After traveling nearly 24 hours from California, I arrived at the hotel late at night, in the rain, and in the middle of winter—only to find it completely unstaffed. There was no signage or welcome, just a key retrieved from a drop box tucked in a poorly lit corner by the front door, exposed to the elements. The key itself was unusually heavy and offered no information other than a room number—no instructions, no map, no indication of where to go. I tried multiple doors without success before finally ringing the emergency bell. A man eventually appeared, looking irritated and disheveled, and wordlessly led me to a separate building, where he pointed me down a hallway to my room. Unfortunately, the room I was given looked nothing like the ones shown in the hotel’s promotional materials. While I understand that each room is different, this one lacked even the basics: no window covering, no comfortable bedding, and a general sense of being unfinished or neglected. I had to use a spare blanket to cover the window for privacy and to block car headlights. I had deliberately chosen this hotel over others in town because it appeared to offer a peaceful and comfortable atmosphere—ideal for recovering from long travel—but the experience fell far short of expectations. The next morning, I explained the situation to the front desk. Their response was indifferent, but they eventually agreed to move me to a room that more closely matched what had been advertised. That room was much better, and from that point on, the stay was decent and breakfast was enjoyable. That said, I remain baffled that the first room is even in circulation. It felt like a last-resort option that should only be used in emergencies, if at all. Photos show the room I received, followed by a photo of the bed I was moved to and a photo of their breakfast room.
