Description: In October this year I had the opportunity to stay in Brussels and my colleague suggested The White Hotel on Avenue Louise so I booked a room but when I arrived I couldn't have a room because the torrential rains of that evening meant there was water coming through the ceiling. The receptionist had phoned around and arranged for a room at another hotel which she really hoped I would like. The hotel was the Vintage Hotel.

She would have paid for a taxi to take me there but my colleague was happy to take me and by doing so, he would be sure to know where the hotel was when he came to collect me in the morning. We struggled a bit with the one way system and it took about 15 minutes before we finally found the hotel. Concerned that I might be about to suffer another 'no room at the inn' incident, he came in with me to check that everything was OK.

~Themes – how to make your hotel stand out in a busy market ~

The White Hotel which I'd failed to get into prides itself on its 'whiteness'. If all matter must have anti matter, then the Vintage Hotel was the 'Anti-hotel' of the White Hotel. The Vintage is obsessed with the design of a period from around 1950 to late 1970s. That at least is my guess because the theme really wasn't strong enough to tie it down to a narrower range.

When my mother first met my stepfather in the 1970s he had psychedelic vinyl wall paper of such horrific impact that I suspect she almost turned on her heel and grabbed her coat. After their marriage we had to live with it for four years, the wallpaper being so 'durable' (for which you can read 'impossible to get off the walls') that we had no other options. We had to sell the house to get rid of the wallpaper. It's fair to say that I have serious doubts about the appeal of 1970s design especially as applied to wallpaper.

In contrast to my scepticism, the owners of the Vintage clearly have a passion for the art and design of a rather blurred period of the second half of the 20th Century. Their passion and their collection have clearly influenced the hotel to a fairly scary degree. But just as great cooks don't always make great restaurateurs, having a passion for furniture, fixtures and fittings and all things 'design' doesn't necessarily mean you'll make great hoteliers.

~ First Impressions ~

My first impressions before I got into the building were quite positive. There was a pretty little outside courtyard terrace with potted plants and outdoor furniture. We entered through the door to the dining room and found a very bright room that looked a bit like we'd stepped into a youth hostel. There were about a dozen seriously mismatched chairs around the tables, each of them apparently (according to my design-buff colleague) "absolute classics". He oozed into paroxysms of delight sighing "This is the chair I'm planning to buy – originals cost 1500 Euros. It's just SO beautiful". I gave him my best "Have you lost your marbles?" look and headed towards the reception.

A nice young man checked me in whilst I tried really hard not to turn my nose up at the collection of bright orange vases on the black fireplace. I was reminded of too many hotels in Eastern Europe during the first few years after the Iron Curtain came down. It's fair to say that I wasn't really in tune with the 'vibe' of the Vintage.

With my credit card registered, I was handed a door key on a mini-Rubik's Cube key ring which I have to admit made me smile. I managed to drag my colleague out of the reception where he was hyperventilating with excitement over a lamp, sent him off to his car and then I headed off to find my room.

The lift was a bit dodgy and stopped once or twice on its way to my room. I was quite happy to get out onto the landing and be assaulted by the visual impact of black shag-pile carpeting and bright orange chairs. Struggling with my key in the lock I obviously took a little too long and stood a little too still and found myself plunged into darkness by the 21st century motion-sensitive lighting system. I hopped up and down until the lights came back on and then hurried into my room.

~ My Room ~

I was left speechless by what I found; unsure whether to laugh or cry. Most of the walls were painted in stark white paint with the wall behind the bed practically wriggling under the influence of some shocking orange swirly wallpaper. The black shag carpeting had crept under the door and throughout my room leaving me wondering if the owners had taken leave of their senses. Do you know how difficult it is to look after shag? Clearly these folks have never had cats.

The room had a nice big bed that was surprisingly comfortable and was set with a duvet and big pillows. Oddly there was no headboard which means that after a relatively short time, their psychedelic wall-paper will be marked with greasy head residue. There was one bedside table which took the form of a black plastic drum-like set of drawers and a small round white table on the other side of the bed. There was just one bedside lamp which was fine since I was on my own but left me no choice of 'side'. Over on the wall was a small flat screen TV with a round table and a 'bucket' style chair, both in white plastic. On the table was a bizarre yellow glass table lamp.

Rather than a wardrobe, there was a hanging rail and a suitcase stand with a laptop safe with its own power socket inside tucked on the floor under the suitcase stand. Absurdly, the telephone was on the suitcase stand on the opposite side of the room to the bed. WHO ever thought that was a good idea needs their head examining and don't get me started on the stupidity of equipping the room with a 'vintage' (i.e. manual dial) phone.

The bathroom thankfully owed more to the 21st century than the mid 20th and we were spared the potential horrors that could have ensued if the owners had taken their theme too seriously. The room was a brightly lit white-tiled room with an attractive heated towel rail (which was cold) and a raised shower base with an inadequate length orange shower curtain which led to flooding of the room when I took a shower. Shower gel was supplied but that was all – for the price of the room, I thought that was a bit mean.

A couple of things that were missing from the room did annoy me. There was no information about the hotel at all so if there was wi-fi there was no way to know it was there, how to use it, whether it cost anything and so on. Also no information on where I could have got food if I hadn't arrived stuffed full of rather bad pasta from La Fin de Siecle. I've no idea if irons and boards were available and I wasn't about to dial the annoying old phone to find out or stumble down to reception. I'm sure that many people would be amazed to find that a hotel charging €150 a night doesn't even supply a hair dryer.

Despite the decor, I slept well and headed down for breakfast the next morning, taking the stairs to avoid the shaky lift. The dining room was very bright and the food was laid out behind a partition wall. The selection was a bit on the basic side with a 'help yourself' set up.

I packed my bag, shook my head once more at the shag-pile carpeting and wondered to myself just how shabby this place will look once it's been open a while. My visit was only a few weeks after the place opened and I really don't think it's going to stand the test of time. I admire the spirit of what the hoteliers have tried to do but the delivery really didn't work for me.

Unlikely to Return

When my colleague and his daughter arrived to collect me in the morning I again had to drag him away from the old chairs and lamps and force him out of the door. It certainly ticked all his style and design boxes, but at €150 per night, I expected a bit more substance to go with the overwhelming level of 'style'.
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