GGuest UserThe moment I pushed open the room door, a wave of damp, musty air hit me, like a long-sealed basement or old, mildewed books after a rainy season. I frowned, trying to convince myself it was just a temporary lack of ventilation. Yet, this persistent odor clung stubbornly to every corner of the room, silently proclaiming its presence from the folds of the curtains, the carpet fibers, and the grout between the bathroom tiles.
The warm smile from the front desk during check-in was still vivid in my memory, now a sharp contrast to the moldy air. The air conditioner's ventilation system hummed a tired tune, yet offered no improvement to the air quality. But the 'king-size bed' was an even greater disappointment. Two narrow single beds had been awkwardly pushed together, forming a chasm in the middle that felt impossible to bridge. The slightest turn would send me into a noticeable dip. This was hardly a king-size bed; it was clearly two twin beds clumsily conjoined.
As night deepened, the musty smell intensified. Lying on the makeshift bed, listening to faint TV sounds from the neighboring room and feeling the constant 'fault lines' beneath me, I began to question: could such a stay truly be worth the price?
However, the absolute worst offender was the soundproofing. Every conversation from the corridor, even from the adjacent room, was distinctly audible. Late into the night, someone was loudly talking on their phone in the hallway... I lay awake, bombarded by this unfiltered noise.
The hotel's promotional photos, showcasing spacious, bright rooms and comfortable, large beds, presented a stark and ironic contrast to reality. Perhaps for some establishments, guest comfort has long been deprioritized in favor of maximizing profits. How could a hotel truly committed to guest experience tolerate a pervasive musty odor in its rooms? And how could it fob off two single beds clumsily joined together as a 'king-size bed'?
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