It's Wednesday morning and it's raining. As per usual, Billy Stormzy and I have just brought his big sister to school and since the place we're heading to opens early, we can walk straight to the seashore, passing the Circus Theatre on our way, crossing the Gevers Deynootweg, one of Scheveningen's main roads, and then on towards the grandiose entrance to the Kurhaus.
Once inside, I notice they've redecorated since I last was here (which must have been years ago). It certainly is an improvement. The artworks that now adorn most walls isn't to my taste (modern without a vision, like art that some director of a science fiction film has made to purpose to signal 'in the future this is what people put on their walls), but at least there is a clear coherence in the decoration. The lounge now has lots of nice glass tables at which you can sit where it used to be rather empty. We take the elevator upstairs and the grand hall still contains an exhibition of statues, as it did last time - but there are less of them, so that the grandeur of the hall comes more to the fore.
The restaurant-bar still exists, but as I enter I start wondering if it's actually open - there's nobody here. Then a waiter approaches me and tells me they're currently only serving breakfasts to guests - but wait, he suddenly remembers: I can also buy a voucher at the reception downstairs. So back to the elevator it is, and for a hefty €26 I can join the breakfast buffet.
Once upstairs I discover that all the guests are hidden in the back of the large Waves at the Kurhaus, as the restaurant is called. Billie Stormzy, who was sleeping during our walk, is now awake and I tell him to wait while I get something to eat and drink. I pour myself a tea, then get some sweet stuff: mini muffins, small pancakes with syrup, a tiny cake. I also get some cereals and I notice that for €26 you may get an all-you-can-eat deal, but what you can eat isn't remarkable: the cereals, for instance, are of a rather cheap variety.
Back at our table, Billie Stormzy is patiently waiting for my return with a vaguely bored look on his face, but he lights up when he sees me again. I've chosen a table with a couch, so that he can lie on it while I eat. He's extremely lively now, gazing intensely at birds flying past the Kurhaus and smiling and chatting with me. The music being played is mostly rock ballads, but there is a nice surprise when Billie Eilish's "when the party's over" comes on - as far as I can remember this is the first time that one of the artist's I've named my son's cyber-identity after comes on during our breakfast at the beach. I guess that until the party places at the northern beaches open again, there is little chance we'll also have a song by Stormzy.
As grandiose as the late nineteenth building of the Kurhaus is, and although it contains artworks by the same artist whose work is exhibited in the hotel lounge downstairs, the restaurant is completely devoid of style. Attempts have been made to give it some kind of international hotel atmosphere, but even the most brilliant decorator would have a hard time turning this into something. The restaurant is located in a tent-shaped modern addition to the Kurhaus that is so heart-wrenchingly ugly that its design should be considered a crime against humanity. However, if one doesn't look at the pointed ceiling covered by plastic plates, there is still the wonderful view over boulevard, beach and sea.
I spend a lot of time in such hotel restaurants eating breakfast buffets, since I regularly have to go to conferences for my work. The places look the same, the buffets offer pretty much a similar fare wherever you go. Last year I decided that it doesn't make sense to eat more at such buffets than I would at home and now I mostly stick to a bowl of cereals and a cup of tea (resisting the instinctive 'it's free so dig in as much as possible'). However, this time I paid for it myself and it's a brunch, so after eating the sweet pastry I go for a second round, carrying Billie Stormzy in one hand and filling my plate with the other: English breakfast. I get sausages, mushrooms, scrambled eggs, baked bacon, beans in tomato sauce and some bread (which is disappointingly dry).
As I eat this second round, Billie Stormzy starts to whine a bit and I think I smell he needs a nappy change - however, once I've taken the stairs down to the ridiculously posh toilets of the Kurhaus, I discover it was a false alarm. Back upstairs, I finish the English breakfast with Billie Stormzy on my lap. He's cheerful again, babbling and attempting to grasp cutlery and bits of my breakfast - and he doesn't want to lie down anymore. As I continue to eat, he gets whiney again and I consider that he might want to drink some milk, so I make him a bottle. However, he is hardly interested in drinking, so I get a third round: lots of exotic fruit in a bowl, some grapes (there is a large plate full of grapes, but I need to consider carefully which grapes I pick as quite a few are in bad condition) and a glass of orange juice.
As I sit down, I realise that this time the little one does need a nappy change, so I take him downstairs again. As I lay him down on the large black marble slab surrounding the washing basins at the gentlemen's, a cleaner enters the room and asks me why I don't do that at the baby changing station.
"Is there one?" I ask.
"Yeah, man! Come, I'll show you," he replies and takes me out of the men's room, into the ladies' room. There is no sign saying the baby station is here, so maybe that is something taken for granted? If you have a baby with you, you must be a lady and if you're not a lady but have a baby with you, you become a lady by default? I remember how annoyed I used to be by this weird gender dichotomy back when my daughter was a baby. I also remember there are few countries where it is as bad as in the Netherlands.
Back upstairs, I finish my fruit. Billie Stormzy is back to his cheerful self now that his nappy has been refreshed, so I decide to add one last round to my breakfast. Considering the place where I am and the price I paid for this breakfast, I am craving some decadence, and I noticed some chilled prosecco next to the fruit bar. So, I pour myself a glass of bubbles (not, it has to be said, of impressive standard - Waves at the Kurhaus seems more about selling a certain image than the accompanying quality) and wonder what would go with it. I settle on a croissant and as I settle down, I make the mistake of checking my phone when I get it to take a picture for this blog. I've disabled all notices - my phone does not signal me visually or audibly when I get a message via whatsapp, email or text, so I didn't notice that while I had my breakfast all hell was breaking loose back at my job. With four days to go to the start of the next semester, three of our lecturers are suddenly no longer available for a variety of reasons. Two were known already, today a third gets added to the list. Since I am the programme coördinator for our study programme, it's up to me to find a solution. I stare at the messages pouring in, then decide there is only one thing I am going to do about this on my day off: I shrug, lock my phone again and pocket it (later that day, however, I do find myself juggling frantic phone calls from Groningen, caring for Billie Stormzy and preparing dinner).
So, is Waves at the Kurhaus worth it? In a sense, that question is not really fair. It is clear it's not actively trying to attract people from outside the hotel to its breakfast buffet - I had to make quite an effort to find out I could have my breakfast here and if it weren't for this blog, I would not have come here. However, it is also a genuinely enjoyable place for its quiet atmosphere and the fantastic view. And the poor state of the breakfast buffet is reflective of such buffets everywhere - and they don't normally come with prosecco. Admittedly, there is a cheapness about the poshness here - the Kurhaus is giving off the air of being something it really is not, like an all-inclusive beach holiday at a five star hotel of which you find out on arrival that its five stars are according to some local rating system rather than the international one; however, there are still cocktails, bubbles and enjoyable dinners - you just shouldn't look too close at the quality. It's very much the same at Waves at the Kurhaus, and in much the same way Billie Stormzy and I had a very enjoyable morning here - so, no regrets and if you like that sort of thing and don't mind spending a bit too much for it, there really is no reason why you shouldn't. Both of us are in a decidedly good mood as we say goodbye to the waiters and make our way downstairs again.
Also on Breakfast at the Beach: Jump back in time to when Rihanna Gaga and I visited this place in 2016
Once inside, I notice they've redecorated since I last was here (which must have been years ago). It certainly is an improvement. The artworks that now adorn most walls isn't to my taste (modern without a vision, like art that some director of a science fiction film has made to purpose to signal 'in the future this is what people put on their walls), but at least there is a clear coherence in the decoration. The lounge now has lots of nice glass tables at which you can sit where it used to be rather empty. We take the elevator upstairs and the grand hall still contains an exhibition of statues, as it did last time - but there are less of them, so that the grandeur of the hall comes more to the fore.
The restaurant-bar still exists, but as I enter I start wondering if it's actually open - there's nobody here. Then a waiter approaches me and tells me they're currently only serving breakfasts to guests - but wait, he suddenly remembers: I can also buy a voucher at the reception downstairs. So back to the elevator it is, and for a hefty €26 I can join the breakfast buffet.
Once upstairs I discover that all the guests are hidden in the back of the large Waves at the Kurhaus, as the restaurant is called. Billie Stormzy, who was sleeping during our walk, is now awake and I tell him to wait while I get something to eat and drink. I pour myself a tea, then get some sweet stuff: mini muffins, small pancakes with syrup, a tiny cake. I also get some cereals and I notice that for €26 you may get an all-you-can-eat deal, but what you can eat isn't remarkable: the cereals, for instance, are of a rather cheap variety.
Back at our table, Billie Stormzy is patiently waiting for my return with a vaguely bored look on his face, but he lights up when he sees me again. I've chosen a table with a couch, so that he can lie on it while I eat. He's extremely lively now, gazing intensely at birds flying past the Kurhaus and smiling and chatting with me. The music being played is mostly rock ballads, but there is a nice surprise when Billie Eilish's "when the party's over" comes on - as far as I can remember this is the first time that one of the artist's I've named my son's cyber-identity after comes on during our breakfast at the beach. I guess that until the party places at the northern beaches open again, there is little chance we'll also have a song by Stormzy.
As grandiose as the late nineteenth building of the Kurhaus is, and although it contains artworks by the same artist whose work is exhibited in the hotel lounge downstairs, the restaurant is completely devoid of style. Attempts have been made to give it some kind of international hotel atmosphere, but even the most brilliant decorator would have a hard time turning this into something. The restaurant is located in a tent-shaped modern addition to the Kurhaus that is so heart-wrenchingly ugly that its design should be considered a crime against humanity. However, if one doesn't look at the pointed ceiling covered by plastic plates, there is still the wonderful view over boulevard, beach and sea. I spend a lot of time in such hotel restaurants eating breakfast buffets, since I regularly have to go to conferences for my work. The places look the same, the buffets offer pretty much a similar fare wherever you go. Last year I decided that it doesn't make sense to eat more at such buffets than I would at home and now I mostly stick to a bowl of cereals and a cup of tea (resisting the instinctive 'it's free so dig in as much as possible'). However, this time I paid for it myself and it's a brunch, so after eating the sweet pastry I go for a second round, carrying Billie Stormzy in one hand and filling my plate with the other: English breakfast. I get sausages, mushrooms, scrambled eggs, baked bacon, beans in tomato sauce and some bread (which is disappointingly dry).
As I eat this second round, Billie Stormzy starts to whine a bit and I think I smell he needs a nappy change - however, once I've taken the stairs down to the ridiculously posh toilets of the Kurhaus, I discover it was a false alarm. Back upstairs, I finish the English breakfast with Billie Stormzy on my lap. He's cheerful again, babbling and attempting to grasp cutlery and bits of my breakfast - and he doesn't want to lie down anymore. As I continue to eat, he gets whiney again and I consider that he might want to drink some milk, so I make him a bottle. However, he is hardly interested in drinking, so I get a third round: lots of exotic fruit in a bowl, some grapes (there is a large plate full of grapes, but I need to consider carefully which grapes I pick as quite a few are in bad condition) and a glass of orange juice.
As I sit down, I realise that this time the little one does need a nappy change, so I take him downstairs again. As I lay him down on the large black marble slab surrounding the washing basins at the gentlemen's, a cleaner enters the room and asks me why I don't do that at the baby changing station.
"Is there one?" I ask.
"Yeah, man! Come, I'll show you," he replies and takes me out of the men's room, into the ladies' room. There is no sign saying the baby station is here, so maybe that is something taken for granted? If you have a baby with you, you must be a lady and if you're not a lady but have a baby with you, you become a lady by default? I remember how annoyed I used to be by this weird gender dichotomy back when my daughter was a baby. I also remember there are few countries where it is as bad as in the Netherlands.
Back upstairs, I finish my fruit. Billie Stormzy is back to his cheerful self now that his nappy has been refreshed, so I decide to add one last round to my breakfast. Considering the place where I am and the price I paid for this breakfast, I am craving some decadence, and I noticed some chilled prosecco next to the fruit bar. So, I pour myself a glass of bubbles (not, it has to be said, of impressive standard - Waves at the Kurhaus seems more about selling a certain image than the accompanying quality) and wonder what would go with it. I settle on a croissant and as I settle down, I make the mistake of checking my phone when I get it to take a picture for this blog. I've disabled all notices - my phone does not signal me visually or audibly when I get a message via whatsapp, email or text, so I didn't notice that while I had my breakfast all hell was breaking loose back at my job. With four days to go to the start of the next semester, three of our lecturers are suddenly no longer available for a variety of reasons. Two were known already, today a third gets added to the list. Since I am the programme coördinator for our study programme, it's up to me to find a solution. I stare at the messages pouring in, then decide there is only one thing I am going to do about this on my day off: I shrug, lock my phone again and pocket it (later that day, however, I do find myself juggling frantic phone calls from Groningen, caring for Billie Stormzy and preparing dinner).
So, is Waves at the Kurhaus worth it? In a sense, that question is not really fair. It is clear it's not actively trying to attract people from outside the hotel to its breakfast buffet - I had to make quite an effort to find out I could have my breakfast here and if it weren't for this blog, I would not have come here. However, it is also a genuinely enjoyable place for its quiet atmosphere and the fantastic view. And the poor state of the breakfast buffet is reflective of such buffets everywhere - and they don't normally come with prosecco. Admittedly, there is a cheapness about the poshness here - the Kurhaus is giving off the air of being something it really is not, like an all-inclusive beach holiday at a five star hotel of which you find out on arrival that its five stars are according to some local rating system rather than the international one; however, there are still cocktails, bubbles and enjoyable dinners - you just shouldn't look too close at the quality. It's very much the same at Waves at the Kurhaus, and in much the same way Billie Stormzy and I had a very enjoyable morning here - so, no regrets and if you like that sort of thing and don't mind spending a bit too much for it, there really is no reason why you shouldn't. Both of us are in a decidedly good mood as we say goodbye to the waiters and make our way downstairs again.
Also on Breakfast at the Beach: Jump back in time to when Rihanna Gaga and I visited this place in 2016
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