From the moment I arrived, it felt as though the front-desk clerk was granting me a personal favor instead of simply doing his job. The room didn’t help: every shift on the bed set it rattling and squeaking like an old shopping cart.
• Service? More like self-service. I phoned for an ironing board and was told, “Come fetch it yourself—anything you want, you come down.” Oddly, when I requested extra towels the next morning, they did deliver them… but only after grilling me for the used ones, as if I might be running a black-market towel operation.
• Breakfast of no champions. The “sunny-side-up” eggs were clearly premade, rubbery and ringed with crispy brown edges. When I asked for a fresh batch, the attendant insisted they’d been cooked just fifteen minutes earlier. My taste buds—and common sense—disagreed.
• Pool of disappointment. A quick dip was impossible; the water reeked of stale chemicals and damp gym socks. One whiff sent me straight back to the squeaky bed.
All told, the staff seem programmed to respond “no” first and figure out customer care later. A great location can’t save a place that treats guests like inconveniences. I checked in expecting hospitality and checked out wondering if anyone here ever learned what that word means.