The Notary

Mere hours into a long-awaited weekend away with Mr Smith, and I’m summoning my inner Wim Hof at the edge of a grass-edged pond in a verdant secret garden. So far, so relaxing. The Notary’s swimming pool is a natural one, and a cool seven degrees at the time of dunking.

We brave it with a gasp and a grin, plunging into the wild stillness of the water. A jolt to the system, sure — but also a reset for the soul, as bracing as it is serene. Happily, The Notary has a beautiful, bookable private sauna, too. While it took the promise of Belgian chocolates to lure Mr Smith — an incorrigible warmth-worshipper — into the water, he joins me in the sauna quicker than you can say ‘contrast therapy’. So this is how we sweat out our bleary-eyed start and hatch plans for the day ahead, from the cedar-clad sanctuary of the sauna tucked away in the hotel’s garden. 

Speaking of secrets, being a guest at The Notary feels like being let in on a well-kept one — from the unassuming façade to the always present but never pushy staff, it’s the sort of place where time slows down and, thanks to an unwavering attention to detail, everything feels just-so. Once home to a distinguished notary, the building still carries a certain gravitas, more poise than pomp. 

Up the central grand staircase of what feels like an opulent yet bohemian family home, we head to our room to shed our bathrobes and ready ourselves for a day of playing tourists. No two of the 11 suites here are the same; each has its dramatic style, and ours, the Earl Suite, is a magnificent haven of classical European elegance. From antiques to air-conditioning, a working fireplace to a Sonos sound system, and a bathroom with a giant bath tub and twin sinks — every detail feels considered. Billowing curtains frame the floor-to-ceiling windows and the glorious spring skies behind them — a sea of cobalt without a cloud in sight.

Buoyed by the sunshine and invigorated by the dip and the rare luxury of being sprog-free for the weekend, Mr Smith and I float out onto the cobbled streets and instantly surrender to the city’s slower pace. Bruges unfolds like a film set before us — its impeccably preserved mediaeval architecture and winding canals weaving together to justify its moniker as the Venice of the North. Granted, it hasn’t got the contemporary edge of many of its neighbouring European cities — but on the bright side, it hasn’t been colonised by influencers either!

Our previous plans for exploring evaporate after finding a sun-drenched spot for lunch on the waterfront terrace at Lio’s, where we lose a few hours sampling frothy Belgian beers. A late-afternoon boat trip down the canals — an effortless way to soak up the city in under an hour — reveals storybook gables and weeping willows.

Finding places that cut through the tourist gloss — beyond the identikit set menus and souvenir-laden streets — requires a little more intention. But come nightfall, we find a few gems that reveal Bruges’ more subtle and stylish side. Our night begins at Blend, a wine bar gently buzzing with locals and an unpretentious love of the grape. Onwards to Less Eatery, which skips the heavy-handed Flemish fare and instead delivers zingy, moreish dishes with bold Asian influences — the crispy potato okonomiyaki and soy-and-mirin-marinated salmon grilled over the barbecue behind us are both bliss on a plate. 

On our merry meander home, Mr Smith insists we stop for one more at Bar Oswald, a candlelit cocktail den that blends vintage charm with industrial edge. The nightcap crowd proves that Bruges is more than a mediaeval backdrop — it’s got an undercurrent of cool… if you know where to look. 

One indulgent lie-in later, after surfacing slowly from the cloud-like depths of high-thread-count luxury, we make our way downstairs — still wrapped in a haze of sleep — to The Notary’s so-called ‘Luxury Breakfast Experience’. It’s less a meal, more a tasting journey: soft, fluffy eggs with crisp bacon and avocado; tangy dragonfruit smoothies; a towering spread of cheese and charcuterie; house-made chocolate spread so rich it could double as dessert; and pastries so flaky they’re devoured in seconds. Six courses later, jazz floating through the air, we’re full, happy, and ready to find a reading nook in one of the sumptuous salons. Shhh. The Notary is a secret too good to share.