the bed, perfectly sized for our tired feet. Next to the bed sat a square of dark chocolate wrapped in the resort’s chic, tropical pattern — accompanied by still water and a fresh crystal glass. 

My chaotic phone and watch chargers were neatly untangled and tucked away beside my glasses case, which had new accessories of a hotel branded cloth and lens spray. Slightly opened was a breakfast menu that donned one of the best breakfast menus I have seen, with the option to have it delivered at our optimal morning time, should we choose.

But my favorite part? The lavender bath salt sachet next to the bathtub. Not only was it perfect for a soak, but was encouraged to be used as a loofah in the shower. The lavender salts and oils soothed my skin and lulled me gently to sleep.

This was the definition of service and hospitality, the quiet luxury, that I had been at a loss of words to describe. My creativity had been lacking in every way, but I felt so strongly about this that not only was I reinvigorated and inspired, but my definition and vision became that much more clear. In that moment I felt as though needs I didn’t even know I needed met, were exceeded, and done so with a complete lack of intrusion. 

And that’s the goal onboard, always. That’s the service I strive to consistently meet.

I slept on a cloud that night and was eager to wake up. I slipped into my robe and slippers and made a fresh Nespresso. I opened the shades and let the salty breeze drift in — coffee in hand, of course. And I did just that. The logoed MyDrap cocktail napkins made me smile with a sense of familiarity. I can’t wait to tell the owners the St. Regis copied us,” I joked to myself — knowing full well how satirical it was. But they’d appreciate the sentiment.

We strolled in the breeze to the Italian restaurant turned breakfast haven for a seat outside on the patio because, of course? A thought that always comes to mind at a hotel breakfast, or breakfast restaurant in general is, “Are they sure they can’t just leave the pot of coffee at the table?” It’s one of our favorite things when they do and a sign that it’s going to be a great breakfast when that happens (or at least be a bright spot that morning if it turns out to be a less than stellar experience).

The decor was stunning, naturally, to the point where I caught myself vocally complimenting the thresholds on the tile. THAT is the level of detail that they considered, and I proudly took note of. It gave coastal Italy — think mid-century spring on the Amalfi Coast before6 the tourists arrive, or a quiet morning in Sardinia.

On the patio, the weather was divine, the coffee exceptional with a fresh pot placed in front of both of us. My lobster benedict, which is a favorite of mine when available, was exquisite - just buttery enough. The real start of the show was their breakfast buffet that captured everything good in the breakfast realm, soft, flaky, bite-sized pastries, a omelet bar that was significantly more ventilated than any others I had been around, and - and I don’t say this lightly - the best scrambled eggs I have ever had.

And then I got to thinking (again) about the many ways I could replicate this onboard and then I realized, breakfast is my SPECIALTY! Maybe I appreciated it so much because I recognized the craft behind it. The only difference? The creme friche in the eggs. That, I will most certainly be bringing back with me.

It was such a simple moment — one that, on any other day, might have felt insignificant. At home, I can make fresh coffee, prepare a thoughtful breakfast, and enjoy it on the patio during warm mornings. But being served in that environment, with that level of care, made it something special.

It reminded me exactly why service matters. Why the little details onboard aren’t so little.

And I get it now — more than ever.

Generally speaking, I have a hard time slowing down. Idle days—ones without a mission or goal—are a challenge for me. Idle minds, you know? It’s not the best mindset to carry, and I’m working on it, but I know it’s a personal weakness.

Still, by 8 a.m., the day was mine, and I was determined to enjoy every minute of it.

I quickly changed and queued up one of my favorite Peloton runs—Red Hot Chili Peppers with Adrian—then headed down to the beach.

One of the first things I noticed about the beach was its stillness—not just the pristine sand or tidy surroundings, but the calm of the entire area. During my whole stay, I could count on one hand how many boats I saw. The guest list was intentionally limited. It was truly serene.

After my run, I was greeted by an employee with a towel and a cold bottle of water. Talk about anticipating needs! Their pools had employees stationed throughout, ready with anything you could possibly want. A friendly woman offered to prepare a lounger right in front of the entrance to the lazy river, and I happily accepted. When I returned after freshening up for my pool day, there were two towels and a retro cooler filled with bottled water and ice packs waiting for me.

What I loved about those towels was their design—they fit neatly over the top of the chair to avoid slipping down the back. Genius.

Another favorite touch? Self-serve sunscreen pumps in various SPF levels—and aloe, of course. While this isn’t entirely uncommon at upscale resorts, the quality, variety, and accessibility of these products was nearly unmatched.

Once I got comfortable—because honestly, how could you not?—I noticed a small wooden box next to my cooler. Every lounger had one. Inside were two buttons with QR codes: one to reach your poolside server, the other to connect with the hotel concierge.

You might be wondering, "But do they actually work?" Exceptionally well. I spent longer than I care to admit in that lounger, and Jack, the server, couldn’t have been more of a pleasure.

During my many laps around the lazy river, I kept my earbuds out and my senses open. I wasn’t listening to music, just reading bits and pieces of my latest Kindle book and observing everything around me. I was trying to be as present as possible—not just to appreciate where I was, but to see if I could learn anything from the service.

One thing I observed that I’d love to implement in my own way was how immersive the experience was. At one point, a server glided through the lazy river carrying a tray of fresh mini juices, offering them to guests. Some time later, he returned with trays of passionfruit and matcha mochi ice cream—if you’re unfamiliar, they’re decadent little Japanese ice cream bites.

They were subtle, refreshing, and totally unexpected—in the best way. It reminded me of welcome bites we offer onboard, or an amuse-bouche before a meal. A small snack in the middle of a long flight. It's the orchestration of small, thoughtful gestures, perfectly timed, that rounds out a guest's experience.

A few more laps led to a dip in the hot tub grotto. My partner looked over and asked, "What’s in that box over there on the wall? The one with the Dom Pérignon logo."

How had I missed that? It was so discreet I almost didn’t notice it myself. I hopped out to investigate. And what I found? Well—you’ll have to visit yourself to find out.

Since this was my first time at a St. Regis property, it was also my first time experiencing their Sabrage ceremony. If you’ve stayed at a St. Regis and haven’t attended, I highly recommend it. At 6 PM local time, at every location worldwide, guests are invited to gather in the main salon or lobby for this signature evening ritual.

According to the St. Regis website: “Dating back to the battles of Napoleon Bonaparte, who famously opened champagne with his saber in both victory and defeat, the art of sabrage is the signature ceremony of the St. Regis Evening Rituals series.” And that’s exactly what they do—open a bottle of champagne with a saber and offer guests a glass to kick off the evening.

Everyone was dressed for dinner and cocktails, sun-kissed from the day, and there was a visible shift in the atmosphere—something truly elegant and timeless.

I was ravenous by then, so dinner was next. Since we missed dining at the hotel the night before, we chose Riva, their breakfast spot turned Italian restaurant by night. To be honest, the online reviews were just so-so, but we decided to give it a try anyway—and I’m glad we did.

The first thing that caught my eye was the robin’s egg blue Vespa parked near the entrance, outfitted with two taps—one for Peroni, the other for Spritz cocktails, typically used during events. Where do I sign up? And how offended would someone be if I helped myself?

We walked to dinner, my champagne still in hand like someone who thought they were very important. (Who’s to say I’m not?) After being promptly seated, I was served one of the best plates of bread I’ve ever devoured. The menu was well-curated—broad enough to satisfy, but not trying to do too much.

My fennel sausage rigatoni was out of this world, but the real star was the artichoke appetizer: light, crispy, citrusy, and melt-in-your-mouth. On paper, it shouldn’t have worked—at least not to someone who isn’t a chef—but the red pepper and fig sauce that anchored the dish? I still think about it.

My partner ordered the cannelloni, which was fantastic on its own, but what stood out most were the finely ground breadcrumbs tossed in pesto. It was all in the details.

When I reflect on the “wow” moments from that meal—and others we had during our stay—it wasn’t about extravagance. It was about flavor and detail. As someone always aiming to elevate my culinary skills, especially in the unique setting of inflight service, I constantly look for simple ways to make ordinary things feel extraordinary.

And yes, we inhaled three scoops of gelato afterward, because there was no way I was skipping pistachio.

After a sensational sunset and 38 mosquito bites later, we returned to our room to find that the butler had picked up our swimsuits and left extra chocolates—just as promised.

Our final breakfast was served by Steven, who noticed us gazing out at the ocean and said, with a smile, “Not much to look out at there, huh?” But what he meant was, “Can you believe we get to be here?” This man needs to lead a course on service, and I’d be the first to enroll.

He made himself feel familiar without being intrusive—a delicate balance. And it wasn’t just with us. He treated every guest on that patio the same way: the retired couple who visits often, the new parents behind us, and us—a young (just agree with me here) couple grateful just to be there.

The only personal question he asked was where we were from, and from there, the conversation flowed effortlessly.

He’s also the one who gave me the phrase I now use to describe this place to others: “You could return in 10, 15, or 20 years, and it will still look and feel the same. It’s timeless luxury.”

That’s exactly the feeling I want to bring to the cabin—whether it's with the family I regularly work for or new guests onboard. I want them to feel cared for, familiar with me in the best way, yet still appreciate the professionalism and intention behind it all.

And while I know I can be a little overly critical as someone in the service industry—always observing, often analyzing—I’m also deeply appreciative. I go out of my way to make sure those providing service know they’re seen and valued. My hope is that this energy is felt, and maybe even inspires their best.

My only critique of the entire experience? That I don’t live closer, I’m not a millionaire, and that I didn’t buy one of their hats.

This trip reminded me that true luxury lies in the details—the thoughtful moments that feel effortless, but are anything but. It’s not about extravagance, but intention. That’s the energy I aim to bring into the cabin every day. Whether I’m offering a favorite snack mid-flight, remembering how a guest takes their coffee, or just being present and kind—it’s these touches that transform service into something unforgettable.

I didn’t leave with one of their hats, but I left with something better: fresh inspiration for how I want people to feel when they fly with me—known, appreciated, and completely cared for.