Hotel Within a Hotel

For decades travelers had to choose between big, amenity-packed megaresorts and more-intimate, service-oriented boutique hotels. Now hoteliers of all breeds are designing properties that combine features of both, adding separate mini-hotels onto existing resorts, complete with swankier rooms and exclusive perks like private pools, beaches and restaurants. And in a recession-battered travel climate, these posh add-ons have another, even stronger draw: For now, at least, they often cost little more than the main resorts.

And they're hiding in plain sight. If the historic grande dame Hotel del Coronado just outside San Diego isn't quite high-end enough, vacationers can now check in to the resort's Beach Village section, where cottages and villas boast cozy fireplaces and private, ocean-view terraces, along with luxe trappings like flat-screen TVs, 400-thread-count linens and spa-style baths. At Costa Rica's Occidental Grand Papagayo, discriminating travelers can avoid the sunburned masses by opting for its Royal Club, complete with private check-in and a Royals-only lounge. Even Club Med, famous for its traditionally spartan rooms and communal-seating buffets, has added an exclusive option to its property in Ixtapa, Mexico.

For resorts, these luxe mini-hotels were originally an attempt to lure upscale travelers willing to pay more and splurge on extras like spa treatments and gourmet meals. But a funny thing happened on the way to the grand opening: The economy tanked. So, many hoteliers have been forced to drop the nosebleed rates and dole out these posh rooms for less than $100 extra. At the Occidental Grand Papagayo, Royal Club rooms start at just $69 more than a comparable room at the main resort. And free upgrades are common at these properties, says Mark Lunt, hospitality industry specialist for Ernst & Young. "If resorts run out of rooms in the regular wing, are they going to let the high-end rooms stay empty? I doubt it," he says.

This isn't the travel industry's first brush with the hotel within a hotel. The concept first appeared in the form of "club floors," one or two stories of a hotel tower where reward-program members and higher-paying guests score plum rooms and exclusive access to a lounge stocked with snacks and other goodies. Adding these floors hasn't cost hotels much, but the move typically pays off big, boosting both revenue and customer loyalty. Hoping to emulate their success, resort properties have used a similarly affordable model.

Adding a few new buildings is still far cheaper than building a whole new site, especially since the addition can piggyback on all the facilities of the original resort. And not only does the hotel end up with a new cache of higher-priced rooms, says Bjorn Hanson, a New York University professor specializing in the hospitality industry, but it also bestows a "halo effect" on the whole resort, lending it a more upscale aura.

That luxe vibe is certainly what they're going for at the Reserve. Unlike the sprawling 554-room Palma Real, where squealing children run laps in the hall and raucous wedding receptions spill into the pool area, the 190-room Reserve is all carefully orchestrated hush, from the low-slung fountain bubbling tastefully in the lobby to the soothing thrum of the lounge music. And while the property itself is smaller, the all-suite rooms, which start at 807 square feet, dwarf those at the main resort by nearly 300 feet.

They're also jammed with high-end amenities: Guests in the master suites face the supremely tough decision of whether to enjoy their whirlpool in the marble bathroom or out on the private terrace. And while main resort guests in the 362 standard rooms pray that the single concierge desk will pick up the phone, each wing at the Reserve has its own dedicated concierge. But the rates are only a bit more posh; Reserve suites are about $55 more than similar room categories in the main Palma Real resort.

Tori and Rich Fisher of Sudbury, Mass., have stayed at the Palma Real twice before, but on this trip they received a free upgrade to the Reserve and now declare themselves converts. "This is better for someone who really wants to chill out," says Tori, comparing the quiet corner of the Reserve poolside area they have staked out for themselves to the chaos of the main property's oceanic 37,600-square-foot pool. The couple says it's also much easier to score the coveted palapa-shaded chaise longues on the Reserve side of the beach, which is separated from the regular Palma Real side by a velvet rope­style barrier.

Still, for travelers accustomed to five-star resorts, there are a few unwelcome echoes of the typical all-inclusive experience. One of the Reserve's four private restaurants serves buffet-style, and guests still have to wear wristbands to prove their status<though the typical plastic hospital band has been replaced with a more stylish silky cord decorated with a piece of painted coconut shell. (Make sure it's on tight<replacing a lost one costs $220.) But what really surprised first-time guests Tanya and Dmitry Zolotarevsky of Brooklyn, N.Y., was Saturday's midday "entertainment": a balloon-popping contest (the idea, it seems, was to pop it with your stomach while belly-flopping into the pool) and the blaring Latin-reggae dance music, which the couple could hear even in their room. "You couldn't escape it," says Tanya. Hotel guest-services manager Denise Ortiz says that while these activities are not part of "the concept" of the hotel, they were "what the clients wanted that day."

And while the Reserve's removed location does make it seem like a separate resort, it can feel, well, a little too removed. For one thing, unlike the main resort, the Reserve is a nearly 15-minute walk from the beach, which according to Ortiz, can be upsetting to vacationers if they're not informed in advance. From the front lobby, hotel staffers ferry guests over to the beach on golf carts, a process that works relatively smoothly<except during peak times, when groups of sunseekers are forced to park themselves on benches to wait their turn. The same issue comes up in the evening for guests who want to try one of the eight restaurants located in the main resort or sample nightlife options like the hotel's casino or dance club.

Still, most resort-within-a-resort properties say they're getting few complaints, especially given the prices and upscale amenities. In the Bahamas, for instance, the mammoth Atlantis resort made sure that its boutique-style beachfront Cove property could scratch its guests' itch for designer shopping, open-air gaming and chic, big-city dining (among the restaurants: an outpost of Bobby Flay's Mesa Grill). But perhaps the biggest draw is the Cove's adults-only pool, a haven from the stroller-and-water wings hordes that rule the rest of Atlantis. Forget poolside hot dogs and guitarists singing "Day-O"; over here, it's $18 mojitos and a DJ spinning the latest 50 Cent single. And maintaining the "edgy vibe," says general manager John Conway, means a strict entrance policy: adult Cove residents only -- unless, of course, you're willing to rent one of the $1,000-a-day cabanas.

Indeed, for some vacationers, a little exclusivity seems to be just the ticket. Lynette Dinneen, a real estate agent from Atlantic Beach, Fla., plans to spend most of her vacation enjoying the decidedly kid-free "scene" at the Cove's swanky adult pool. Dinneen says she and a group of friends have made an annual pilgrimage to the Bahamas for the past eight years, but that the trip's gotten even better thanks to the Cove. Now she and her sun-worshipping girlfriends stay there, while her husband and his friends take a room at the main resort, right by the casino. "He's happy and I'm happy," she says. "That's their vacation, and this is ours."