Few things are more disturbing for the traveler than splashing out on a hotel with a world-class reputation, only to find that reputation out of date by 50 years, and standards dismally lower than less celebrated alternatives. One feels deceived, insulted.
Even when standards are high, a supercilious air overhangs many "top class" Western hotels and restaurants, making superiority and snobbery appear inseparable. The fact that such places do not immediately lose their customers and go out of business says something about all of us. After disasters in New York and Barcelona last year, my wife and I steeled ourselves for a night at Horai, consistently hailed by just about everybody as one of the top three ryokan in Japan.
Like its rivals, the O-an in Kanazawa and Kyoto's Tawaraya, the Horai seems, on paper at least, a good contender for "inflated reputation" status. From its establishment in 1849, it tended to a stream of aristocrats and fat cats who visited Atami on the Izu Peninsular for the fresh air, seafood and plum orchards.