The Embassie

If you value your sanity, your health, or your sense of smell, do not step foot in this hellhole. The Embassie Hostel is less a hostel and more a social experiment in human endurance. The moment I walked in, a wave of stench hit me — a toxic mix of sweat, mould, and old socks marinated in despair. The kitchen? A crime scene. Looks like there was a party in 1986 and nobody’s bothered to clean up since. There’s supposedly a “free breakfast,” but with cats crawling out of every corner and strolling across the table, it’s more like a petting zoo gone feral. No thanks. The guests — or should I say “residents of chaos” — wander around in drug-fueled trances. At 3 a.m., a man staggered into our room, sprinkled cocaine on the bed, then lay on the floor and exposed himself. I went to find staff, only to discover the “manager” sitting with seven empty cans of Carlsberg, staring into the void. The bedsheets smelled like unwashed feet and broken dreams. The bathroom had a sign begging people to close the shower curtain because “it’s deprived of water.” Whatever that means, it’s not reassuring. This place isn’t a hostel — it’s a halfway house for people society gave up on. It’s unsafe, filthy, and a genuine danger to women, students, and anyone with a pulse. Booking.com or any other platform it's using, should pull this listing immediately before someone catches something incurable.It's false advertisement even with the photos of the rooms. I fled at 3:30 a.m. and checked into the Z Hotel, where the staff were actual humans and the beds didn’t smell like regret. That’s how bad it was — I’d rather sleep on a pavement than ever set foot in the Embassie again. Women and children stay away before something really bad happens.

If you value your sanity, your health, or your sense of smell, do not step foot in this hellhole. The Embassie Hostel is less a hostel and more a social experiment in human endurance. The moment I walked in, a wave of stench hit me — a toxic mix of sweat, mould, and old socks marinated in despair. The kitchen? A crime scene. Looks like there was a party in 1986 and nobody’s bothered to clean up since. There’s supposedly a “free breakfast,” but with cats crawling out of every corner and strolling across the table, it’s more like a petting zoo gone feral. No thanks. The guests — or should I say “residents of chaos” — wander around in drug-fueled trances. At 3 a.m., a man staggered into our room, sprinkled cocaine on the bed, then lay on the floor and exposed himself. I went to find staff, only to discover the “manager” sitting with seven empty cans of Carlsberg, staring into the void. The bedsheets smelled like unwashed feet and broken dreams. The bathroom had a sign begging people to close the shower curtain because “it’s deprived of water.” Whatever that means, it’s not reassuring. This place isn’t a hostel — it’s a halfway house for people society gave up on. It’s unsafe, filthy, and a genuine danger to women, students, and anyone with a pulse. Booking.com or any other platform it's using, should pull this listing immediately before someone catches something incurable.It's false advertisement even with the photos of the rooms. I fled at 3:30 a.m. and checked into the Z Hotel, where the staff were actual humans and the beds didn’t smell like regret. That’s how bad it was — I’d rather sleep on a pavement than ever set foot in the Embassie again. Women and children stay away before something really bad happens.

Don't touch anything and drink a lot! Take 3 strong sleeping pills! Then maybe you won't step down prematurely. I'm not a softie, but I almost froze in the unheated room and shower. It's like I was in survival training.