Underwhelmed. Because of this establishment's high price and ratings, we expected a reasonable level of service and the basic amenities that we have experienced in numerous other bed and breakfasts. We were very disappointed from the moment of arrival until we had them in the rear-view mirror.
After a full day of travel, we set foot inside the tiny, cramped entryway only to be accosted with a disjointed endless monologue about the do and don'ts of said place, its apparent logic seemingly stitched together like Frankenstein's monster. A few of the numerous particulars involved cautions about the different sorts of noises that radiators make ... only one and I repeat, only one bottle of water will be placed on the left side of the refrigerator for each registered participant ... and that seating for a sit-down breakfast would commence promptly at nine. More on that later. This is the only bed and breakfast that I have stayed at that thought a personal one-on-one litany from the warden would substitute for a warm welcome, such as the usual glass of wine, or crackers and cheese, or even a simple cookie or something.
We finally got to our room, with Lurch still in tow spouting on and on about the wonders of his domain when we first realized that it was trick photography that had lured us into this hellhole. In this small musty Oscelia Rose Room stood a sink right as you walk-in. An old, corroded bathroom sink hidden strategically hidden behind a panel in the official web photo! The room, being about the size of a jail cell, got me wondering about why these house flippers didn't just put the crapper next to the sink and call it a day. Well, the answer to that seems to be that someone had actually decided to take up the challenge of squeezing a cheap 30 by 30-inch tiny shower and miniature toilet into a very small closet with no room left for the sink. These bathroom accommodations made a porta potty seem spacious.
The next morning, we tentatively ventured downstairs for the much-touted nine o'clock formal breakfast. We were hungry and hopeful of starting our day with a good protein-filled traditional breakfast. Herman Munster, ridiculously adorned in ill-fitted, plastic gloves, awkwardly served the first course consisting of three mini pumpkin muffins (touted as homemade but we have seen them at Costco) in the middle of an otherwise vacant plate. What these so-called muffins lacked in size they made up for in granular brown sugar. The other inmates sort of mashed these sugar-ladened balls around with their forks, not wanting to offend Lurch, the plastic-gloved, 6-foot 2 butler/greeter/warden while he was boasting about his wife's cooking. The second and thankfully last course was one under ripened, underbaked, cored out green ordinary sour apple with a spoonful of everyday breakfast granola packed into the tiny, cored hole. These delights would have been more digestible if they had stayed in the microwave a bit longer. Herman Munster once again went on an improbable monologue, as he tried to pass this poor excuse of a gas station breakfast off as something of intrinsic value, having been made by the Amish, sold to the Mennonites, and then resold to high end bed and breakfast establishments such as his. Whether or not there is any truth to this tale is irrelevant. The pretentious sit-down breakfast was nothing more than a farce.
We were in such a hurry to leave this place that we left our two allocated bottles of water in the refrigerator. In my opinion, we had not only been grifted, but we had also been subjected to having to listen to utter nonsense. Only a fool that doesn't know the difference between what is real and what is fake would ever return to this pretense of a bed and breakfast. Good riddance! read more