There are places that cannot be described—they must be experienced. They stay with you like an open question, quiet and persistent, working their way deep within.
The Juvet Landscape Hotel, nestled in Norway’s Valldal Valley beside a stream that runs between two waterfalls, is one such place. I’ve just returned. The sound of water is a constant presence—subtle, enveloping. In the morning, the river lifts a soft mist that drapes over the paths, while the sheep—remarkably friendly—graze peacefully just beyond the cabins. You walk among the trees without feeling the need to speak. Everything seems attuned to a deeper, slower, more truthful rhythm.
The hotel doesn’t impose itself—it disappears into the landscape. It consists of scattered, distinct structures, each designed to remain discreet. Ours, the Writer’s Lodge, is a silent cigar box of dark wood (as its architect described it), carved with narrow slits that frame precise views of the forest and stream. Inside, no frills, no excess—only proportion, care, and respect.
In the evening, everyone gathers around a long table for dinner, like in a mountain kitchen. No formalities, no distance. We share the meal with people we would never have met elsewhere: a lawyer from Melbourne and her daughter, a young solo-traveling influencer from Bali, three Zurich-based managers—and us. We talk, we listen, we enjoy good wine. And we realize the profound value of slowing down, of connecting in simplicity.
And it was right there—between the running water, the quiet wood, and the faces of strangers who quickly felt like friends—that I was reminded of why we do this work.
To design is not to leave a mark. It is to create the conditions for the world around us to emerge more clearly, more gently, more justly.
Every time we conceive a space, we should ask ourselves: how can I give its inhabitants a closer connection to what is essential? How can I shape a place that doesn’t dominate, but supports? Where light enters in the right way, materials speak without shouting, and nature—even in the city—remains a living presence?
In an era that glorifies spectacle, Juvet reminded me that true beauty does not display itself—it waits to be discovered. And that our bond with nature—the untamed, authentic kind—is not a decorative frame, but a fundamental need of human dwelling.
This, in the end, is what we always strive for: to design not to impress, but to restore. Not to showcase, but to protect. And to do so with the utmost care, one detail at a time—like writing a letter by hand
(https://juvet.com/)
