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Looming over Union Square with stately grace, the towering Westin St. Francis is well known to fans of California noir writing: it was there at the St. Francis, in the innocent days before the Westin chain came along, that poor Miles Archer spent some of his last minutes on earth in Dashiell Hammett’s Maltese Falcon, and a speaker in Sinclair Lewis’s classic novel Babbitt hails the place as “absolutely A-1.” The adjective holds up today, for the St Francis fairly breathes noblesse oblige and the kind of unhurried, unflappable air that bespeaks a different, more opulent era. In all events, the lobby, with its marble columns and gilt ceiling, is proof that time travel is possible - all it takes is the requisite dough, to steal a Hammettian term, for the St. Francis is no bargain.

The rooms
The St Francis comprises two quite different hotels: one is the grande dame of Victorian days, a little frayed at the edges and a little noisy at inconveniently early hours when the garbage trucks are making their rounds; the other is the comparatively less charming (in the historical sense, at any rate), modern tower that climbs 32 stories into the San Francisco sky and takes in astounding views (at least at unfoggy moments). The older hotel, while less expensive, is a take-your-chances proposition; you may draw a lovely view of Union Square, or you may be up against a giant air conditioning unit that thrums and throbs all night long. The newer hotel is a safer bet, with first-class amenities and comfortable beds - but also much more expensive, usually.

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