Escape to Paradise: Luxury at Residence Mer & Golf Ilbarritz, Bidart, France
Escape to Paradise: Luxury at Residence Mer & Golf Ilbarritz, Bidart, France
The Hotel Review That's Probably Too Honest (But Hopefully Helpful) - Let's Dive In!
Okay, buckle up, buttercups, because you're about to get the unvarnished truth about… well, a hotel. I won't name names for now (gotta keep my anonymity!), but let's just say this place tried hard. Like, really hard. This review is gonna be like one of those chaotic, overflowing luggage carousels – full of weird stuff, a few treasures, and a whole lotta "What the heck just happened?!"
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Keywords: Hotel Review, Accessibility, Wheelchair Accessible, Free Wi-Fi, Spa, Swimming Pool, Restaurant, Fitness Center, Cleanliness, Safety, Dining, COVID-19 Protocols, Rooms, Amenities, Reviews, Hotel, Travel, Vacation, Best Hotels, Luxury Hotel Review, Family Friendly, Business Travel, Conference Facilities, Meeting Rooms, Airport Transfer, Valet Parking, [City where the hotel is located] Hotels
Metadata:
- Title: The Good, the Bad, and the Surprisingly Beige: A Hotel Review That's Actually Useful (Maybe).
- Description: A brutally honest review of a hotel, covering everything from accessibility and Wi-Fi to the questionable quality of the buffet croissants. Get ready for a rollercoaster ride of opinions, anecdotes, and the occasional rant.
- Keywords: (See above)
- Author: (Me, a cynical traveler fueled by caffeine and cheap thrills)
(And now, for the glorious, messy, unfiltered review…)
Right, so, where do we even start? This place was… an experience. Let’s break it down, shall we?
Accessibility: The "Almost" Zone
Look, they tried. They really, really did. Wheelchair accessibility? Yes, in theory. But the ramps were a little… steep. The signage? Well, deciphering it felt like a cryptic puzzle. One time I was in a wheelchair, well, not really, but the hotel looked like they wanted to be accessible because when I went to the ramp, I almost fell while trying to push a luggage, my poor friend had to help. Sigh. The elevators were thankfully spacious, but getting to the elevator from certain parts of the hotel involved a detour through what seemed to be the back of the kitchen! Hilarious!
On-site Accessible Restaurants / Lounges:
Yeah. There were restaurants. And… lounges. Accessibility within them? Hit and miss. Some tables were clearly accessible, others were crammed in corners that looked like they'd been designed by someone who'd never seen a wheelchair in their life. Let's just say I saw a few people struggling.
Internet – Oh, the Internet!
"Free Wi-Fi in all rooms!" they boasted. And yes, it was technically free. And it was technically in the rooms. But oh dear god, the speed! I swear I could've hand-delivered a message faster. I tried to upload a picture of my breakfast (which, spoiler alert, wasn't a masterpiece) and it took so long I almost gave up and just, you know, ate it. The LAN option? Hah! I'm guessing that's only there for the ghost of dial-up users.
Things to Do, Ways to Relax… Or Not.
- Spa/Sauna/Steamroom: Now, this was intriguing. The spa promised (in flowery, over-the-top language) a "journey of tranquility." The reality? The sauna was fine, the steam room was… steamy (duh!), and the “massage” felt a bit like somebody was just poking me with a stick. A "pool with a view"? Well, technically, you could see the sky. If squinted hard enough.
- Fitness Center: Okay, the gym. This was actually not terrible! It had the usual suspects - treadmills, weights, the whole deal. But it was in the basement, which meant limited natural light so when I went there, I looked like a vampire in the sun.
- Swimming Pool & Poolside Bar: The pool was… functional. The poolside bar? It was there! Sadly, it was manned by a guy who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else on earth. Seriously, I ordered a mojito and my request was met with more enthusiasm than I would expect from a DMV employee.
Cleanliness and Safety: The COVID-19 Dance
They took the whole COVID-19 thing seriously. Everywhere you turned - hand sanitizer! Mask reminders! Sanitized this! Sanitized that! The staff were wearing masks so much, they looked ready to go to the space. They even had "Individually-wrapped food options" (which, let's be honest, made the buffet look a little… sad). Did I feel safe? Yes. Did it feel a little… obsessive? Maybe. But hey, better safe than sorry, right?
Dining, Drinking, and Snacking: The Gastronomic Adventure (Or Missadventure?)
- Breakfast: The infamous buffet. The croissants were… well, I suspect they were made of compressed cardboard and regret. But those other breakfast items were edible, and the "Asian breakfast" option was a surprising delight.
- Restaurants: A la carte, buffet, Asian Cuisine, International Cuisine, coffee/tea, coffee shop, desserts – you name it, they had it. In theory. In reality, the quality varied wildly. I had a salad that was divine and a "steak" that was basically shoe leather.
- Bars: They had a bar! And a poolside bar (see above). The happy hour was tempting but the drinks were… well, let’s just say they prioritized quantity over quality.
Services and Conveniences: The Little Luxuries (and the Not-So-Luxurious)
- Front Desk: The staff were polite and helpful, but efficiency was not their strong suit. Check-in took forever. Check-out took even longer.
- Concierge: These guys were life-savers! They helped with everything from booking tours to finding me a decent coffee shop off-site (because the one in the hotel was… let’s just say it wasn’t great).
- Laundry/Ironing: Essential! Especially since I'm a bit of a travel slob. The ironing service was a little… slow. But hey, they eventually returned my ironed stuff.
- Other bits: The convenience store was a godsend for late-night snack attacks. The elevator was thankfully a good idea.
For the Kids: Let's Face it, I'm Not Gonna Use These.
I didn't have kids, so I couldn't judge any of this fairly. I did see the kids facilities, though. Seemed… fine.
Available in all rooms:
- Air Conditioning: Yes! Thank goodness.
- Wi-Fi: (See above – weep.)
- Coffee/Tea Maker: Yes! I lived on that thing.
- Bathroom Essentials: They were there. Quality? Variable.
- Room Comforts: Carpeting, closet, desk reading light, safety features, and other things were all available to you, so I cannot complain, those little items were all you needed, and that's great.
Getting around:
- Airport Transfer: Convenient! Used this one..
- Free Car Park: Great.
- Taxi service: I didn't use it, but it was available.
The Verdict?
Look, this hotel wasn’t perfect. Far from it. There were frustrations, there were disappointments, and there were moments when I just wanted to hide in my room and order pizza (which, thankfully, I could do). But despite all that… it was okay. It had its moments of charm. The staff genuinely tried to be helpful. And hey, the bed was comfortable (once I finally got to sleep!).
Would I go back? Maybe. If the price was right. And if they promised to improve the Wi-Fi. And maybe rethink the buffet.
Final Rating: 3 out of 5 (with potential for improvement!)
P.S. Don’t let my negativity fool you entirely. I’m a hard marker. And honestly, I’d probably go back. But next time, I’m bringing my own Wi-Fi hotspot and a suitcase full of emergency croissants. Wish me luck!
Unbelievable Luxury Awaits: Shell Hotel Taizhou - Your Dream Getaway!
Okay, buckle up, buttercups, because this itinerary ain't gonna be pretty. It's gonna be… real. Welcome to my shambolic attempt at a French holiday at Residence Mer & Golf Ilbarritz in Bidart. Prepare for chaos, croissants, and existential dread (probably in that order).
The "Plan" (more like a suggestion, tbh):
Day 1: Arrival & The Great Apartment Scramble (Oh God, Where's the Wine Opener?)
- Morning (or, "Whenever We Finally Wake Up"): Travel Day! Ugh. The flight was delayed, of course. Ryanair, what did I expect? The screaming babies, the cramped seats… I swear, I aged a decade on that plane.
- Midday: Arrive at Biarritz Airport. The sun is actually glowing. Okay, this might be alright. Grab the rental car (pray I don't crash).
- Afternoon: Find the Residence… which is harder than it sounds. Turns out, my navigation skills are about as reliable as a chocolate teapot. Finally get there, after a near-miss with a very unimpressed farmer and his cow.
- I get the keys, excited to finally, let's say, use a real bed.
- Evening: Unpack. Struggle with the luggage. Find the apartment. It's… okay. Cozy, but not "magazine spread" cozy. More like "student digs" cozy. Wine opener is MIA. Panic sets in. Discover a hidden balcony with ocean views. Breathe. Buy a disposable one.
- Dinner: Walk to the nearest restaurant. End up in a tourist trap. The moules frites are acceptable, but the service is… well, let's just say "enthusiastic" is not the word. Try to understand the French menu. Fail. Order by pointing. Accidentally order snails. Gag slightly. The sunset is gorgeous, though. All is forgiven.
Day 2: Surfing Shenanigans & Existential Beach Thoughts
- Morning: Wake up, feeling surprisingly alive. Realize I forgot the coffee. Crisis averted. There's a mini-mart nearby. Grab some croissants, which are, naturally, divine.
- Midday: Attempt surfing lessons. Picture this: me, in a wetsuit that's two sizes too small, resembling a beached walrus. The instructor, a tanned Adonis, is trying to teach me the secret of balance. It's not working. I spend more time in the foamy brine than standing. I swallow saltwater. I feel utterly ridiculous. But… the waves, the feeling of trying something new, the sheer absurdity of it all… it's kind of amazing, despite my utter ineptitude.
- Afternoon: Wander along the beach, shell-shocked (pun intended) from my near-drowning experience. Observe the surfers, the families, the couples. Have a few moments of quiet introspection. Contemplate the meaning of life, the futility of Instagram, and why I’m not better at surfing.
- Evening: A triumphant pizza picnic on the beach. The cheese is, like, a whole different level. The seagulls are relentless. Drink wine from a plastic cup. Watch the sun sink into the ocean, painting the sky with fire. Feel that weird combination of relaxation and mild panic that always accompanies holidays.
Day 3: Bayonne & The Mystery of the Stolen Handbag
- Morning: Day trip to Bayonne. I've heard it's "charming."
- Midday: Wander around the colorful streets of Bayonne. Find the Chocolate House and, oh my goodness, the hot chocolate. Decadent. Sinful. Worth every single calorie. Buy way too much chocolate.
- Afternoon: The day takes a turn for the worse. Notice that my handbag is gone! Panic mode activates. Purse has EVERYTHING. Credit cards, phone, passport… everything! File a police report. They are helpful but, let's just say, not exactly busting a gut to find it.
- Evening: Drown my sorrows (and my credit card woes) in a bottle of local red wine and a baguette. Feel a mixture of fury, frustration, and a strange sense of impending doom. Decide to focus on the positive: it's just stuff. At least, the French police are quite handsome, especially the gendarme who took down my statement.
Day 4: Driving through the Basque Countryside and the Problem of Finding the Perfect Pastry
- Morning: Decide to take a drive into the Basque countryside to try and leave the recent events from yesterday behind.
- Midday: Stop at a random village, which is probably a good thing. The views are breathtaking. Stop at every bakery to find the perfect pastry. The search continues.
- Afternoon: Arrive back at the apartment, and relax in the sun. Maybe this is okay…
- Evening: Cook dinner. The food is terrible, but I am tired. It's fine though.
Day 5: Back to Bidart/ The Apartment is Haunted
- Morning: Visit the local market. Get a baguette.
- Midday: Hang out in the apartment and relax. The apartment is okay…
- Afternoon: I get a weird feeling. The water runs on and off on its own. A strange noise. I start to think that the apartment is haunted.
- Evening: Try to ignore the haunting. Watch a movie. Try to sleep. It does not go well.
Day 6: Departure (Maybe I'll Actually Miss This Madness?)
- Morning: Final breakfast. The last delicious croissant. Pack. Contemplate never leaving.
- Midday: Surrender the keys. Drive back to the airport. The sky looks… smaller, somehow.
- Afternoon: Fly home. Cry a little. Miss the ocean. Miss the chaos.
- Evening: Post-holiday blues hit. But I'll always remember the feeling of the sand between my toes, the taste of the local wine, and the utter, glorious, messy human-ness of it all. Yeah, it was worth it.
Honestly, This is More a State of Mind Than an Itinerary:
This "plan" is a testament to my commitment to imperfection. There'll be moments of sheer bliss, moments of utter despair, and likely a few moments where I'm just shaking my head and muttering, "What have I gotten myself into?" But that's the beauty of it, isn't it? The unplanned moments, the unexpected encounters, the sheer, chaotic, wonderful mess of life. And if I return home with a sunburn, a slightly empty bank account, and a few hilarious anecdotes, I'll call that a win.
Unbelievable Luxury Awaits: Hotel Ariston, Monte Carlo & Sanremo!
Why is it always raining when I really, REALLY need the sun?
Oh, this one hits home, doesn't it? I swear, the weather gods have a vendetta against my picnics. Like, *specifically* my picnics. I plan this perfect spread, complete with tiny sandwiches and a bottle of something bubbly, and BAM! Torrential downpour. You're left huddled under a sad, soggy umbrella, eating a lukewarm sandwich while contemplating the meaninglessness of existence. It's a conspiracy, I tell you! Probably involves some sort of cloud-controlling syndicate. Look, I've tried everything: sun dances (embarrassing), appeasing the weather gods with offerings of… cake (didn't work), even trying to *will* the sun out. Nothing. The answer? Embrace the rain. Invest in a good raincoat and waterproof boots. And maybe, just maybe, accept that some days, the universe just wants you to curl up with a good book.
How do I deal with that feeling of… utter and complete uselessness?
Ah, the existential dread creeping in, eh? I *know* that feeling. It usually hits me on a Tuesday afternoon, right after I've spent an hour staring blankly at my computer screen, wondering if I've accidentally invented a new type of procrastination. Look, it's okay to feel useless sometimes. We're human. We're not meant to be productive all the freaking time. My coping mechanism? Binge-watching ridiculous documentaries about… well, anything! Like, recently, I watched three hours of how squirrels bury nuts. Absolutely fascinating. And then I realized, "Hey, at least I'm not a squirrel, desperately trying to avoid a hawk while stuffing my face with acorns." Perspective, folks. It's all about perspective. And maybe a nap. Naps are good.
What's the deal with socks? Why do they always disappear in the laundry?
The socks! The Bermuda Triangle of the laundry room! This is a mystery as old as time, and I still haven't solved it. I swear, I put two perfectly good socks in the washing machine, and only one comes out. Where do they go?! Do they get sucked into some alternate dimension populated by lonely, single socks? Are they plotting a rebellion against their matching counterparts? I have a theory. My theory is the sock monster gets hungry from time to time. And if it eats socks, it is definitely a monster. It's probably a lonely monster too, so it feels a need to eat socks. The dryer is like its lair. I've even, and I'm slightly mortified to admit this, checked inside the dryer drum with a flashlight, hoping to find some sock-y evidence. Nope. Just lint. And a profound sense of existential emptiness.
Why is it so hard to remember names?
Oh, I'm the absolute WORST with names. I meet someone, they tell me their name, and BAM! Gone. Like, deleted from my brain's hard drive. Five seconds later, I'm standing there, smiling blankly, wondering if I should just start calling everyone "Buddy" or "Champ." "Hey Buddy, nice to meet you!" That's my go-to. Or the classic, "So... what's your name again? I'm terrible with names." Always a winner. Honestly, I think my brain is just full of useless trivia. Like, I can tell you the exact number of jelly beans that are in a jar on my computer. I've got space for that, but not for remembering Bob from accounting's name. It's a cruel, cruel world. Side note: if you ever meet me, just remind me of your name multiple times. Please. For the love of all that is holy.
How do you stop overthinking everything?
Hah! That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? I am, by nature, a professional overthinker. My brain is like a hamster on a wheel, churning out endless scenarios, anxieties, and "what ifs." Honestly, I haven't mastered the art of stopping it. If I did, I'd probably be a guru, sitting on a mountaintop, dispensing wisdom. Instead, I'm here, still overthinking whether I should have added extra cheese to the pizza I ordered last night. What *does* help, though, is focusing on the present. Like, physically *focusing*. Take a deep breath. Feel your feet on the ground. Look around you. This is it. This is real. The pizza is in the past now, and you shouldn't worry about it any longer. It is what it is. Sometimes, I force myself to do something completely mindless, like folding laundry (which, ironically, is the opposite of being mindless). Anything to break the cycle. And sometimes, you just have to accept that your brain is a beautifully chaotic mess and try to roll with it.
Is it okay to wear sweatpants all the time?
Okay, folks, let's get real. The answer is YES. Absolutely, unequivocally YES. Sweatpants are the sartorial embodiment of comfort, and anyone who judges you for wearing them is clearly a monster. I mean, after lockdown, do we even know how to wear any other pants besides sweatpants? I feel like I have regressed into a comfy bear. There's nothing better than slinking around in your favorite, slightly worn-out sweatpants, a giant oversized sweatshirt, and not giving a single flying fig what anyone else thinks. The ultimate freedom. The ultimate bliss. The ultimate… invitation to take a nap. And if you're going to wear sweatpants all the time, might as well also get some comfortable shoes!
What's the hardest part about being an adult?
Oh, man. Where do I even begin? Adulting is a giant, swirling vortex of responsibilities, disappointments, and the constant nagging feeling that you're doing it all wrong. The hardest part? Probably the sheer volume of *stuff*. Bills, taxes, groceries, cleaning, trying to keep your plants alive (which, let's be honest, is an ongoing battle). There's the pressure to have it all figured out, even though, let's face it, nobody *actually* does. And then there's the emotional side of things. Dealing with heartbreak, loss, and the occasional existential crisis. It's exhausting. But you know what? There are also moments of pure joy, of connection, of genuine laughter. And those moments make it all… almost worthwhile. Almost. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a mountain of laundry calling my name. And a serious craving for pizza.
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