What is the worst hotel in the world

The worst hotel in the world is in Amsterdam. This is how the management of the Hans Brinker Budget Hotel defines its establishment: If the guest thinks that it couldn't get worse - well, at Hans Brinker they always try to undercut the low level. The hotel, which is actually a hostel, drew attention to itself with humorous campaigns that match the self-deprecating zeitgeist: "We are proud to offer dirt and a wide range of bacteria. Just one night with us will get your immune system going again. Activate it before it's too late! "

But lately the cheap hotel in the best location on the Keizersgracht wants to be liked very unironically, more precisely: It wants to become the hotel with the most Facebook likes in the world. Does the worst hotel in the world suddenly go for a clean image? Time for a visit, of course unannounced - to check some prejudices that the hotel has more or less brought into the world.

Prejudice 1: The staff doesn't care.

"Thank you for disturbing us," prepared the phone announcement for a not very warm welcome. But then: Everyone is so nice here, even when we arrive at the best party time at eleven o'clock at night. No problem, the desk at the entrance is manned around the clock. Anyone wishing to enter at night just had to hold the key to the window and the door would open. We also very politely ask for a deposit of five euros for this key. They are only given back if the guest has checked out before ten o'clock (in the morning!) And has not broken anything. A positive first impression: Apparently value is placed on intact inventory here.

Prejudice 2: It's dirty.

On the gray-blue linoleum floor, which is color-coordinated with the room doors, the cleanliness cannot be judged really well. The narrow four-bed room is obviously already occupied by three other guests who have divided their luggage on four beds. Maybe the make-up marks on the white sheet came from the roommates. Another suspicious stain is easy to scratch off, but the pillow is immaculate. And the yellow marks on the towel aren't a problem either, I've packed my own.

The bathroom surprises positively, not only because each room has its own: The white tiles are clean, there is no more mold in the joints than in other windowless hotel bathrooms. The mirror was cleaned streak-free and proves that travel is an education: I didn't even know that mirrors can rust away too.

Otherwise cleanliness is also ensured: Contrary to the anti-advertising, toilet paper is definitely available, you just can't find it. At least not right away. The role hangs at head height when you stand. How considerate to give the guests in the wet room - which really deserves this name because of its size - in the toilet a little more arm room.

Prejudice 3: It's loud.

Shortly after midnight, the terrace doors to the bar are closed, so that only the guttural roar of late-pubescent smokers can be heard. "Sweet dreams" by Eurythmics penetrates muffled, which paradoxically makes you more alert again: This is now the fifth song from the 1980s, although only very few hotel guests were born back then. In the in-house basement club with two pole dance poles, on which nobody dares to dance because nobody else is dancing, a few groups sit and listen to music from the present day. Either they are glowing or are on a school trip and are no longer allowed to roam the city alone.

Three British women in their early twenties have arrived in the quadruple room. They don't block the bathroom for long: two throw themselves into bed as they are, only one brushes her teeth quickly. In the neighboring room, hygiene is obviously also important, it rustles and gurgles.

The only thing that keeps you from falling asleep is the regular groaning of a British woman who checks messages on her smartphone for an hour. Apparently they are not good ones, she sighs deeply and heavily. But she continues to sleep blissfully when between three and four o'clock at night someone is playing soccer with a wicker chair in the hallway. At least that's how it sounds.