Once upon a time, a writer was tired of vacation rentals that promised magical Michigan escapes and delivered something less than human. This vacation rental? Too musty, like it had inhaled the wrong century. That glamping tent? Too cold, the kind of cold that made you wonder if thin fabric walls could judge you. Another? So bland it made the beige wallpaper of my first house look like a masterpiece. Nothing fit, nothing invited imagination.
And then, in Grandville, Michigan, I discovered a castle. Not a castle in the metaphorical sense, like “oh, let me live my best princess life here,” but an actual, real-life castle. With turrets. And a penthouse. And enough beds to host a small parliament. It was, for once, just right.
Grandville itself is quietly magical. The Grand River threads through town like a silver scar, catching light that seems to shift with your mood. Millennium Park stretches along its banks, trails winding between the trees in a way that feels deliberate, as if each bend were waiting for you to notice it.
Want some sweets to match the stay? Steenstra’s Royal Dutch Bakery smells like warm butter and caramelized sugar spilling into the street. Every pastry is precise; the edges crisp, centers soft, sugar dusting where it should be, so exact it makes your fingers itch to touch them. This is a place where humans have proven they can turn simple ingredients into a moment you can almost hold in your hand (and then shove in your mouth.)
The Grand Castle Penthouse perches atop fifteen stories of Bavarian-inspired architecture, surveying Grandville like it knows something you don’t. Modeled after Neuschwanstein Castle, it is gloriously excessive—turrets, spires, and balconies stacked with deliberate extravagance—and impossible to ignore. The penthouse unfolds over multiple levels, sleeping sixteen guests across four bedrooms with ten beds and three bathrooms, each space carefully calibrated to feel expansive without losing intimacy…