I expected an old building to come with old amenities. I did not expect mismatched, outdated everything.
There is no air conditioning. The listing never claims any, but neither does it claim lights or doors, and I'd consider all three fairly standard. The irony was considerable: I fled another hotel whose air conditioning had died in a 90-degree heatwave, only to land somewhere that never had any to lose. The room was hot and stifling. They provided a fan.
The wallpaper is peeling. The window shade is broken, so I can't raise it to admit what little breeze the evening offered.
Security is nonexistent. The front door code is a variation on the street address, and every room’s keypad follows the same pattern. Once you know your own room number, the building’s address, and the format, you know how to open every door in the place. The codes never change, either. I know this because, while hunting for something to prop up the shade, I found an old letter to a former guest listing the very same codes.
To be fair, the bedding was clean and the room well kept, apart from curiosities like 1980s industrial metal power strips on every wall.
Finally, an envelope on the nightstand solicited tips for housekeeping. In thousands of hotel nights across three dozen countries, I have never seen so brazen a tactic.