Off the Farm: The Sylvia Beach Hotel

I suppose it’s a little late for this post, since we made the expedition at the beginning of December. But I promised to make blog posts (I promised!) and we had such a good time, I want to share it.

For years we have said, “We should just go there,” meaning to spend a couple of nights at the Sylvia Beach Hotel


in Newport, Oregon.  For years. Perhaps 20 years. So when we decided that our Christmas present to each other this year would be to do something together, to go someplace, to have a weekend-long play date, the Sylvia Beach seemed the perfect choice.

For those who don’t remember, Sylvia Beach was a bookseller, born in America but living most of the time in Paris. Between the World Wars her bookshop, Shakespeare and Company, was a gathering place for young writers of the Lost Generation. Visitors to the store could buy or borrow controversial books banned in the U.S. and Britain. Sylvia Beach stocked the shop with her own preferences, she encouraged writers, she encouraged publishers to publish them, and she published, herself, James Joyce’s big, difficult, and banned for indecency book, Ulysses, in 1922. That was Sylvia Beach, the woman.


Thanks to Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository, for the use of this image of Sylvia Beach at Shakespeare and Company in 1920.

Sylvia Beach, the eponymous hotel, is another thing. Like the woman, it is imaginative. It is elderly (neither of them was always that). It is individual and fun and funny and beautiful. It is courageous: the hotel has no TVs, no radios, no wifi, no telephones in the rooms. But it has books. It is full of books, authors, writings, pictures, details, jokes, and good, good food at the Tables of Content dining room. It has a reading room with soft chairs and a fireplace and a view to the horizon across the Pacific Ocean, and a loft library above. It has jigsaw puzzles on a table and urns of hot spiced wine in the evening. It is a creaky, cranky old building that embraces its visitors, if they will let it. Inside, you can hear the wind outside. You can, without much effort, even feel the wind. There is a wardrobe in reception  filled with rain gear, but the hotel makes you hope for such foul weather you will stay indoors.

The guest rooms are each assigned the identity of an author: Alice Walker, Amy Tan, Dr. Seuss (look for the see-through toilet tank with a red fish and a blue fish in it), Emily Dickinson, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway (with papiermâché animal heads on the wall), Herman Melville (the floor slants), Jane Austen, J.K. Rowling (with a sorting hat on the bed post and a Nimbus 2000 hanging from the ceiling), Ken Kesey (watch out for the monkey wrench on the door), Lincoln Steffens, William Shakespeare, John Steinbeck, Virginia Woolf, Gertrude Stein, Jules Verne (if you wake in the night, be prepared for the sense you are being watched), Oscar Wilde, J.R.R. Tolkien, Agatha Christie, Mark Twain, Colette…

We stayed in Shakespeare. Of course we did. We had tickets to the Benedict Cumberbatch Hamlet on Friday night.


The room is full of Things. Fun things. Some of them have tags attached with references to Act and Scene, though for most you might have to work it out on your own. Scrolls, daggers, crowns, a throne, images, books, and a nice writing desk (that’s a Kindle on the desk, and it came with the guests, I’m afraid, not with the room).


And a good mattress, too. If you tire of reclining there with your Complete Shakespeare on your lap, you can wander up to the reading room on the third floor


where you can work on the common jigsaw puzzle


or look out the windows to the Yaquina Head lighthouse.


The first evening we walked two blocks to the theater for the National Theatre Live production of Hamlet. Reviews of the show have been mixed. I understand. Cumberbatch did well with an enormous role. But he was not happily supported, we thought, by the rest of the cast. Recorded sound levels were not consistent (editor? editor?), the lighting design was dreadful (major speeches lost in the shadows), passages of dialogue I know well were unintelligible because actors were speaking to the back of the stage! Meanwhile, Hamlet himself, Hamlet seemed remarkably sane and measured. Benedict is weirdly lean and handsome, and he is athletic in ways that make you gasp. He holds onto the character and to the scenes despite some really odd director’s choices. I would rather have seen it than not seen it, but I would rather have seen it better. But to bed! We took ourselves back to our lodging, sipped a cup of warm spiced wine in the library, and vanished beneath the blankets.

On Saturday we visited the Hatfield Marine Science Center where we met the new octopus, Montgomery. I have no photos of him because he really was new to public display, and we didn’t want to compromise his experience on that first day of having lunch in front of people. But he is an engaging individual who understands spoken English and will hide his ball so he can have it later. And then we went on, to the Oregon Coast Aquarium, where we saw


really mean fishes


and beautiful settings


and impossible streaming jellies


and lovely, ethereal moon jellies.

With weary feet we made our way back to the Sylvia, where a wonderful menu awaited us in the Tables of Content dining room. Garlic soup, duck breast with huckleberry sauce, barley risotto, a beautiful salad, and crème brûlée for dessert. Good, strong coffee — who would try to serve poor coffee to Oregonians? — and a delicious Port wine follow-up. Some after-dinner minutes at the jigsaw puzzle and we took ourselves again to a welcome bed.

Sunday dawned with heavy skies and a tossing wind. It was all the more tossing at the Head where we stopped on our way home for an ascent into the lighthouse,


ascent through the winding tower of iron stairs:


I have a history with these stairs. When I was 4, my great-uncle Gus took me up for a look around, and I simply could not come back down those 93 feet of open stairway. I’m sure I wept. What I remember is that the lighthouse keeper picked me up and carried me back to ground. I can still recall the smell of tobacco in his beard.

Inside, things seem tranquil. The bricked walls are thick enough you cannot hear the blustering sea outside. But we could see it through the tiny, heavy windows in the staircase:


It was a fierce day, the kind of day when sailors look for the light shining from that beautiful lamp through its first-order Fresnel lens:


Originally the lamp was oil fueled. Now it is electronic, and still as important as when it was first lit in 1873, when the day might have looked just like this:


Oh, the wind doth blow, and we left it behind to head for a hot bowl of clam chowder in Lincoln City before finding the long road home.





Published in: Uncategorized on January 16, 2016 at 2:09 pm  Comments (10)  

The URI to TrackBack this entry is:

RSS feed for comments on this post.

10 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Thanks so much. We’ve been hearing about this hotel and now you’ve convinced us to go.



    • Hi, Becky! It is definitely worth going. Now I have to figure out how to inspire shared interest in a return trip…


  2. Thank you so much for taking me back to the Sylvia Beach Hotel and the lighthouse. Susan, love reading your blog!

    • D’Lorah — Isn’t it the most fun? It revises my long-held notion that a hotel is just the place where you shut your eyes at night. So good to hear from you!


  3. What a wonderful play-date! That is a beautiful place and one I would dearly love to visit. Plus, I love the fact that it looks like it would be great any time of the year.

    I’m sorry Hamlet wasn’t a better overall production. It’s a great play but it really needs a full cast of good performances to live up to the play.

    Glad you had such a lovely get away.

    • I’m still basking in the warmth. It was a good weekend, and we tucked it in right between huge storms that would have made road travel difficult. Our lucky weekend!


  4. Dear Fist,

    The floor tilts sharply in Alice Walker, too, so much so that the western bed legs need blocks under them to level the bed.  Favorite room is Melville, because of that gigantic, comfortable bed, and also due to being right off the library (and the mulled wine). That’s the good news.  The bad news is those stairs aren’t getting any easier with the passing years. Probably our favorite place to retreat and gather our wits.  Quiet, chock full of good books, and no rednecks anywhere.  Good food, although I preferred the old family-style dinners to the current practice.  Screw the cell phones, the I-pads, etc., etc.  This is a place where you get away from those torture devices.  The plugged-in generation would go nuts, but we love it there. Thanks for the post. Brother Gatling Gun of Sweet Reason

    • How good to hear from you, Brother Gatling. I do think we will have to go back sometime soon. Our dinner was family style except for selecting our own entree. All the other dishes were served for the table. In any case, it was a fine dinner. And I know you do not hold back on admiration for a good menu.

      Sister Joyous Fist of Serenity

  5. That sounds like a marvellous weekend, well done you two!
    Much love from Finland 🙂

    • Oh, my goodness! Henriette, it has been far too long! Much love from Beavercreek, too! Send an email with updates!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s