If you’ve ever wanted to know what it feels like to sleep inside a malfunctioning oven, congratulations — your search ends here. The thermostat was a cruel joke. No matter what we set it to, it cranked out heat like it was powering a steel mill. By 2 a.m., the air was thick enough to butter. We tried turning it off — it laughed and kept going.
By 5 a.m., we called the front desk begging for relief. They cheerfully informed us that “management doesn’t exist until after seven.” At 8:30 a.m., someone finally arrived, smiling politely but speaking no English, as we stood there drenched in sweat and delirium, pointing at the inferno like two survivors of a heat-based apocalypse.
If your idea of a getaway involves dehydration, heat stroke, and an existential crisis, this is your paradise. Otherwise, pitch a tent in the parking lot — it’s cooler, quieter, and probably cleaner.