Harbour Hotel Christchurch

“A lovely one night stay”

We were staying at this hotel for one night. We booked in at reception, very friendly and accommodating. The car park was very busy. Our room was lovely, clean and a generous size, my only fault was the bathroom really needed a refurb, but clean. We are in The Jetty which was lovely, food was d… more

We were staying at this hotel for one night. We booked in at reception, very friendly and accommodating. The car park was very busy. Our room was lovely, clean and a generous size, my only fault was the bathroom really needed a refurb, but clean. We are in The Jetty which was lovely, food was delicious and great service, separate review, No issues for us.

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“LOVELY LOCATION, COMFORTABLE HOTEL BUT LOUSY COFFEE”

Lovely hotel, pleasant location. Excellent room, as always, and wonderful bed. Our inland room had a pleasant enough outlook but there was a lot of noise from the the kitchen below at times. Senior staff seemed distracted by functions, but overall we enjoyed the ambience of a well run establishment… more

Lovely hotel, pleasant location. Excellent room, as always, and wonderful bed. Our inland room had a pleasant enough outlook but there was a lot of noise from the the kitchen below at times. Senior staff seemed distracted by functions, but overall we enjoyed the ambience of a well run establishment. BUT my breakfast coffee was instant. Surely a hotel of this calibre should take pride in serving a good quality ground decaffeinated coffee at breakfast to match the excellent food? This is my second complaint. Fowey Harbour Hotel was the same and friends tell me that two other harbour hotels are also lacking. Come on Harbour Hotels – get your act together!

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“The Harbour Hotel, Mudeford Quay — or, How to Squander a View”

One arrives at Mudeford in the happiest of dispositions. The setting is, I concede, ravishing: light, air, and a prospect across the Quay so charming it ought to be set to music. The reception rooms are decorated with taste, the bar handsomely stocked, and the welcome — ah, the welcome — is everyth… more

One arrives at Mudeford in the happiest of dispositions. The setting is, I concede, ravishing: light, air, and a prospect across the Quay so charming it ought to be set to music. The reception rooms are decorated with taste, the bar handsomely stocked, and the welcome — ah, the welcome — is everything the brochure promises: professional, warm, disarmingly sincere. For roughly four minutes one is perfectly content. Then the production loses its leading lady and the understudies take the stage. The establishment has, I can only assume, been so cruelly used by previous guests that it now regards every visitor as a confirmed felon. At no point is one permitted to forget that one “will have to pay for that” — a refrain delivered less as information than as accusation. To sit down to a breakfast included in the tariff, only to have the bill flung down before the egg has even been contemplated, while a waiter looms overhead like a bailiff awaiting eviction — because, I was assured, “we get a lot of people walking off” — is a sensation I shall treasure precisely as long as it takes to forget it. The breakfast greeting set the tone with admirable economy. “Will you be okay with the continental buffet?” — as though one were being processed rather than fed. On enquiring whether it was the only option, I was informed, with the warmth of a closing door, “No, I can give you a menu if you like.” How generous. How very nearly hospitable. Dinner, for ten, was conducted by one genuinely charming head waiter, valiantly supported by a chorus of surly youths apparently encountering the concept of a restaurant for the first time. We come every year, and the kitchen has declined with the steady determination of a falling barometer. My haddock arrived with a sodden skin, a hollandaise that had split somewhere in transit, and asparagus boiled into abject submission. The rest of the table fared better, though “fine” was the loftiest verdict available. Retreating to the bar, we discovered tea towels draped over the coffee machines like dust sheets in a house of mourning — closed, one presumed, until a reluctant attendant confessed it was in fact open, and reminded me once more that drinks must be paid for. Bizarre is too kind. We were then asked, with thrilling indifference, whether we wished to remain in the bar or “go through to the lounge.” We tried the lounge. A television of monstrous proportions dominated it like an idol demanding worship; the effect was less country hotel than working men’s club, and we turned smartly on our heels. They possess one of the loveliest locations on the south coast and a positive genius for ruining it. The attitude is appalling. The view, mercifully, cannot be sacked.

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