The Davenport Hotel: Sexy, Classy, Delicious, and Haunted. Spokane, Washington.

I don’t know about you, but I would always prefer to stay somewhere classy while traveling rather than somewhere trashy. While my love affair with trashy beats on (dive bars, scandalous stores, graffiti, all things rock ‘n’ roll…) I do like to come ‘home’ to carpets that don’t smell of cigarettes and beds that don’t make me want to sleep in the bath tub. (Damn straight I have slept in bath tubs. For the record.)

When visiting Spokane, Washington, which you should do, and I’ll aggressively argue that many times in the near future–just to get on your nerves, you should stay at The Davenport. Because I did. And you should always do whatever I do.

The Davenport is elegant. It’s Audrey Hepburn. It’s pearls, gold finishings, martinis, and young, hot doormen (I only made conversation with them for my readers...). With all of this class, I was surprised no one bounced me any second glances when I walked through the lobby in my drenched bathing suit and flip-flops after a morning of kayaking. But, alas, truly classy people don’t bother with second glances now do they?

The Davenport is lush. Like the suite I called home for five days straight. The king bed was mounted gorgeously against the wall, centered with an enormous wooden headboard with intricate carvings. The couches in my living room faced the mini-kitchen and television. I had a desk. A ridiculously large vanity (Two sinks! Two well-lit mirrors! He and she!!! Except…it was only me…), bath robes, a siiiick bathroom with a huge tub annnnnnd shower. I woke up early every morning to lay in the steaming hot tub reading ‘White Oleander’ after my rise-and-shine workout. It sucked. Big time.

The hotel is glamorous and, in case you’re wondering, also haunted. I consider that an appeal, for the record. Many visitors have reported hearing and seeing two ghosts in the hotel…ghosts of people who did, officially, newspaper reports and all, die in The Davenport.

The hotel boasts some ridiculously decadent restaurants. I had breakfast at Palm one morning. Check this out: they framed my crab, avocado, and Brie omelet with the hard edges of the Brie. And our charming waitress was intuitive enough to know that I hadn’t had enough coffee when it was time for us to go and she generously brought me out a to-go cup. (Are New Yorkers’ caffeine addictions so easy to spot?)

All in all, The Davenport is amazzzzing. David Duchovny stayed there one of the same nights I was there. (David, if you’re reading this, I was looking for you. I had on a very tight black dress and heels. I heard about your addiction…I was going to…talk…to you about it…you know, if I saw you there at The Davenport. Maybe next time?) Oh yeah. And they leave you peanut brittle with their turn down service each night. I am consequently fasting right now.

By: Elizabeth Seward

(Photos: The Davenport Hotel and Tower/Peter Hassel)

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