This hotel is a haven for introverts and Scandinavian design lovers

Whether you consider yourself an introvert or an extrovert, you surely know how much we sometimes crave isolation – that small space of peace, silence, the sound of the wind, the waves, or simply… nothing. Over the past few months, I have repeatedly questioned my long-held belief that I am mostly an extrovert. Of course, nothing is black and white. We all exist somewhere on a spectrum that shifts depending on the stage of life, our mood, and even how much we drank the night before. Still, it seems that the human species, especially this modern, hyper-informed, hybrid internet creature that calls itself human, loves clear categories and simple divisions.

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LILLØY Lindenberg Jack Johns

During one of my weekly Pinterest wanderings, as I drifted through interiors ranging from apartment buildings to public monuments and hotels, the algorithm decided to show me isolated places, those with a special warm energy, inviting you to surrender to them alone, in silence and without your phone. These places got under my skin and captured my attention for the days that followed. So the all-knowing one (the algorithm) decided. And honestly, who am I to resist? If there’s already someone who knows everything and controls my tastes, maybe it’s best to let go and let them lead me.

Riding that wave of silence and isolation, I came across LILLØY Lindenberg, a private Scandinavian paradise on the coast of the North Sea in Norway. It is a small wooden house surrounded by water and greenery, with an additional pavilion that can accommodate ten people, yet everything radiates a sense of intimacy and space for each individual. It sounds like an absolute haven for introverts, whose habits feel increasingly familiar and logical to me as the years go by. The interior is thoughtfully designed, with handmade ceramics, natural materials, and furniture that seems to have grown out of the landscape itself. The light streaming through the large windows transforms the space throughout the day, and every moment I spend in its quiet feels like a small meditation.

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Days pass with kayaking on calm waters, Nordic baths, and sauna, while evenings are spent by the fire under an endlessly starry sky. The food follows the local rhythm, with fresh ingredients from the garden, the sea, and nearby farms, prepared to inspire simplicity and presence in the moment. And while places like this often sound like a luxury for the privileged, LILLØY Lindenberg offers more than that; it is a space that encourages you to slow down, to feel your own creativity, and, if only for a short while, to escape the constant digital noise.

I love discovering places like this by chance, as if they were secret finds, and then carefully saving them in a folder I rarely open, but that always exists. That folder is my little escape plan, always on my radar, because you never know when you’ll need a complete reset from everything. And sometimes, along with that escape, comes a very specific desire for the northern lights.

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LILLØY Lindenberg Jack Johns

Solitude is something I find myself craving more and more. Solitude where I can finally hear myself, follow my own breath, and try to quiet the thoughts that usually act like open tabs in a browser. LILLØY Lindenberg feels like a place where that could really happen, effortlessly and without any grand philosophy, simply through the space, the silence, and the unhurried rhythm of the day.

What I find particularly pleasant is that there’s none of that feeling you get in massive hotels, where, despite perfect design, you always feel like you’re in a matchbox. Thousands of people on the same floor, endless corridors, and the illusion of privacy that collapses the moment you hear the elevator doors. I’ve always been fascinated by how hotels manage to look so private without a shred of real intimacy, character, or the sense that anything was made just for you. Here, it’s exactly the opposite. I feel like in this place I could very easily stop keeping track of time, forget what day it is, and allow myself to become stardust, or at least someone who consciously indulges in these very pathetic poetic statements.