Hof Of Holland

By Cindy-Lou Dale

The setting is one of quiet opulence, shrouded in romance and noted in the pages of history as the oldest hotel in Holland; so forgive me for thinking that one would expect a particular level of service and accommodation from a hotel drenched with such status.

The Hof of Holland can be found off a pretty oak-tree lined square. Crisp white linen covered wicker tables and chairs crowd the sun drenched verandah with a red carpet guiding guests from the curb to a large doorway and through to a black and white checkered floor reception area. The front desk was manned by two surly receptionists who skillfully ignored me. That is until I enquired whom I should consult to book in.

The reception area itself is paneled in dark wood with lots of gold fixtures and fittings, with touches of burgundy here and there. To the left of reception is a dining room and a bar.

Whilst my reservation was being verified I noticed a Beagle in a dog basket behind the reception desk. He eyed me suspiciously from beneath a window-sill cluttered with an untidy stack of papers and office supplies.

Whilst the reception staff was searching their desks and filing cabinets for my verification I excused myself to use the rest room which was down a twisting corridor, past an ornamental antique cash register. The toilet fittings were modern, the décor new but the whole look was let down by badly scuffed loo doors. I had a peek at an additional two further reception rooms down the corridor, but could not assess much other than they were being fitted out for a sizable conference.

I returned to reception to be told I could not obtain a key as the previous occupant had left without handing it in, but that it was expected back later. This statement was followed by an awkward silence – clearly I was expected to go away until that happened, but when they saw I made no attempt to do so a duplicate key was miraculously produced. I was informed that they needed to safeguard this key and walked me to my room to unlock the door.

Adorning the wall leading up to the first floor landing, hung numerous hotel awards; clearly I was in for a treat.

Continuing up the stairs, the first sign of neglect I picked up on was the squeaking floor boards, dipping dangerously in places, then I noticed the brass stair railing which was in desperate need of a polish, a writing desk in dire need or restoration (toped with three small cactus plants in plastic containers), and in places the relatively new carpet looked threadbare. From there on it only managed to get worse. An antique grandfather clock which no longer worked, antique furniture (some original but most cheap reproduction); like the hotel itself, they were all in desperate need of restoration. Clearly the housekeeper was on vacation as the surfaces had not seen a duster in quite some time. It saddens me to say that the hotel reminded me of a neglected old age care facility I had visited once as a child.

We past numerous brown plywood doors – reminiscent of the 70s – then reached room 113. The receptionist unlocked the door and made a show of introducing me to the room where the 70s theme continued. The room was cluttered with faux bamboo-look furniture and was papered in beige, with a green and gold border pasted directly beneath the ceiling. The two single beds pushed together to give an over sized look was covered in a patterned yellow, mustard, green and red bed cover. The curtains did not match, although they were in similar hues. The bedside tables and headboard shrieked 70s in red cherry laminate with green bedside lights and beige lampshades. There was no tea/coffee making facilities, no air-conditioning and much to my horror, no mini-bar! The on-suite bathroom, although small did its job with a basin, loo and shower cubicle within inches of one another. Thankfully there was a hairdryer and wireless internet access.

After I unpacked I poked about on the second floor where I was greeted by a tall up-light, the kind one would expect to find in someone’s lounge, and a dreadful 50s display cabinet covered in dust and coffee cup ring stains, - clearly beyond repair. Throughout the guest quarters tacky prints adorned the walls, most hung askew.

I went in search of a drink and headed to the bar I had spotted earlier. My spirits were immediately lifted when I stepped into the room which had dark ceiling beams and cornices and wood paneling part way up the walls, with beige and burgundy walls covering the rest of the way. Whilst I waited at the bar I looked a little closer and noticed the ring stains on the wooden Imboya bar counter.

I found a comfortable round-back chair next to the faux fire place and could not help thinking of fire regulations when I noticed four feather boas draped on either side of the brickwork surrounds. On the mantle above stood a faux art-nouveau candle-stick and clock which also did not work. I looked a little closer at the dark wooden tables and chairs (upholstered in colors complementing the décor), who all looked rather tatty and at the very least needed to be sanded down and re-varnished. The art displayed in this room was, well, different - mounted newspaper prints hanging behind light fittings.

I gazed towards the leaded window facing the street and asked the waiter if he could explain the three historic artistic depictions in the panes. He said to ask the owner (who was wearing a waitress apron for the day) as he only worked there and did not know. I approached the owner, Sandra Mooiy, and was immediately sho-shoed away as she was understandably too busy to speak with guests, but promised to catch up later.

Beyond the dining room lay yet another dining room; this too had a fireplace with stone surrounds which was caged behind a metal frame. The art work displayed here was of Grace Kelly and Maria Callas; and a hand painted James Dean in a large recess, fighting with the chandeliers for dominance of the room. There was a wood paneled back wall which could fold away giving access to yet a further reception room, which was rather grand with four chandeliers and a table that could seat 32 guests, but for now it was closed off, so I went back out and down the winding corridor, past the loo, to find the room’s other entrance. It was partially carpeted in red with wall covering in red, burgundy and gold pin striped velveteen. This room also had a stone surround fireplace, but with an added brass canopy. At the rear of the room three steps leads up to a 16 seater dark wood bar, beyond which was a lounging area.

In the late afternoon I went outside to take a photograph of the exterior of the hotel, thinking the light would look rather fetching at the time, but spotted lunch plates which had not been cleared away. I asked the front-desk staff, who were busy reading magazines, if they could clear the table and was told neither of them knew where the staff member was that did that and could I wait. I moved to plates myself (to a table at the reception).

I explored the area for several hours and upon my return, parked my car in the hotel’s parking lot, around the back. The paved courtyard mirrored the interior of the hotel – unkept and weedy. When I walked back through reception I noticed the plates I had moved were still where I had left them.

Later that night I worked in my room for a while then decided to move downstairs to the dining area as the heat was stifling; the traffic on the creaking corridor was somewhat distracting too. I took a seat at the only remaining table and relaxed somewhat as things didn’t look so bad after all, especially with the subtle lighting.

Initially I had felt this hotel was relying more on its historical significance than on its reputation but soon realized I’d not taken into account their kitchen. At this juncture let me add that you could not find a more gastronomically undemanding nation than the Dutch.

All the dining area were filled to capacity with discerning locals, all suitably dressed for the occasion (accept me of course). I watched in quite bemusement as an elderly gentleman held up a slice of something to the dim light, critically inspecting it; then he ceremoniously eased it into his mouth, sat back, closed his eyes and savored the moment. His dinner guests watched him open-mouthed. After a few moments he placed gathered fingers to his pursed lips and blew a kiss at his fellow diners. Everyone at his tabled tucked in excitedly.

But of course, the dining experience does not start or end there as attentive yet unobtrusive waiters could turn dining into an unforgettable experience. This hotel had clearly managed to secure two of the best, which became evident when an elegantly dressed elderly couple shuffled in, escorted by their daughters. A waiter, resembling a youthful Sylvester Stallone, helped them out of their coats, relieving the old folks of their walking canes and eased them into their seats. Then, with much profusion, described the selection available on the menu. All their dinner plates later returned to the kitchen, virtually wiped clean.

Pieter Mooiy (33) and his wife, Sandra (36), have owned this historic 35-roomed hotel since May 2004. Pieter works behind the scenes in management and Sandra is the front desk manager, sometimes waitress, and often receptionist.

Pieter started working in the hotel industry when he was but nine years old – helping his mother, who worked at this very hotel, to clean and serve. When he was older, he cooked breakfast on Sunday’s, served in the bar and often helped his father who was the maitre de. He attended hotel hospitality school in The Hague for several years and gained most of his management experience in the restaurants trade.

Tonight’s dinner was prepared by Pieter as it was his chef’s night off. Pieter has no formal training in the kitchen but claims to know what people like (which is evidently lots of salt) and what works. Food clearly excites Pieter and he took great pride in telling me of his wholesome foods and his local suppliers. His five-course menu changes on average five times a year, the four-course dinner menu changes every month.

The Hof of Holland is frightfully frayed around the edges and has a certain lived-in look about it, as any 400-year old buildings would. It’s a great pity the owners don’t cherish this Dutch gem as there is so much potential here.

Would I recommend it? If you’re a history buff, yes, and if you don’t mind packing a duster, yes again. You may want to find somewhere else to eat though.

Hof of Holland rates:
Single room with breakfast €65 to €75 pd
Twin rooms with breakfast €85 to €95 pd
Twin room with breakfast for single occupancy €75 to €85 pd.
Tel. +31 (0)713 612255 Fax +31 (0)713 620601