A man for Four Seasons
Bear Grylls is in the lap of luxury at the George V Hotel in Paris
As a boy I was always drawn to extremes. If I dreamed of mountains it was of Everest, if imagining myself as a soldier then I was part of the elite, and if it was girls then I was going to aim for the foxiest chick around. There have been plenty of failures along the way, but through it all I did manage, by a combination of balls and good luck, to climb Everest, join the SAS and marry the most wonderful girl I had ever met. By experience, I know that it is at the extremes that the fun stuff happens.
This last year has been no exception. As my Channel 4 series Born Survivor has grown in popularity, so too have the risks we take. It’s a fine balance between upping the ante and making sure we stay safe. (Not always easy when dealing with crocodiles, lethal snakes and vertical cliff-faces, rarely with any ropes.) But alongside the most resilient camera crew in television, I have wallowed, spluttered, shivered and sweated in some of the nastiest hell-holes on our planet, from the black swamps of Indonesia, the jungles of Belize and the deserts of Africa to the freezing wastelands of Siberia in winter.
One of the struggles I have (apart from the obvious ones associated with swamps and jungles) is that I have been away from home more than feels right, and I miss my wife Shara and our two boys like crazy. In short, at the end of filming this last series, I feel a little sick and tired of being sick and tired. Literally. (Those raw Siberian yak eyeballs, among other such delicacies, were truly rancid.) Shara and me knew instinctively it was time for a break. And if the jungles where I had been were extremely bad, then this forthcoming holiday was to be extremely good. Luxury was to be the order. (All Shara’s idea, you understand.) On our last mini-break as a family we checked into the five-star Hassler in Rome. Shara, to her horror, found ants in the bathroom. (I was less horrified, imagining it would lead nicely to an upgrade.) But on pointing out the ants to the manager I was politely told that he and his son had watched me eating ants on Italian TV only last night and that surely ants didn’t bother me. I dutifully apologised.
This time our destination was Paris. But not just any old Paris. As a family we were heading for two nights to the George V, Paris’s finest hotel — apparently by far. No ants would be expected here.
The Eurostar to Paris was a joy, not only in terms of ease, but also in terms of speed, which our young boys loved. I mean, how can you not love a train that races under the sea at 150mph? And by the time we had reached the hotel itself, all memories of mosquito bites and snakes were but a blur. This was all much more like it. The George V is indeed an experience in itself. Elegance and decor that make you feel guilty about just touching the light switch — it is all so beautiful.
Giant roses angled extravagantly in huge crystal vases, embroidered linen sheets, marble and gold bathrooms, even freshly blended strawberry, raspberry and guava juice cocktails! If ever a place makes you feel like royalty, this is it. As one fellow guest commented, ‘My wife and I come and stay twice a year simply because it is the best hotel in the world.’ By the time the ladies at the spa had decked out both my boys in mini bathrobes and slippers, I was 100 per cent sold as well. Nothing was too much trouble for any of the staff, from the manager down to the waiters. It’s all refreshingly unsnooty. They even have a manager on hand especially to help with young children — a rare treat in smart hotels. The concièrge organised a fun Paris itinerary and the delight on my boys’ faces as they peered over the balustrade of the Eiffel Tower was pure heaven.
In short, the George V delivered all we had hoped and it was such a privilege to have experienced it.
But then again I well know that it is at the extremes that great life moments happen, and a break to the George V in Paris with the family fits refreshingly in that category. Perfect. ❑
Previous page
