Du Pont Pedigree at a Modest Price in Del.
Sunday, July 13, 2008; Page P05
There's nothing quite like morning coffee by the privy.
That's just one of the quirky charms of the Inn at Montchanin Village, a soothing way station just minutes from Winterthur, Longwood Gardens and myriad other attractions in the Brandywine Valley on the outskirts of Wilmington, Del.
The inn is a regular on Travel + Leisure Magazine's annual list of 100 top hotels in the United States -- a fairly stunning feat, considering its surprisingly modest price and the fact that it offers no swimming pool or golf course and only a masochistic little basement gym, though the opening of a 4,000-square-foot spa is promised for September.
Set amid 20 acres of rolling hills and gardens intersected by roads and paths, the owners of the 12-year-old inn, once part of the du Ponts' Winterthur estate, have taken 11 stucco-and-frame houses built between 1799 and 1910 for laborers and artisans who worked in the area and turned them into 28 rooms and suites, each with private outdoor space.
It would be bucolic if it weren't for the two public roads that cut through the property, not allowing you to forget for long which century you're in.
Unless you're lucky enough to land, as I did, on Privy Lane, named for the bunker-style outhouses, now used for storage, that are plunked behind each house. Stone-paved and lined with old-fashioned street lamps and the occasional wrought-iron bench, the lane promises a meander in time upended.
My husband and I checked in on a Tuesday afternoon in late spring after roaming around Winterthur, the garden and museum of Americana, just five minutes away. Although we had been willing to spring for one of the pricier rooms, with a week's notice the only room available had been the least expensive.
No matter. It's more than comfortable, like a carefully considered guest room in a private home. Frette linens and down pillows on the queen-size bed, emergency umbrellas, a wet bar with a coffee maker and complimentary sodas and water in the fridge.
The faux-marbled bath is particularly fine. Not only does the vanity have the requisite miniature bottles of shampoo and body lotion, there's a vase of alstroemeria lilies, a lighted makeup mirror that's not too terrifying in its magnification and a sparkling glass box of cotton balls and Q-tips.
Perhaps best of all, the windows open -- no omnipresent odor of industrial-strength cleaner that embalms your pores.
I do find a few flaws. I'm ankle-deep in water when I'm done with my shower, and 6:22 p.m. is a little early for turn-down service. "We have a lot of rooms to do," the housekeeper says as she smiles apologetically and hands me two chocolates as my towel-wrapped husband skitters behind me into the bathroom.
At 6:30 a.m., however, having brewed a pot of excellent coffee, I am delighted to find the newspaper on the doorstep, and I wander out with a baggy sweater over my pajamas to the wrought-iron table and chairs by the former privy.