Tetiana K.
Google
I arrived late at night, exhausted and dreaming of the room I had actually booked. For some reason, I was given a different one. The room I got instead strongly resembled a crime scene—or perhaps a haunted community center. Scratched walls, broken boards…
But the true highlight? The rich, bold, and sticky aroma of raw sewage wafting through the air. It was so thick and fragrant, you could taste it.
Naturally, we asked for a room change. Silly us. “No rooms available,” they said—but they did suggest we run all the taps for five minutes, like we were trying to summon a sanitation demon. Spoiler alert: it didn’t help. Housekeeping promised to come and pour cleaner into the sewage. Nothing changed.
And let’s talk amenities. The light bulbs in the loft were more decorative than functional. The coffee machine? Dead. The dishwasher? Also dead. I half expected the bed to burst into flames just to complete the theme of “everything is broken.”
In addition, the hotel was in the city center, so we could hear people partying outside. They promised earplugs. Guess what? Those were missing and never delivered.