I've stayed in hotels, expensive and inexpensive, in cities all over the world. And of all the hotels I've ever stayed in, the Apollo was the absolute bottom of the proverbial barrel. By comparison to the Apollo, sleeping outside on a park bench would have had a certain quaint charm, and vastly less frustration.
But let me tell you why.
It isn't the fact that it's a run-down, rancid little dive with peeling paint and moldy walls, though it is. It isn't the fact that neither of the rooms I ended up staying in had a functioning television, though that was true, too. Nor was it the colossally bad 'continental' breakfast, which consisted of toast (bread), croissants (bread), and rolls (more bread).
Come to think of it, wasn't the 'bread only' diet a common theme in the unimaginative menus of the Bastille and the Clink?
But the number one reason not to stay there was the experience that capped it all off for me.
The phone rings. I wake up and glance at the clock, through glazed eyes. It's 7:15 AM. No one I know would call at this hour.
"No one I know would call at this hour," I say into the phone.
It turns out to be the front desk. My roommate and I are told (not asked, not apologized to, told) to pack our bags, because they need our room for other guests, and we're going to be moved to another room. Today. This morning.
I glance at the clock. It's 7:16 AM. I pinch myself. I am, in unfortunate point of fact, awake. And I am being shuttled to a new and unknown room, along with my bags, which will need to be repacked, good luck with that, and my roommate.
Don't let this happen to you, in all seriousness. There are prisons where the inmates are treated with more consideration and human dignity.
A staff whose rudeness is surpassed only by their nearly admirable level of incompetence. Rooms as comfortable as they are attractive, to wit, neither.
Oh, and if you want a laugh, check out the way they've described themselves on at least one travel site:
"The Hotel is Simple Yet Comfortable Throughout. (If you don't mind being shuttled from room to room.) Occupying What Was Originally a 1900 Georgian Town House (a neat trick, considering the Georgian period ended in 1830), the Hotel is Renowned For Its Unmistakeable Charm (these people can't even SPELL unmistakable; strike while the irony's hot) and Tasteful Design (Early 1970s Flea Market, apparently frequently confused with Georgian). The Stylish Reception Hall (which must have been in another hotel) Includes a (creaking, nervousness-inducing) Lift (roughly the size of a postage stamp) and a 24-Hour Reception Desk (with an attendant who likes to fall asleep on the sofa and needs to be poked with a stick to help you)."
|
