The photos on the website appear to have been taken at an entirely different hotel — possibly on a different planet. The room we stayed in looked like it had survived several natural disasters and then immediately hosted another one. There was not a single surface that wasn’t cracked, blistered, stained, peeling, broken, or hanging on purely out of spite.
The walls were bubbling, the ceilings looked water-damaged, the moldings were splitting apart, and the bathtub drained with all the urgency of continental drift. The air conditioner had exactly two settings: “off” and “Arctic wind tunnel.” When it kicked on, it sounded like a Boeing 747 preparing for takeoff and could probably refrigerate meat for long-term storage.
The bathroom was so unbelievably small that you had to physically step into the tub just to open or close the door. I’ve seen larger bathrooms on airplanes.
The hallways featured industrial drying fans every few feet, strong musty flood-damage vibes, and the general atmosphere of a building actively losing a fight against moisture.
The only genuinely positive thing I can say is that the toilet paper was surprisingly decent, which, considering the state of everything else, felt like a luxury amenity.