Hotel Lilien

If you find yourself travelling between Toronto and New York City, you’re presented with a hefty seven-hour-ish stint behind the wheel. You can blast straight through on the highway, or like Mrs Smith and me, you can seize the opportunity to get lost in the beauty of Upstate New York. We had two days to make the drive, and we devoured the first five hours in one playlist-fuelled road trip, stopping for a turkey club and a tuna melt en route, before we landed at our stop for the night.

Hotel Lilien occupies a particular niche in the modern hospitality ecosystem: the hotel as corrective. Not a place to stay so much as a place to be gently informed that your current lifestyle contains several drastic flaws, among them inadequate access to mountains, poor lighting choices and an unacceptable shortage of vintage chairs and wool blankets. Nestled in the Catskills, at the foot of the famous Hunter Mountain, it manages a difficult balancing act. It feels curated without feeling staged, stylish without appearing anxious about it. Increasingly, boutique hotels seem to be designed around the possibility that someone is on their way to photograph a corner of the lobby. The building's refurb was led by the San Francisco firm Field Theory, and seems to be designed around the possibility that someone might actually sit there, stick their feet up and read a book or enjoy a cocktail. Nailed it.

The Catskills themselves possess a talent for making urban life seem faintly absurd. Within an hour of arriving, Mrs Smith and I had developed strong opinions about trees, the type of dog we planned to swiftly adopt and which haulage company would help us on the road to permanent relocation. Be warned, mountains and fresh air will have this effect.

Hotel Lilien itself — a Victorian mansion, built in the 1890s — is devilishly handsome. The decor of carefully selected vintage furniture and original features reassure you that nothing here is accidental, everything in its right place (thank you, Radiohead). An atmosphere of quiet confidence welcomes you as you pull in after that long drive and it feels really very good.

We were met by the charming David, who was expecting us, tossed us a key and helped us with our bags up the whimsically creaky stairs. Our room was straight out of an Upstate-porn coffee-table book, with that same thoughtful blend of delicious vintage and sharp mod cons. Every element appeared to have been considered by somebody who understands the small frustrations of travel, but who also owns a carefully cherry-picked wardrobe of vintage American workwear. There were places to put things. There were places to charge things. There were places to sit and stare thoughtfully out of windows while pretending to read.

We padded downstairs to the bar for a drink, clocking the spectacular jukebox on the way in that was piping, or rather, blaring, KC and the Sunshine Band into the dining room, and it was a vibe. The lounge-restaurant-bar area became a recurring destination throughout our stay, partly because it was comfortable and partly because it allowed me to feel as though Mrs Smith and I were participating in a more elegant version of my own life. Several guests appeared to be reading serious books while sipping Manhattans, their drinks about as close to the city as they’d get that day.

Food forms a central part of the experience at Hotel Lilien. The restaurant succeeds where many hotel restaurants struggle: it gives guests a reason to stay in while remaining appealing enough that locals might plausibly visit too. The menu avoids excessive cleverness. Dishes are thoughtful, homey, seasonally conscious and confident enough not to require lengthy explanations or too much thinking time. Dinner unfolded at an agreeable pace. Conversations drifted across the room, buffeted by the jukebox. Glasses clinked. Outside, the mountains disappeared into darkness. Inside, everyone looked faintly healthier than they probably were. Good lighting remains one of humanity's greatest achievements and here it was, singing.

Breakfast the following morning reconfirmed our positive first impression. Morning is an unforgiving time for hospitality — it exposes weaknesses — yet Hotel Lilien handles breakfast with an admirable competence. Coffee arrives promptly. The offering is simple but tasty, and the room is filled with natural light. Guests emerged from their rooms looking refreshed and slightly surprised by the outcome. Beyond the property, the Catskills provide ample opportunities for hiking, wandering and engaging in the increasingly rare activity of being somewhere without trying to optimise the experience. Trails, streams and mountain views are all readily available. So, too, is the simple pleasure of doing nothing.

After two days of relaxation, a little bit of hiking, many pages of a good book, lovely conversations, five excellent cocktails and a few small beers, we left. As we pulled out onto the highway, we had acquired several new ambitions, including spending more time outdoors and becoming the sort of people who own a cabin, or at least a slightly better shed. Both ambitions survived approximately half the drive back to civilisation. The memory of Hotel Lilien, however, lasted considerably longer and that may be its greatest success. It does not merely provide accommodation in the Catskills. It briefly persuades you that a slower, quieter and slightly more considered version of life might be available after all.

As I sit and write this, many weeks after our departure, what lingers is not any single feature of Hotel Lilien, but the cumulative effect of just so many small decisions made well. A comfortable chair. A well-positioned lamp. A thoughtfully prepared meal. A warm welcome. A quiet view of the mountains. Individually, these things appear unremarkable. Together, they create something memorable; a symphony of good hospitality.