Reingard

The old town location is fantastic. Everything is easy to reach, and it was very quiet, even the seagulls kept their distance 😉. We booked at short notice and could choose from the rooms available. The decor could use a dusting, though that's the case everywhere. One thing that would help: tell guests at check-in that payment is cash only, so they can have it ready at checkout.

We had to stay here four nights for work, and regretted booking it. Please don't pay ahead: the owner won't refund a cent or let you move to another hotel without keeping the money. If you call to complain and manage to reach her, she ends the conversation with “Have a nice day” and hangs up. The rooms were disgusting, with what looked like six months of dust, and the shower was moldy. Breakfast was inedible, with sour butter and jam jars that seemed to have been sitting there for months. This place shouldn't be called a hotel. It's a hostel, really a youth hostel, at €100 a night. Not worth €25. I've stayed in youth hostels that were far better. She blames everything on her disabled assistant, who clearly can't manage the whole place. With that in mind.

There are too few parking spaces, and getting into them is difficult. From the street, the place looks closed. Inside, the cute decor seems mostly neglected, and the plants were awful. The hotel is run-down and expensive.

The breakfast at €18 was ambitious, to put it kindly: dry bread, sad-looking sausage that seemed to date from when East German marks were still accepted, and coffee we wondered might have been made from wallpaper scraps. The owner was just as hard to pin down. She appeared like a rare mist and vanished again, either unreachable by phone or hanging up with the grace of an annoyed teenager. The price for what you get is outrageous. We stayed in the so-called bridal suite, and the whole place felt like a dusty antique shop that hadn't been cleaned since the German Empire. As soon as we walked in, it was like stepping into a time machine stuck somewhere between Biedermeier, hunting romance, and a cleaning lady forgotten since 1938. A dusty men's suit hung in the wardrobe, apparently untouched since the last royal wedding. Maybe it was still waiting for its bride, whose white veil had once been arranged around the bed. Faded romance, I guess. The bathroom was practically an ecosystem, with mold in the shower greeting me in the morning. The toilet seat wobbled so badly I considered going to the nearest café instead. The bedside lamps were sticky decorations, their cables unable to reach the sockets, and the blinds didn't work. At least there was a view of the overgrown backyard. Don't move the graying curtains, or the room will start snowing. My colleague's Biedermeier room wasn't any better. Every step creaked, and an eerie old woman in a picture above his bed seemed to follow the whispering draft from the leaky windows with her eyes. She couldn't explain the stains on the pillows, though. If sleeping among cobwebs and having mold as a roommate sounds good, and you're happy to spend more on breakfast than a movie ticket, this could be the place for you. Everyone else might do better at a campsite or in an underground parking garage.