Hotel des Arts

Centrally located near attractions, dining, and transportation. Guests appreciated the cleanliness, comfort, and attentive staff offering useful local tips.

Pricey hostel Cons: Terrible assistance by the front desk staff Unable to sleep due to noise in alleyway from 9pm -5am. Bring ear plugs! Pros: cute rooms, comfortable beds Excellent house keeping

I understand that in the covid era, expectations must be lowered. But I draw the line at not being able to get into the room. We arrived at Hotel Des Arts, a longtime favorite for its affordable, artfully painted rooms in a great location. We were forced to use an electronic key on the phone. We'd used one before. Not easy, but workable. Not here. When I tried it, the app said, "No connection." Tried on both wifi (the app had the code) and 5G. Nothing. Another new thing about this hotel is that the front desk is unmanned. So I texted "manager" on the phone. "If this is about the key, you need to call us," came back. So, I called. "Are you using an iPhone or an Android?" "Android." "Oh. It doesn't work well with Android." "Well, I'm not going to go buy a new phone, so how do we get in?" "I'll get the housekeeper to let you in and give you a physical key." Twenty minutes later, the (one) housekeeper, Bertha, appears, but hadn't been told about letting us in. She goes off in search of a key. Returns with it 10 minutes later, lets us in, and . . . the room hasn't been cleaned. So off we go to the sad, unmanned lobby to wait half an hour for the room to be cleaned. We get to know the maintenance man, Henry, who also has been alerted to the key situation. We finally get into the room and are handed the physical key. A second is made for us. Great. We head across the street to Sam's for a wonderful dinner. When we return, we can't get the key to turn to let us into the room. After a bit, a large fellow guest shows up, fiddles with it a while, and finally we get in. Then the key won't come out of the lock. Half an hour later, an off-site guest services person has appeared, has trouble with the key herself, and promises that Henry will install a new lock, a deadbolt, in the morning at 8. AT 8 the next morning, we're doing what we value most in a San Francisco vacation: Watching and listening (loud!) to Henry install the new lock. He says, "I will be back to fill the hole." Fill the hole? You mean with a doorknob? No, he returns, puts a piece of foam where the lock had been and begins plastering it in. I knock on the door from the inside: "Uh, Henry, you do know we can't get out now, right?" "I will make you a handle." He did. He put, like, a screen door handle inside the room. I'll try to attach a photo. He gave us keys to open the lock from the outside and push the door in. OK, fine. Other quibbles: TV didn't work (Henry did his best, but all we could get one was one very pixillated channel, and, by the way, it's never good if your new best friend is the maintenance man). The bedside lamp didn't work. The faucet dripped. All those are minor and wouldn't even merit a remark except that the place has gone so downhill. Oh, and there's no longer a breakfast or even coffee. Not that the flat bagel with a packet of cream cheese of the past was a great breakfast, but still. We were told at one point that the desk is unmanned only Tuesday and Wednesday. We di