Which side to ask for
North for the river and the willows. West for Hagley Park and, on about forty mornings a year, the Alps behind it. East, into the courtyard, for quiet — and it really is quiet, because nothing faces it but us.
The rooms start on three, because floors one and two are not bedrooms.
Level one holds the Cape Room and level two the Snowline Spa, which means the first bedroom floor is three and the top one is nine. Nothing is above the ninth except the plant room, so the Torlesse Apartments have no footsteps overhead — a small thing that turns out to matter more than the view does.
All one hundred and fourteen rooms have double glazing, blackout blinds behind the curtains, and a window that actually opens on a restrictor, which in a base-isolated building was more difficult than it sounds. Every room has a wool throw woven in Ashburton, an hour and a half south, and every bathroom has underfloor heating, because Christchurch in July gets down to about minus two and tiled floors are unforgiving.
What you will not find: a minibar with a sensor that charges you for touching it, a resort fee, a charge for the wi-fi, or a card on the bed asking you to reuse your towels while we save fifteen dollars. Towels are changed when you leave them on the floor and left alone when you do not.
Four rooms — two Terrace and two Avon — are fully accessible, with roll-in showers, lowered fittings and visual alarms. They are on floors three and four, nearest the lift. Tell us when you book and we will hold one; tell us late and we will do our best, which in a full house is sometimes not enough.