The hotel’s location is perhaps its only notable advantage. Beyond that, the positives quickly fade. I opted for a Superior room expecting comfort, but reality fell far short. My window overlooked the rooftop of the neighboring building (just 4 meters away), where residents routinely hung laundry and paced around—hardly a scenic retreat.
The room itself felt claustrophobic, with ceilings so low I could easily reach up and touch them. The walls near the balcony and the ceiling were stark, unfinished concrete, giving the space an industrial, almost unfinished vibe. The bedding told a story of neglect: linens were threadbare, covered in pilled fabric, and the duvet cover—supposedly white—was frayed at the edges. Even the mattress seemed compromised; orphaned zippers hinted at a missing protector that once served a purpose.
The bathroom offered no respite. Moisture had warped the shower paneling, leaving it swollen and uneven. Breakfast, served in a cramped dining area, was a monotonous affair with a limited selection—clearly not designed for the hotel’s capacity. Finding a seat felt like a competitive sport, and I shudder to imagine the chaos during peak season.