Hotel Flora

The Saturday night before I travel to Belgium, I find myself surrounded by princesses, fairies and mythical creatures — my friends are hosting a ‘what I wanted to be when I grew up’ themed party to counter the too-adult responsibilities creeping into our lives. 

It feels fitting, then, that 48 hours later I’m wrapped in equal whimsy at Hotel Flora, a maximalist boutique hotel in the heart of Antwerp’s old town. Stepping off the street and through its vine-fringed door reveals a Narnia-esque world: a plant-lined passageway leading to a 15th-century family home, revamped by local design legend Gert Voorjans. Owner Pieter warmly welcomes me in, and I want to return his undivided attention, but the interiors capture mine, particularly the pretty-in-pink lounge with its treasure-trove of candy-cane stripes, pearlescent feathered wings and a vintage conversation chair. 

My child-like sense of wonder peaks as Pieter shows me to my room. Each is named after a gem — nodding to Antwerp’s centuries-old status as the world's hub for diamond trading — and I'm staying in Aquamarine, my birthstone. Gazing up at the hand-painted ceiling mural makes me feel like I’m cloud-watching, the pastel-hued strokes evoking cumulus at sunset. Pieter tells me that this is my home now, and with the bouquet of fresh roses and the ensuite’s deep soaking tub, I think I’ll find it easy enough to settle in. 

As much as I want to, city breaks aren’t about hiding out in your hotel room, so I polish off the homemade madeleines by my bed and set out. I don’t feel like having a set agenda — or being fixated on my phone for directions — so opt for wandering aimlessly. I discover that Antwerp might have been plucked from a fairy tale: Grote Markt’s buildings that look like gingerbread houses, the passing of a horse-drawn carriage, creeping vines disguising telephone wires, cobbled mediaeval alleys. I’m visiting in November, so early signs of festivity add to the city's inherent folksiness. 

The next morning, I claim the conservatory table for breakfast — it’s a bright, covetable spot by the garden with plants for company. Pieter is his usual smiley self (I say, like I haven’t only known him for a day) as he tends to pots on the adjoining kitchen’s Aga. A waiter in a green Nutcracker-style jacket starts laying down tiered stands with plates of French toast, fragrant chia pudding, homemade breads and jams, local cheeses and much more. I’ve unintentionally coincided my trip with a regional bank holiday, and even though I’m not a local, I settle into that relaxed day-off rhythm, ordering a second coffee and taking my time to work through this feast. 

This slow-morning start is just one way I enjoy fulfilling childhood longings with my adult free will; sugar-dusted waffles for lunch and the city’s signature chips for dinner — fancified by a three-Michelin-starred chef with a dusting of parmesan and dollop of basil mayonnaise at Frites Atelier — are some others. I also play dress up in vintage shops and flagships from the Antwerp Six (a collective of local designers, Dries Van Noten and Ann Demeulemeester among them, who heavily shaped recent fashion history), and indulge my inner child with leaf-crunching strolls along sculpture park Middelheim Museum’s woodland trails. 

When I was younger, I wanted to be a fashion designer, before my fickle, juvenile aspirations transplanted onto the next career option. Regardless, I’m taken with Antwerp’s fashion museum, MoMu, and particularly so at its current exhibition, ‘Girls: On Boredom, Rebellion and Being In-Between’. The show brings together Sofia Coppola films, Sylvanian Families collectibles and Louise Bourgeois embroidery — vignettes from my childhood or current interests that spark reminiscence and resonance. I also learn here that Antwerp’s oh-so-talented Dries Van Noten is a keen gardener, hence his soft spot for botanical motifs. I think of Hotel Flora and how it weaves threads of the city's identity into its own colourful DNA. 

Evenings, however, are for more mature pursuits: playing chess by the fire in Flora’s drawing room, before Antwerp’s thriving wine-bar scene has me sampling pet nats at Paloma, chilled reds at Ruby and crisp oranges at Osaka. I unexpectedly discover the city’s red-light district as I obediently follow Google Maps’ cut-through from the port to a cluster of contemporary haunts around Sint-Paulusplaats. There's no age limit on naivety, it turns out. 

Sooner than I’d like, it’s time to return to Antwerp’s ornate central station. As my train zips to Brussels Airport, I scroll through my phone’s camera roll. I flick past my blurry pictures of friends in fancy dress, through more composed snaps of the hotel’s photogenic corners, and land on a shot of a striking floral still life by Jan Davidsz. de Heem from the Royal Museum of Fine Arts. The painting’s just-visible description reads ‘Flowers were considered nature’s jewels’ — I think back to Hotel Flora and consider it one of Antwerp’s diamonds.