Weeks before leaving the States, we reserved a room at HotRock Backpackers using my credit card on their secured Internet site. They "forgot" to delete my Visa number prior to emailing our confirmation, then "lost" our reservation by the time we arrived in town. Fully booked, we had to stay elsewhere (yet charged us for those nights according to this month's Visa statement!).
At Rotorua's Visitors Centre, a staff lady called other hostels but alas, all were likewise booked. After much dialing, she found a vacancy at Eaton Hall B&B. "There's one room left. Do you want me to book it?" she asked.
The name sounded impressive, and the location was perfect...right across from the Polynesian Spa and Rotorua Museum & Government Gardens. I pictured taking a scenic stroll in the flower gardens followed by a luxurious soak with my sweetheart in the steamy springs of the Lake Spa surrounded by rocks and waterfalls, then walking across the lawn to our private comfortable B&B.
"Ma'am?" she repeated, a note of tension in her voice. I shot my husband a quick look and said yes. Sight unseen.
We found the two story house four blocks away. Immediate disappointment. Obviously the postcard picture was a bit dated. White paint was peeling and cracking, and the forlorn flower boxes were empty.
Inside, our stern hostess proudly showed us the TV room where we would eat breakfast in the morning. Lumpy furnishings smelled musty. A profusion of nicknacks and lace doilies decorated end tables, wall shelves and an old television. Mismatched china plates sat on beige tablecloths draped over cheap white plastic tables, trying to add sophistication to the dark stuffy room. Embarrassed, I couldn't think of anything nice to say. Have you ever stayed in an old lady's home with bad cataracts?
Our room was likewise dated. The private bathroom had a shower and two tiny sinks with separate spigots for cold and hot water. There were no outlets in the bathroom. No mirror in the bedroom. At least another bad hair day could be blamed on that. A large window let in sufficient light, but maybe that wasn't such a good idea...the place was downright in need of some special lovin' care.
But the worst was yet to come. As darkness approached, the air became increasingly stagnant and sticky without air-conditioning or ventilation. The nauseating sickening stench of rotten-egg sulphur wafted in through the leaky window, intensifying with each passing hour. Frustrated and wide awake at 3am, we agreed to leave Rotorua first thing in the morning. Within an hour we became acutely aware of loud retching noises coming from our neighbor upstairs. Or so we thought. But when we scurried toward the bus stop at daybreak, we saw otherwise as we sidestepped chunky voluminous vomit under our window. At least the sulphur had kept that smell away.