Guest User
February 10, 2023
... but we are close. I start by saying that all of Cortona is very reminiscent of a "stage backdrop" and that, if you are not a tourist in the worst sense of the term and/or if you go in the low season, it is sadder than Scampia, but this sort of hotel really surpasses, negatively, almost all the rest. Let's start with the fact that, if you had the misfortune to decide to stop for dinner, the food is much worse than when you come home late in the evening and "snap" something just to put an X on the meal? At dinner, with Frenchmen who were more or less all producers of great wines, we ate a plate of pasta with tomato sauce passed off as pici all'aglione and unidentified meat [and hearing the French make irony about Italian food - although possible , but at least we had played well! - it has a certain not negligible effect]; and then, again because we are Italians, to people who make some of the best and most sincere wines in France [therefore in the world], they serve bottles of one of those supermarket reds that would not fool even the generic drinker of our house, let alone the French biodynamic producer! We close the parenthesis with breakfast - which, unlike the meal, which we avoided like the plague after such a dinner, we were more or less forced to have every day: by pure chance the first day there was a passable little bit of ham, also considered the area, which has NEVER AGAIN made its appearance in favor of terracotta in the shape of a parallelepiped; instead, we were accompanied throughout the five days of our stay by a cream cake that went in and out of the fridge to reassure us that there was no "new" one [although I'm not sure that the proverb also applies to food]. There were some oranges already tried on the first day - and, towards the third, eating one tasted very much like euthanasia. I think they bought back three or four on the penultimate day. The rest of the breakfast consisted of small sealed packets of sad biscuits or rusks and defrosted stuff, croissants, yeast and some rustic savory; stuff to make you miss the little bar on the far outskirts of Rome. But let's get to TRUE pride, the rooms [then we will close with the welcome which, instead of being satisfied with being simply adequate to such crap, was even worse]. The only Italian among the French, upon taking possession of mine I notice there was no bidet - and the courteous girl who accompanied us "yes," some" rooms don't have it, actually". Now, apart from the fact that I forgot to go deeper into those some, I say, even going by "proverbs", but do you make the only Italian among the French come across "one" of these "some"? I don't know that the condition had been previously clarified and, in any case, when it came to saying that the TOTALLY EMPTY internal parking, SINCE IT APPEARS THE HOTEL WAS OPEN ONLY FOR US, was paid, they didn't have the slightest hesitation, nor has it occurred to anyone to make an appreciable
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