In the era of modern hospitality, Estelar Apartamentos in Medellín serves as a stark reminder of how not to run an establishment. As one steps into the purported sanctuary they've chosen to call their temporary home, the absence of air conditioning hits with an oppressive warmth reminiscent of a summer's afternoon without reprieve. A week—that's how long it took for this essential amenity to be restored. One might wonder if they've time-traveled to an era where such conveniences were novelties.
No hot water compounds the discomfort. It's a jarring realization in the morning when one expects a warm embrace but is greeted instead by an icy slap, stripping away any illusions of relaxation.
Yet, the true masterclass in anxiety is presented by the patio door. Without a lock, it becomes a gateway to unwanted guests from neighboring apartments—a glaring oversight in an age where security should be paramount.
The room's closet, ostensibly a space for guests to store their belongings, mirrors the dysfunction of the apartment—it’s broken. The lights, or lack thereof, punctuate the space with patches of darkness, serving as poetic metaphors for the management's attention to detail.
Attempts to reach out for help are met with either a haunting silence on the phone or an empty front desk—a Houdini act that the staff seems to have perfected. When they do grace guests with their presence, the lack of professional training is glaringly apparent. It offers an education in inhospitality.