Amsterdam's anarchic new five-star hotel

Times

2 days ago

Inside the Rosewood Amsterdam, which opened at the beginning of May after a decade-long transformation, there are spliffs for sale in a vending machine, and I passed by Johnny Rotten on the landing. Nick Cave and Kate Bush I spotted in the bar. For clarity, though, the spliffs were made of ceramic by the artist Casper Braat, and the musicians are photographic portraits by Anton Corbijn.
This new Rosewood likes to wear its art on its sleeve — in fact, it's almost as much of a gallery as a hotel.
From the outside, it would be easy to mistake it for another of the city's museums. It's set in the former Palace of Justice, in a building dating back to 1665, and its neoclassical bulk stretches out over almost a block along the central Prinsengracht canal. Most of the group's hotels are in legacy landmark buildings: a former bank in Munich, for instance. In London there's an Edwardian pile in Holborn and, this autumn, there will also be the former US Embassy. Compared to the easygoing cafés and shops around it, the plain, rather grubby façade in Amsterdam (heritage laws mean it can't be cleaned or illuminated at night) cuts a rather stern, almost disapproving figure.
It's an image the team here are keen to dispel, envisaging it as much of a local hangout as a gilded retreat for high-net-worth guests. Thomas Harlander, the hotel's managing director, tells me that curious Amsterdamers have been dropping in to explore the building, enjoying the two courtyards landscaped by the High Line designer Piet Oudolf and a modestly priced, well-populated all-day café. The main court room, where high-profile cases (such as the 1980s kidnapping of the brewery billionaire Freddy Heineken) were tried, is now a sprawling library space with a vintage grand piano in one corner and a modern tapestry depicting an AI-realised missing part of Rembrandt's The Night Watch.
Its openness is reflected in its design. 'We thought it was important that people could see into the building — transparency is a very Amsterdam thing,' says Piet Boon, whose city-based studio also designed Rosewood's first Japanese resort on Miyakojima. 'During Covid we'd walk around the canals, peering into houses to see how other people lived.'
• Read more luxury reviews, advice and insights from our experts
Anyone able to peer through my third-floor suite window would glimpse a soft-focus space with curvaceous sofa and chairs, a drinks cabinet with small bottles of ready-mixed cocktails to one side, and a framed set of vintage Amsterdam postcards on the wall. In the bathroom, a white stone tub is positioned by the window, while the bed, backed by a mottled-gold headboard, looks out over gabled houses and the canal (on my arrival, almost on cue, a little boat motors past with a cargo of tulips).
Among the 134 rooms are also five 'Houses'. These are apartment-sized suites, such as the Library House, styled in whiter-shade-of-pale bling with windows on two sides and a cascade of small chandeliers, lined by shelves filled with books and collectables. House 020 displays a bespoke collection of jewellery by Bibi van der Velden. But it's the hotel's 1,000-piece art collection that really catches the imagination. The lobby was inspired by the dramatic entrance of the Rijksmuseum, with sightlines that take you straight through to an enormous screen at the far end — the canvas for swirling, fluctuating video art, shifting from vivid floral still-lifes to ethereal classical figures, sourced from the Nxt Museum nearby. Along one corridor runs a series of white, colour-changing discs resembling a vintage radio valve, casting an orange glow over walls and ceiling. I'm particularly taken by a vase in the lobby made entirely of Smurf figures, while Maarten Baas's Grandfather Clock, in which a figure looms into view every minute to scrub out the minute hand and re-draw it, is surprisingly enthralling. In the entrance, Studio Molen's Statica — displayed at last year's Art Basel Hong Kong — is a trellis-like city made up of tiny bronze figures, which can be picked up and slotted back in new homes.
There's an abundance of space here, a rarity in this city where many hotels are squeezed into canalside townhouses. The subterranean spa, its swimming pool cast in daylight from a long aperture above, has hammam-style arches and a monastic calm. There's also a space for reformer Pilates and sound therapy, though the 90-minute aromatic restore massage was all I needed. Along a corridor you could ride a tuk-tuk down is the moodily lit Advocatuur bar, flamboyantly dressed with diamond-shaped pendants above the counter and a menu of Indian-inspired cocktails and small plates. (I'm told that the late mayor requested an Indian restaurant here when he brokered the deal, along with Ayurvedic treatments and a club for the city's thriving Indian business community.)
Further along is Eeuwen, the main restaurant — an intimate space where a painting of a rather louche young man gazes down at me as I devour Zeeland oysters topped with tingly grapefruit granita, and pork chop with creamy dollops of sea vierge and celeriac puree. The chef David Ordóñez has a nimble way with Dutch ingredients, with an approach that's more bistro than fine dining (little slabs of brioche topped with crab salad is a highlight, and quite rightly arrives on its own little plinth).
Amsterdam's food scene has ramped up in recent years, a side of the city the Rosewood is keen to champion. I hop on board Captain Arnaut's Twenties salon boat, moored outside, and take the 90-minute voyage to Der Durgerdam, a small hotel in a village of the same name where the inventive lunch menu includes tomato tartare and a rare pudding of caramelised celeriac pie. The Rosewood is also linking up with Over-Amstel, the new farm from the South African owners of the Newt, taking guests there by boat for yoga and cheese-making sessions.
Back at the Rosewood, I'm beckoned downstairs to make my own artistic contribution to the hotel. One of the law court's former holding cells has been turned into a very intimate, palo santo-scented tasting room for the hotel's genever — the OG of gin — distilled in a gleaming still named Martha. The bar manager signs me up for a kopstootje, a Dutch tradition that involved taking the first sip of genever with your arms behind your back, then chasing it with a pickled egg and small glass of beer. The ritual ends with a temporary tattoo rubbed on my wrist and then I graffiti my name on the wall — I'm part of the club. With the genever christened Provo, in honour of a short-lived Sixties anarchist-art movement — which included flooding the city with free bikes painted white to counter the tyranny of the motorcar — it's another irreverent attempt to puncture the building's formality.
I wonder how radical a hotel that charges €1,200 a night can actually be, but like the rest of Rosewood Amsterdam, it's a refreshing way of transporting guests beyond the city's clichés.
Doubles from £1,200, rosewoodhotels.com