If ever there were a place to make a traveler reflect upon the error of their ways, this establishment is it. I arrived hopeful, purse in hand, only to be greeted by a chamber so hot it might have been rented from the lower circles. Thus began my forced pilgrimage to a second room, for comfort was clearly an optional luxury.
Alas, the true specter awaited me not in the walls but in a humble bag meant to house a hair dryer. Within lay a most unwelcome relic of another guest—proof that cleanliness here is but a ghost of its former self. I reported this horror to the front desk, who assured me they had texted the head of housekeeping, as though exorcising a demon by message alone. Yet when I returned, the very same dryer, in the very same bag, remained—unchanged, unrepentant, and unforgettable. Yuck, indeed.
Departure offered no redemption. The clerk at the front desk had to be awakened from slumber, and even as I spoke, she drifted back toward it—though, miracle of miracles, she roused herself just enough to charge me fifteen dollars for absolutely nothing.
The lobby served as a sort of wayward refuge, with strange souls sleeping where guests ought to pass freely, and the garage—oh, the garage! Narrow, unforgiving, and hostile to any vehicle larger than a modest sedan, it is less a place to park and more a trial of faith and fenders.
Take heed, future travelers. Consider well before booking, lest you too shall regret.