When traveling, you always allow for the possibility that something will go wrong, and until our arrival in the resort of Yalıkavak our road trip had been flawless. Unfortunately, that changed the day we checked into our chosen hotel. What began as a disappointing hotel experience left me questioning my expectations, the standards of the hospitality industry, and my responsibilities as a travel writer.
Although the day improved later on, I finished it with a number of unresolved questions: Should I name establishments that I believe damage the reputation of the travel business? Do readers want to know which places to avoid? If I publicly criticize a hotel for poor standards, do I expose myself to legal or reputational risks?
My Bad Hotel Experience
Our trouble started in Yalıkavak, a wonderful coastal resort that inspires images of eccentric artists and writers seeking inspiration. It’s also easy to understand why many expatriates choose to live there. What disappointed me was the hotel we had pre-booked. Regular readers will know we often reserve accommodation in advance because walk-in rates can be much higher.
This trip was a girls’ holiday, so we booked a hotel that claimed four-star facilities: a sauna, a gym, buffet breakfasts, minibars and modern conveniences. We knew the outdoor pool would be closed for the season, but we expected the other advertised amenities to be available.
While exploring the resort we found the hotel and, even though our bags were still in the car, decided to see the rooms before formally checking in. I’m glad my friend suggested it — her instincts saved us an unpleasant stay.
Me: Hi, we have a reservation for two rooms and will be checking in later. Can we look around first?
Receptionist: Yes.
We went to the bar to wait for service, but after ten minutes with no one attending we went back to reception.
Me: Hi. Can I have one cola and one Efes beer please?
Receptionist: Yes.
Ten minutes later a beer and a dirty glass were placed in front of me. The bartender looked young and inexperienced; the scene raised warning flags, but we pressed on.
Me: How many rooms are occupied right now?
Receptionist: Two.
Me: Are those our two rooms?
Receptionist: Yes.
Me: Is the sauna open?
Receptionist: No.
Me: Is the gym open?
Receptionist: No.
Conversation did not come easily. When I asked about breakfast:
Me: Will there be a buffet breakfast in the morning?
Receptionist: No, set breakfast.
In Turkey, a “set” breakfast can be minimal — a slice of tomato, a cucumber, a few olives and a fried egg. It was not what we expected from a hotel advertised as offering a buffet.
Me: Can we see our rooms?
Receptionist: Yes.
We followed him upstairs and turned a corner to see a guest rushing from a room. The state of the rooms was immediately off-putting: crumpled sheets, stained pillowcases. Clean bedding is a basic expectation; finding dirty linens was unacceptable.
In short, our quick ‘walk-in’ turned into an even quicker check-out. Leaving that hotel felt like a relief rather than a disappointment. As it turned out, walking away brought better moments — we met some great people and found a much more suitable place to stay, which I will write about in my next post.
Will I name the hotel? I debated this. The hotel did ultimately agree not to charge our credit card, and for that reason I felt it would be unfair to single them out in a public post. Still, I paid 40 euros a night and expected the facilities advertised — gym, sauna, clean sheets — to be available and in an acceptable condition.
This experience reinforces the difficult questions travel writers face. Should we always share negative experiences so future travelers can make informed choices? Or should we weigh fairness and context before naming establishments?
- Readers, do you think I should have named this hotel even though we were not charged?
- If you are a travel blogger, do you disclose both the good and bad experiences on your blog?