Michael B.
Google
Well, what a start! We walked into the hotel lobby and were immediately hit by that “abandoned office block” aesthetic. Minimalist? Sure, if by minimalist you mean empty and sad. The staff looked like extras in a zombie movie, trudging through their shifts waiting for someone to end the season (or their suffering).
We arrived during October half-term, otherwise known as “the week everyone here stops caring.” Our first room came with a complimentary dead-drain aroma, Eau de Sewage, very exclusive and a nightly soundtrack courtesy of the entertainment echoing down the corridor until 11:30 p.m. Who needs sleep when you’ve got muffled karaoke?
Top tip: Bring earplugs. Or industrial noise-cancelling headphones. Or maybe just don’t come.
The corridors have no fire doors, meaning sound travels freely along with your will to live. And the rooms? Oh, they’re bright! Who needs blackout curtains when you can be serenaded to sleep by the glow of the hallway light streaming into your eyes?
After a hostage-worthy negotiation with reception, we got moved to another room, far from the main building, which was ideal since that’s where the “fun” happens. The bathroom, however, could have starred in The Mold Identity. The shower thoughtfully floods the floor, so every morning begins with a quick mop-up using all your towels. Who doesn’t love a bit of cardio before breakfast?
Speaking of cardio, the gym is a museum exhibit titled Fitness Equipment Through the Ages. Everything looks like it last saw action in 2009. The treadmill belts are looser than the hotel’s definition of “five-star,” and one mirror’s been smashed presumably by the last guest who got a good look at themselves mid-stay.
The pools look lovely until you get in and realise it’s basically an Arctic plunge. Great if you’re a penguin. The pool bar is the saving grace; the staff there actually seem to like people, and they pour strong drinks which you’ll need.
All-inclusive? Technically, yes. But instead of Coke or Fanta, you get Rola Cola and Banta nostalgic for anyone whose mum used a SodaStream in the ’90s. As for the gin and tonic — let’s just say it’s mostly gin, barely tonic, and tastes like it could fuel a small aircraft.
The “a la carte” restaurant was flooded and “closed for the season.” So was the steam room. And apparently, the concept of air conditioning too, because 26°C “isn’t hot.” Reception promised to “speak to management” and get back to us. Still waiting. Might still be waiting next season.
If you’re reading this thinking, “Oh, it’s just one grumpy guest,” you’re half right. I am grumpy, but only because this five-star resort turned out to be a two-star in disguise.
Summary: If you’re after the full “budget holiday dressed as luxury” experience mould, mystery smells, and musical corridors included, this is your spot. Otherwise, do yourself a favour and go literally anywhere else.
