The house · est. warehouse 1926
An old warehouse, kept honest.
Most conversions strip the building and keep the address. This one kept the building — every post, every beam, every draught worth having — and moved fourteen beds in around it.
Provenance, beam by beam
Timber first, hotel second.
The Hollander Timber Co. raised the warehouse in 1926 to season cypress — hinoki among it — and oak off the wharves. For fifty years the frame held more timber than most forests; for nine, after the yard closed, it held pigeons and argument about demolition.
In 2019, Okabe & Lund won the argument. Their conversion cut fourteen rooms into the frame without moving a single post: where a beam crossed a room, the room learned to live with it. The drying kiln became the suite; the tally office became the desk you check in at.
The name settled the week the sanding stopped, when the third guest in a row asked what the building smelled of. Hinoki. It still does, on wet mornings.
The desk
Mara keeps the house.
Mara Ishida has run the desk since the doors opened — and still writes the register by hand, because a house this old deserves a book, not a browser tab. She knows which room gets the morning sun in October and which table the cinema crowd takes after the late showing.
Write to the desk about anything — dates, dogs, a proposal you need the Corner Study for. She answers between seven and seven, same day.
Mornings at the long table
The argument for noon.
A hotel breakfast that ends at nine thirty is a checkout with cutlery. Ours runs till noon because holidays should outsleep commuters: sourdough and butter in slabs, eggs how you take them, jam from whoever had fruit that month.
The pass pours from seven for the early ferries and the jet-lagged. Take the first cup up the stair; the second one usually chooses the long table.
The house's guide to the lane
Everything worth walking to, ten doors either way.
Tannery Lane, before the market wakes
Faro Bros. Roastery
Two doors down. Roasts on Tuesdays; the whole lane smells like a promise.
The Odeon Lane Cinema
Across the lane. Two screens, one projectionist, programmes we argue about at breakfast.
Brill & Daughter, bookbinder
Our mezzanine tenant since the conversion. She bound the register you'll sign.
The Saturday makers' market
End of the lane, eight till one. Go early for the good bread; we already took ours.
Come count the beams yourself
Opens our booking partner, Roundwood Reservations — live rooms, live rates.