Garden broth, smoke oil, warm rye.
The room begins quietly, with the first pour already waiting.
Almost a century
of quiet luxury.
What started in 1928 as a private estate has become a place defined by what it doesn't do. No screens at breakfast. No music in the lounges. Just light, water, and a long lunch under the pines.
Our team is small, second-generation, and largely from the village below.
"The kind of hotel you tell almost no one about."
— Condé Nast Traveller