Among culture enthusiasts, the Hirschberg Valley in Poland (Polish: Kotlina Jeleniogórska) is particularly cherished as a historic region dotted with numerous castles. Yet, nestled between the manor houses and landscaped parks stretching from Jelenia Góra to Lwówek Śląski, one finds countless small rural communities and farms, where the tradition of agritourism blends seamlessly with rural life. Those who speak of the trend of "slow living" or "Slowhop" will find it here at the foot of the Giant Mountains in its most pronounced form.
Perched on a hill north of Jelenia Góra (Wleń municipality, Lower Silesia) lies the small settlement of Tarczyn. From here, the view stretches across the Giant Mountains and the Jizera Mountains. Time seems to move more slowly and the pace of the outside world appears to bounce off the mountains on the horizon. The scattered houses of the neighborhood maintain their distance, yet the residents remain closely connected.
A dirt path leads to the eastern edge of the settlement. Here, many years ago, the adventure of Urian Hopman began. At a time when the internet was not yet flooded with information and inspiration, the Dutch set designer poured over architecture books, focusing on exceptional projects in which ancient structures were integrated into modern living concepts. These impulses, combined with a clear vision, became his guiding light, for the property – a former inn – was then a ruin.
After many years as both a creative force and a host, Urian now stands at the threshold of a new chapter and reflects on his journey: from his move to Poland, through the early days, to the development of his unique residential project.
Until the property is handed over to new owners or hosts, guests and prospective buyers alike are warmly welcomed to visit the Bed & Breakfast Taras Tarczyn.
- Why Historic Homes Captivate
- Arriving in Poland
- Poland vs. Netherlands
- From Ruin to Project
- Restoration Journey
- Memorable Discoveries
- Challenges Faced
- Design & Guest Apartments
- Tarczyn Today
1. Urian, from our experience, many Dutch people seem to have a particular affinity for historic properties. From your perspective, what draws them to these old houses?
As a Baroque enthusiast, I feel a deep affinity for the layering, richness, and theatrical character of historic buildings. They exude a soul rarely found in modern architecture. I believe that many Dutch people, often unconsciously, are touched by this same layering. It is more than aesthetics: it is a form of heritage awareness, a recognition of something greater than themselves.
The Golden Centenary brought our country not only wealth but also a sense of refinement, craftsmanship, and the stories hidden behind every detail and ornament. Old houses are like time capsules; they bear the traces of past generations, of craftsmanship, and of ambition. They are imperfect and, precisely because of that, human.
2. Poland is home to more international residents than one might expect. How did you first come to Poland and how has your life here evolved since your initial visits?
I first came to Poland in 1993 as a designer for a Dutch company that produced, among other things, Christmas decorations. They took me to a glass factory in Lower Silesia. To be honest, I barely knew where Poland was. The Great War had left the country largely unfamiliar to us. For those of us in the West, Poland was mostly a blank space on the map.
What I found there deeply surprised me. The nature was untouched. There was no economic bustle, which I experienced as a rare relief. That silence and that space touched something in me, something that had long been lost in the Netherlands. I kept returning, initially for work, later out of personal affinity. I made friends, found inspiration, and slowly fell in love with the region. Five years and many holidays later, I knew I wanted to live here.
Then I found a place, or rather a ruin, with a breathtaking view. It was far from comfortable, but it touched me deeply. Now, twenty-five years later, the house has been rebuilt. Not perfect, but full of soul. It has shaped me. The years of building, living close to nature, and witnessing the seasons in all their glory have brought me closer to myself.
It was a journey with its fair share of ups and downs, but one I experienced with love and dedication. As an artist and a Baroque person, I see beauty in layers, in the imperfect, and in the lived-in. Poland has given me that richness.
3. Comparing Poland with the Netherlands, what aspects of daily life do you particularly enjoy here and where do the two countries differ most?
What I particularly appreciate in daily life in Poland is the peace and space. The rhythm is slower, less hectic. The days seem longer, the seasons more tangible. In the Netherlands, everything is tightly organized and efficient, which has its charm, but here I live closer to nature and therefore closer to myself. The silence is palpable, the landscape breathes. You feel that time is measured not in minutes but in moments. I enjoy the simplicity of life: the wood fire in winter, the sound of an owl at night, the smell of freshly cut grass. Here, there is still a sense that life is not completely predetermined. There is room for improvisation, for chance, for the unexpected, which a romantic like me naturally embraces.
Where the two countries differ most is perhaps in their relationship to the collective versus the individual. The Netherlands is strongly focused on consensus, consultation, and group interest. Poland, on the other hand, has a deep-rooted sense of independence and pride. That mentality can be challenging, but it is also refreshing. There is more room here for individuality, for following your own path, even if it is sometimes winding and full of obstacles. As a designer and painter, that freedom is essential. Here I can get lost and, precisely because of that, find what I am looking for. The differences between the two countries have shaped me: the Netherlands has given me structure, Poland has given me freedom. Together, they form the fabric of who I have become.
4. At the time of your purchase, the building was a ruin. What motivated you to take on this ambitious project?
When I discovered that I had become the owner of a spacious building, I felt the urge to measure it. I began leafing through architecture books, especially those featuring modern projects that incorporated ancient ruins. There, I came across designs I found sensational: sleek steel and glass structures rising from hollowed-out walls, where old and new complement each other in an exciting way. In that moment, I knew this was my chance.
I immediately envisioned creating something similar with my favourite architect, Wim de Vos—a bold design anchored in the history of the place, but with a modern, sustainable twist.
Something else had been resonating with me for a long time: a deep affinity for ecological materials, particularly straw. As a child, I often played with straw and built endless huts in the countryside, where my father, a bulb grower, used it to protect tulip bulbs from the winter cold. The material has always fascinated me: simple, honest, and warm.
Then everything fell into place. I met an expert in building with straw, Moritz Reichert, who lives nearby. It felt like the perfect opportunity to realise my eco-dream house: an architectural statement built with straw, clay, and wood from my own forest. Sustainable, natural, and aesthetic—exactly as I had envisioned.
What also appeals to me about living in a house made of straw and clay is the energy it generates, both literally and figuratively. Straw provides excellent thermal insulation, keeping the house comfortably warm in winter and cool in summer. Clay regulates moisture and creates a pleasant indoor climate. More than that, these materials breathe. They feel natural and soothing. You live, as it were, within nature rather than beside it, creating a harmony and a quiet energy that you sense the moment you step inside.
5. You undertook the restoration of the former inn entirely on your own, even commissioning many custom-made elements. Did you have a clear vision for its future use from the start, and how long did the renovation take?
Initially, I had a fairly simple vision: I wanted to create a comfortable home for myself, my family, and friends. A place where we could be together, surrounded by nature, peace, and beauty. But as often happens with such projects, the idea gradually began to grow.
During the renovation of the old barn, a building with incredible charm and already 125 years old, I started to get the itch. I realized I had so much space, why not make more of it? That is how the plan to build rental apartments was born—not as a large-scale tourist destination, but as a place where people can truly come and feel at home in an atmospheric, natural setting.
I love renovating and decorating, so the creative process itself was energising. Searching for the right materials and combining old and new is really my thing. During my work as a designer, I have collected all kinds of unique furniture, artwork, and fabrics on my travels. At one point, I even acquired a truckload of Moroccan tiles. For me, such finds are like building blocks of atmosphere: each item contributes to the character of the place.
The renovation ultimately took several years, partly because I wanted to do a lot myself, and partly because choices evolved along the way. But that is all part of it. It is not a project you simply complete—it grows with you.
6. Restoring historic properties often leads to unexpected discoveries. Which findings or insights made the strongest impression on you?
Restoring a historic building brought me far more than I ever expected. What touched me most was what I discovered about myself along the way. When I started, I knew nothing about technology, renovations, or restoration, and I doubted I could manage it. Yet the process enormously strengthened my self-confidence. I truly surprised myself.
I gained insight into who I am and what I value. For example, I discovered that I am a good host and that I love people more than I had realised. It ultimately became a spiritual journey during which I grew stronger, not only in practical terms, but especially as a person.
What also touched me deeply was the contribution of two Feng Shui specialists, including the Dutch expert Jiny Thielsch. Their work proved invaluable. They brought balance, energy, harmony, and love to the house and garden, allowing everything to flourish, literally and figuratively. The place has undergone a complete transformation, and so have I.
7. Every major restoration has its low points. Were there moments when you questioned whether the project could continue and how did you navigate these challenges?
There were certainly times when I seriously considered quitting. The first time was very practical: the money had run out. I had to make a drastic decision and sold my apartment in Amsterdam to continue. Another time, I fell in love abroad. The pull to be with my significant other was strong, and I doubted whether to let go of my dream project. The final test came when I was offered a wonderful job, including a house in a romantic castle. A dream in itself—but I turned it down.
What helped me through those moments was learning to shift my focus. I told myself: LOOK WHAT YOU’VE ALREADY ACHIEVED. DON’T BE DISCOURAGED BY WHAT STILL HAS TO BE DONE. DON’T BE ATTACHED TO THE END RESULT BUT ENJOY THE PROCESS ITSELF.
From that moment on, things became easier—almost like a game. Not because it became easier, but because my attitude changed. And precisely because of that, I was able to continue, with more peace and confidence.
8. Beyond your private retreat, you have created uniquely designed guest apartments. How does your background as a set designer influence the interiors – do concepts emerge fully formed, or does the final design evolve over time?
The design of the interiors has definitely been an organic process. Instead of a fully developed concept upfront, it develops gradually. I usually start by choosing a style that complements the surroundings—not just the architecture of the house, but also the landscape and the culture in which I live.
Within that, I look for a balance of materials: stone, metal, wood, wool, leather… materials that have a kind of „skin.“ I love surfaces with traces of time—flaking, weathered, with patina. They bring character and depth.
The design process itself is very intuitive. While I’m in the space, I move furniture around, choose colors, and collect things that are still missing or that I feel are part of it. It’s not a linear process; it’s rather fluid.
My background as a painter and my years in the theater play a major role in this. Just like on stage and canvas, I work with atmosphere, light, contrast, and balance. I think in compositions—how objects, materials, and colors relate to each other in the space. They are still lifes lived in. The rooms are like scenes, but for real people, not for an audience. And that’s what makes creating so special.
9. What can new owners expect in Tarczyn and how might they continue your legacy to ensure this special place thrives for generations to come?
For me, Tarczyn has always been about possibility. I don’t see it as a legacy to preserve, but as an open chapter, ingredients I’ve gathered and laid out for someone else to cook their own dish with. Every new owner is completely free to do with the estate what feels right to them. There are no expectations, no scripts to follow. Take the key, open the door, and fill the space with your own ideas, your own rhythm.
You’ll find yourself in a tiny village, just twelve of us here, but believe me, it feels anything but small. It’s a warm, open community of young and old, people from different backgrounds, all with a big heart for each other and for art and culture.
What I’ve always found so special here is the natural space everyone is given to simply be themselves. There are no expectations, no constraints. Nothing is required, everything is allowed.
A beautiful example of village life is the annual cultural picnic, a colorful, convivial afternoon where creativity is shared through food, music, stories, and art. You can participate or simply enjoy. What you’ll especially notice here: you will be welcomed with open arms. Really and truly.
A note worth mentioning: My agriturismo has built up a strong reputation in the region and has a loyal group of regular guests. Whether you continue with that is, of course, entirely up to you, but honestly, it would be a shame if it were to go under. You can earn some money with it, it’s incredibly enjoyable work, and the guests will be thrilled to simply return.
What makes this place so special for me is the combination of space, tranquility, and connection with nature. My house is on the edge of a small hamlet; neighbors are close enough for a sense of community, but I live here in complete privacy. The south-facing view is truly unique. Every day I look out over the Giant Mountains, with the famous peak „Snowkop“ (Snow Head) directly in my line of sight. Snow lies there until May, a beautiful, ever-changing backdrop. Before that, an undulating bocage landscape of forests and meadows unfolds, without a house or road in sight. Only nature and rich wildlife: birds of prey, deer, roe deer, foxes, and wild boar. In summer, butterflies and birds abound. Because my house faces directly south, it’s light and sunny year-round. The seasons are palpable here, especially autumn with its warm colors. I have been privileged to live here, on this threshold between heaven and landscape. It is a paradise that touches the soul.
I enjoy giving each interior a personal touch, so it feels different from any other
Konstancin-Jeziorna, Mazovia
