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
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