| General Fiction posted May 24, 2015 |
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A hotel built using snow and ice.
Ice Palace
by Spiritual Echo
Sense of Place Short Story Contest Winner
Entering the vaulted front doors, I felt as if I was entering a cathedral. The carved ceiling added to my sense that spirits or angels were watching me, hiding behind the pillars.
"It's beautiful," I whispered to Jerry, somehow afraid that if I spoke in a normal tone, all the ice would shatter. There's a surreal feeling standing inside Hotel de Glace, a seasonal resort that begins to melt in April--simply disappears in Spring.
Reading about this ice palace in travel brochures does not do justice to its majestic beauty. I'm dazzled by the contrast, a roaring fire in the centre of the lobby, its flames igniting a rainbow of hues in the ice walls that sparkle like diamonds. Everything is made of ice--500 tons of it. Along with another 30,000 tons of snow, it takes more than fifty workers six weeks to erect the hotel every winter.
I wanted to get married in Paris, but friends and family put up a fuss. "If you two are hell bent on a European wedding, don't expect a cheque," my mother said.
Jerry's parents were equally negative. We compromised. Just a short ride outside Quebec City in Canada, guests could stay at a normal hotel in town, but still attend our wedding at Glace de Hotel.
From the minute we stepped off the plane, I knew we made the right decision. Hearing French spoken was like listening to music, yet at the resort, in the shadow of the Laurentian Mountains, the desk clerk greeted us in both French and English. We would have no trouble communicating.
After a quick check-in, we were escorted to the bar to wait for our wedding coordinator. Because the hotel has less than fifty rooms, the intimacy feels comforting, the smiles genuine, but it still felt weird sitting at the ice bar wearing parkas. The temperature is kept below freezing to preserve the palace and all the exquisite ice sculptures; a gallery of superb, detailed carvings. The bartender told us, we could watch a nightly demonstration and try our own hand at this remarkable art form.
"I wish I could take this home," I said, admiring how every hair on a large moose carving looked real.
Of course I knew it would melt, but it seemed tragic that all the work that went into the visual feast had a shelf life. By May, this sculpture would be nothing but water.
Our drinks were served in glasses made from ice and somehow they tasted better than any Cosmopolitan we'd drunk before,.
"No need for ice cubes."
We laughed, but we both felt like a pair of kids in a winter wonderland, especially when we caught a glimpse through the window of the enormous ice slide.
"You must try it. Our guests love the slide's speed." It was our wedding planner. Monique chatted while we finished our drinks and took us for a look at the chapel. I was overwhelmed by the beauty. More carvings, but here in the small church, I discovered the angels, dozens of them, sparkling ice under a scintillating chandelier that would have cost thousands in any lighting store, but was all made of ice.
And suddenly we weren't laughing, we weren't children anymore. Jerry took my hand in his, and led me to the altar. Once again he asked me to marry him, and once more I said yes, but this time, as we prayed together, I felt as if this proposal had God's blessing.
Monique had quietly left the chapel, but she was waiting in the hallway. Insisting we must attend the orientation, she led us to a room where other couples were already assembled.
"We have to sleep in sleeping bags?" I guess I missed that part, I thought. I turned to Jerry. "But we can zip them together, right?"
"My darling bride, do you really want to make love on a block of ice?"
Suddenly, the hotel no longer felt romantic--beautiful, but cold.
Entering the vaulted front doors, I felt as if I was entering a cathedral. The carved ceiling added to my sense that spirits or angels were watching me, hiding behind the pillars.
"It's beautiful," I whispered to Jerry, somehow afraid that if I spoke in a normal tone, all the ice would shatter. There's a surreal feeling standing inside Hotel de Glace, a seasonal resort that begins to melt in April--simply disappears in Spring.
Reading about this ice palace in travel brochures does not do justice to its majestic beauty. I'm dazzled by the contrast, a roaring fire in the centre of the lobby, its flames igniting a rainbow of hues in the ice walls that sparkle like diamonds. Everything is made of ice--500 tons of it. Along with another 30,000 tons of snow, it takes more than fifty workers six weeks to erect the hotel every winter.
I wanted to get married in Paris, but friends and family put up a fuss. "If you two are hell bent on a European wedding, don't expect a cheque," my mother said.
Jerry's parents were equally negative. We compromised. Just a short ride outside Quebec City in Canada, guests could stay at a normal hotel in town, but still attend our wedding at Glace de Hotel.
From the minute we stepped off the plane, I knew we made the right decision. Hearing French spoken was like listening to music, yet at the resort, in the shadow of the Laurentian Mountains, the desk clerk greeted us in both French and English. We would have no trouble communicating.
After a quick check-in, we were escorted to the bar to wait for our wedding coordinator. Because the hotel has less than fifty rooms, the intimacy feels comforting, the smiles genuine, but it still felt weird sitting at the ice bar wearing parkas. The temperature is kept below freezing to preserve the palace and all the exquisite ice sculptures; a gallery of superb, detailed carvings. The bartender told us, we could watch a nightly demonstration and try our own hand at this remarkable art form.
"I wish I could take this home," I said, admiring how every hair on a large moose carving looked real.
Of course I knew it would melt, but it seemed tragic that all the work that went into the visual feast had a shelf life. By May, this sculpture would be nothing but water.
Our drinks were served in glasses made from ice and somehow they tasted better than any Cosmopolitan we'd drunk before,.
"No need for ice cubes."
We laughed, but we both felt like a pair of kids in a winter wonderland, especially when we caught a glimpse through the window of the enormous ice slide.
"You must try it. Our guests love the slide's speed." It was our wedding planner. Monique chatted while we finished our drinks and took us for a look at the chapel. I was overwhelmed by the beauty. More carvings, but here in the small church, I discovered the angels, dozens of them, sparkling ice under a scintillating chandelier that would have cost thousands in any lighting store, but was all made of ice.
And suddenly we weren't laughing, we weren't children anymore. Jerry took my hand in his, and led me to the altar. Once again he asked me to marry him, and once more I said yes, but this time, as we prayed together, I felt as if this proposal had God's blessing.
Monique had quietly left the chapel, but she was waiting in the hallway. Insisting we must attend the orientation, she led us to a room where other couples were already assembled.
"We have to sleep in sleeping bags?" I guess I missed that part, I thought. I turned to Jerry. "But we can zip them together, right?"
"My darling bride, do you really want to make love on a block of ice?"
Suddenly, the hotel no longer felt romantic--beautiful, but cold.
"It's beautiful," I whispered to Jerry, somehow afraid that if I spoke in a normal tone, all the ice would shatter. There's a surreal feeling standing inside Hotel de Glace, a seasonal resort that begins to melt in April--simply disappears in Spring.
Reading about this ice palace in travel brochures does not do justice to its majestic beauty. I'm dazzled by the contrast, a roaring fire in the centre of the lobby, its flames igniting a rainbow of hues in the ice walls that sparkle like diamonds. Everything is made of ice--500 tons of it. Along with another 30,000 tons of snow, it takes more than fifty workers six weeks to erect the hotel every winter.
I wanted to get married in Paris, but friends and family put up a fuss. "If you two are hell bent on a European wedding, don't expect a cheque," my mother said.
Jerry's parents were equally negative. We compromised. Just a short ride outside Quebec City in Canada, guests could stay at a normal hotel in town, but still attend our wedding at Glace de Hotel.
From the minute we stepped off the plane, I knew we made the right decision. Hearing French spoken was like listening to music, yet at the resort, in the shadow of the Laurentian Mountains, the desk clerk greeted us in both French and English. We would have no trouble communicating.
After a quick check-in, we were escorted to the bar to wait for our wedding coordinator. Because the hotel has less than fifty rooms, the intimacy feels comforting, the smiles genuine, but it still felt weird sitting at the ice bar wearing parkas. The temperature is kept below freezing to preserve the palace and all the exquisite ice sculptures; a gallery of superb, detailed carvings. The bartender told us, we could watch a nightly demonstration and try our own hand at this remarkable art form.
"I wish I could take this home," I said, admiring how every hair on a large moose carving looked real.
Of course I knew it would melt, but it seemed tragic that all the work that went into the visual feast had a shelf life. By May, this sculpture would be nothing but water.
Our drinks were served in glasses made from ice and somehow they tasted better than any Cosmopolitan we'd drunk before,.
"No need for ice cubes."
We laughed, but we both felt like a pair of kids in a winter wonderland, especially when we caught a glimpse through the window of the enormous ice slide.
"You must try it. Our guests love the slide's speed." It was our wedding planner. Monique chatted while we finished our drinks and took us for a look at the chapel. I was overwhelmed by the beauty. More carvings, but here in the small church, I discovered the angels, dozens of them, sparkling ice under a scintillating chandelier that would have cost thousands in any lighting store, but was all made of ice.
And suddenly we weren't laughing, we weren't children anymore. Jerry took my hand in his, and led me to the altar. Once again he asked me to marry him, and once more I said yes, but this time, as we prayed together, I felt as if this proposal had God's blessing.
Monique had quietly left the chapel, but she was waiting in the hallway. Insisting we must attend the orientation, she led us to a room where other couples were already assembled.
"We have to sleep in sleeping bags?" I guess I missed that part, I thought. I turned to Jerry. "But we can zip them together, right?"
"My darling bride, do you really want to make love on a block of ice?"
Suddenly, the hotel no longer felt romantic--beautiful, but cold.
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Writing Prompt Write a 400 to 700 word essay describing a place. This should be a descriptive short story, make sure you describe the place very well. This place you are describing can not be a place in your imagination, dreams, ext. It has to be a real place, preferably a place you know very well. You do not have to have been to this place, and this can be a made up story. Be creative and descriptive! |
Sense of Place Short Story Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
Hotel de Glace is open from January 1st until the end of March and is rebuilt every year. All furniture, including the bed (there is mattress) is made with snow and ice.
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