A Short Tale Of Terror By Malibu Jenny. (The Astoria Hotel (Bucharest, Romania))

Member Name: malibu_jenny

Product:	The Astoria Hotel (Bucharest, Romania)
Date:	13/09/06 (650 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: You'll experience the real Bucharest.

Disadvantages: Chances are, you don't want to.

****************** Chapter 1 – The Arrival *********************

Our arrival in Bucharest was a sunny one. The train pulled in just before lunch and we disembarked, myself and The Boyfriend, 9 very hungover Polish kids in skinny jeans and a phone salesman from Barnsley. A motley crew indeed and the only remaining party survivors from the previous night’s train journey.

Drinking on a train had taken its toll; the cramped confines, the flooded toilets, the police searches and finally the horror stories of Bucharest – a place of some notoriety amongst backpackers – had all contributed to the departure of our fellow travellers at previous stations. First prize should be awarded to the man, who, when customs boarded the train at the border, legged it down the track with some heavy looking bags. Second prize to the cowardly Irish skinhead who terrorised us with the aforementioned stories before bounding off onto the platform in Brasov. That left us, not the most hardcore of travellers, to enjoy midday Bucharest in all its glory.

Fair enough, this is supposed to be a hotel review, but you need to understand the atmosphere of Bucharest in order for me to justify my choice of hotel. You also need a good grasp of the surroundings to understand how such a dismally awful hotel continues to exist and trap the unwary. We’ll begin at the beginning, with the station. The station is remarkably clean and tidy. Looking around and trying to get over the train lag, the ubiquitous McDonalds swam into focus. There was also a Bureaux De Change, a small café with tables and an information booth, all neatly encased under a modern looking glass roof. We breathed a collective sigh of relief and dared to smile.

The others all announced their intention to stay at the Funky Chicken hostel (a hostel where they guarantee room for everyone who turns up – yes, probably a safe bet in Bucharest) and trudged off. The Boyfriend and I looked at each other, suddenly glad of the peace and quiet. He swung his arm around me and said “We’ve done so many nights on the train, I think we deserve a hotel.” I smiled up and him and thought how romantic that would be after the constant noise and company. Like all good stories, this has a love interest. Arm in arm we left the station.

******************* Chapter 2 – The Location ****************

There is no tourist information in Bucharest and on reflection I can say that this is because tourists are most definitely not welcome. We left the station through high glass doors, emblazoned with the bat-like CFR symbol. The scene which greeted us, of wailing beggars, roaring traffic and hustling taxi drivers was too much all at once. We turned to retreat to the station and were confronted by some railway police. Apparently there is a 35 euro charge to enter the station without a ticket. Hmmm, but you can only buy tickets in the station. We spotted the Astoria across the road, rising from the dusty streets like a beacon of hope.

Even crossing the road in Bucharest is a hazard in itself. Crossing the two to the Astoria took considerably longer than expected, in the heat with backpacks it seemed the equivalent of trekking the Himalayas. The picture selected for Dooyoo makes it appear as though surrounded by a ring of fire and this is perhaps the best metaphor for attempting to reach it. However, the distance covered was minimal and the trip to any other hotel seemed insurmountable. I have little experience of Astoria hotels, but I understood the brand name to reflect a reasonable degree of quality and service and I eagerly looked forward to a relaxing evening and comfortable night.

*************** Chapter 3 – First Impressions and Reception************************

In front of the hotel is a café/bar with fridges, sunshades and plastic seats. It seemed an oasis in the midst of the traffic and first impressions were far more welcoming than we could have hoped. Feeling the heat of the day, we immediately promised each other an evening drink after check in. We entered a cool dark lobby with plush, gilt edged sofas and mirrors and stepped up to the high wood reception desk.

As our eyes accustomed to the gloom, we realised that there was no one behind the desk and that the only occupants of the room were seated behind us on the sofas. A quick scan (it doesn’t do to stare in a strange country) revealed that these were a group of large, well dressed men in their early forties. All were dressed in a similar combination of shirt and tie, on reflection this may well have been the uniform of the hotel. Just as uniform were the cans of beer and cigarettes they were consuming as they lolled on the furniture. Eventually one spoke in a thick Romanian accent, “you must wait here” and he gestured towards the desk. We stood, nervously by now, for around 15 minutes until a slim blonde girl in the shirt and tie entered through the bar. She put her shopping behind the desk and finally deigned to speak to us. To our relief, her English was surprisingly good. She informed us quickly that the price of a double room for the night was 170 Romanian New Lei* (see footnote) and that our payment must be in cash, Romanian money only. Faced with little choice and no prospect of a receipt, I duly put my hand in my pocket.

******************** Chapter 4 – The Lift ***************

So far, so good. We were handed the keys to a room and the remote control. (It seems to be a peculiar predilection of hotels to think that the remote control is such a valuable entity that it must be kept behind the desk under lock and key when not in use. At home, we all lose the batteries, throw it and fight over it.) A lift was provided to whisk us to the 5th floor, and with such heavy bags it seemed a cordial invitation. I slipped the bag from my back as gracefully as possible and stepped into the lift, only for the floor to drop a foot. With my reflexes conditioned by the previous days of hard living, I gripped the edge of the door and jumped back without a sound. There was no way this lift could hold two people, let alone with heavy bags. The considerable clunk and the effect on my height had alerted The Boyfriend who paled at the thought of entering the flimsy coffin. “We didn’t come this far to die in a lift tragedy” he panted, as we made the climb up the sweeping staircase.

We struggled to a floor so spectacularly grand, that the memory of the lift was almost erased. All around us were enormous mirrors, deep dusty armchairs and occasional tables. Framed pictures lined the walls and unswept marble floors stretched out before us. We optimistically opened the door to our room.

****************** Chapter 5 – The Rooms**********************************

Inside the dingy room were two single beds with heavily stained coffee coloured bedspreads. The thick drapes were closed and in the corner was a broken Bakelite wireless, which was intended for use as a table. There was a filthy freestanding lamp in the corner, connected to the one socket with exposed and apparently live, wires. The socket itself was hanging out of the crumbling plaster wall. I decided this might not be the best place to charge my phone. The Boyfriend, minus rucksack, sunk gratefully onto the bed and straight through to the floor. Both beds were broken, not just broken but splintered beyond repair. Neither of us could have slept on them, the grubby sheets barely concealing the damage. I returned to reception where she wordlessly handed me another key. A man stood at the desk, grinning toothlessly as he counted several thousand Lei onto the counter. I realised from our brief encounter that the beds were broken because the other customers paid by the hour.

The second room was a slight improvement, perhaps the receptionist was concerned that we might want the money back? Would I have dared ask for it? The dust was just as thick, but one of the wonky single beds was in reasonable condition. Perhaps it was too far from the door to get regular use. There were the same exposed wires as in the previous room. Our view was of the main streets and net curtains covered a rotting frame with a window wedged halfway between open and shut. This would, weary as were, do nicely.

The tiled bathroom was just outside the bedroom, with a council style door and paved floor. The paving gave the odd impression that you were stood on a driveway, but by this point I was just glad that they hadn’t chosen to construct the floor from gravel. A line of mirror tiles on the wall meant that when you stood on tiptoe, it was possible to glimpse the top of your head. To my relief, the shower was fantastic, constant hot water and good water pressure. The two stars awarded are directly related to this shower. It was pleasant to wash off the scum of the previous night and I emerged (after checking the top of my head and my eyebrows) to find The Boyfriend scrubbed up and cheerfully emptying clothes onto the floor in a manner that made me feel quite at home. The hotel towels were very good quality, although so dirty we used our own. Feeling human again, we walked admiringly through the archways and mahogany furnishings of the hotel and off to spend the evening in Bucharest.

The earlier promise of an evening drink had been thwarted by the fact that the fridges in the outside bar were devoid of contents. The other would be drinkers were in fact drinking supermarket beer and the waiters sat on a corner table doing likewise. On our return (not too late as everyone else was too terrified to leave their accommodation and meet us) and after laying our own sleeping bag over the sheets, we settled in for the night. The other foreigners we had arrived with had found that The Funky Chicken, despite all promises, was full. They were around the city in university accommodation. Having seen Bucharest first hand, we were relieved to be so near the station in order to make a quick getaway. There can be few occasions when anyone is so keen to jump on a train for seventeen hours. The lack of other customers that night meant little noise other than traffic, but despite this and our tiredness even the decent bed proved resolutely uncomfortable. Still, we had paid an extra 35 lei for breakfast, so there was something to look forward to in the morning.

******************** Chapter 6 – The Breakfast ***********************************

The Boyfriend loves hotel breakfasts with a passion and had managed to indulge himself spectacularly so far that holiday. I don’t think I understood the importance of breakfast before we met, always happy to skip it for a few hours more in bed. After the dreadful state of the rooms, we weren’t really expecting a lavish spread. ‘Still’, The Boyfriend comforted himself ‘everywhere has coffee’. Usually, when a free breakfast is offered, we adopt a tactical approach. He rushes down there the second he gets up and I, because I am deemed too slow, get to rise and dress in my usual leisurely fashion before joining him at the table. This morning, we decided that there was safety in numbers and descended together. In a moment of weakness we glanced at the lift as we passed. The call button was missing and a mass of wires hung from the panel, chances are this was just as ‘safe’ as the plug sockets in the room. With a shudder we headed downstairs.

The breakfast room looked stunning, a scene of white linen tablecloths and flowers greeted us. The other customers of the hotel, a couple across from us and a businessman on the table behind, looked like they had hearty appetites. The buffet table was situated out of sight from the door behind a pillar.
Looking at it close up, I concluded that I must be mistaken. A quick walk around the room revealed that yes, this was the buffet table. I approached again, puzzled that it held no food. There were some slices of stale white bread on a plate and a drink cooler in which one section was filled with a murky liquid (the other section was empty).

We helped ourselves to 2 slices of bread each, feeling guilty that there probably wouldn’t be any for anyone else who arrived for breakfast. The cooler held some water with bits in it, which I poured a glass of anyway. We sat at the table and looked around again. The man behind us was clearly waiting for service and observation revealed that the couple had bought their own fruit and were happily unloading her bag and tucking in. At this point The Boyfriend snapped. He needs his coffee in the mornings and it was a matter of time. I left him at the table and headed for reception to find out why there were no waiting staff or indeed, coffee. Eventually I found a very smartly dressed waiter (outside, drinking beer) who had the air of someone important. It transpired that he was in charge of breakfast, but that got us nowhere. So, prison breakfast all round much to the disappointment of The Boyfriend and the man on the table behind.

We checked out immediately after breakfast, finding The Boyfriend his coffee on the way to the station. Something about getting out of The Astoria was reinvigorating in itself and we left for Brasov, smiling in the sunshine like the survivors at the end of any horror movie.

***The End***

****************************Epilogue ************************************

I can say with a degree of certainty that our experience in the Astoria was not a freakishly unlucky one. Despite the evident but faded grandeur, both rooms were in equally poor condition, which means that they are probably like this throughout. With regard to breakfast, there is a possibility that this can simply be put down to cultural differences. In Romania, people don’t eat breakfast and it is generally not possible to find cafes and restaurants serving it. Perhaps the Astoria should reconsider the policy of charging for it? The most concerning thing about our stay was the lack of safety. The exposed wires in the bedrooms and lobby and the dangerous lift were beyond belief. Had we plunged to our death in the lift, the backpacks would very likely have been robbed before we even hit the bottom.

Perhaps I am writing to a narrow audience, few people wish to travel to Bucharest, even fewer dare remain the night. But forewarned is forearmed, and I sincerely hope this tale of fear scares those tempted into using the Astoria. More than saving you a couple of hundred lei, it may save your life.

* For anyone wondering, 170 Romanian New Lei or RON is equivalent to £32 GBP - not very expensive by British standards, but extortionate compared to other Eastern European prices! 35 lei is about £6.50. For example, in Romania, you can expect to get a weeks worth of shopping for around 15 lei. A standard bribe is about 1 lei, the price of a coffee.

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