Ah, budget hotels. The great equalizer. A place where weary travelers and questionable life choices come together under one roof, united by the siren song of “low rates” and “free breakfast.”
Let’s start with the good stuff: the breakfast was hot and nice. A solid win. But much like that one guy at the office who tells the same joke every morning, it never changed. Eggs. Sausage. Some form of potato. Every. Single. Day. It was like a comforting yet mildly concerning culinary Groundhog Day.Now, the atmosphere. The hallways carried the unmistakable aroma of relaxation, if you catch my drift. Not in the room, thankfully, but enough to make you wonder if Snoop Dogg was holding court in the parking lot. Noise levels? Let’s just say I now have an intimate knowledge of my neighbors’ nighttime activities—both social and, uh, otherwise.Then, the pièce de résistance: the bathroom. There was a mysterious, gaping chasm in the floor that I hesitate to call a pothole, but let’s just say if I had dropped a sock in there, I wouldn’t expect to see it again. The fan vent dripped ominously after every shower, adding a touch of mystery suspense to the morning routine.
But—and this is important—the housekeeper was a gem. Genuinely lovely. The front desk followed up on things, which in the budget hotel world is the equivalent of receiving turn-down service and a mint on your pillow.Final verdict.Inexpensive, slightly haunted by humidity, but functional. Would I stay here again? Maybe.