Mosser in Villach

I would love to sip from whatever mystical beverage the people are drinking who think this is a four star hotel. Four stars where? In the sky? On a Christmas ornament? Because down here on planet Earth, only two made it to the ground, and that’s only because I woke up feeling unusually charitable.
Let me be clear: this is a one star hotel on a good day. Two stars because I really, really tried to be nice. Because my mama raised me right. Because sarcasm aside, I’m not a monster.
The room? Looks like it’s been frozen in time since a bad decision in the late ’90s. The kind of place where you expect a rotary phone to start ringing and nobody answers because everyone already gave up. Clean-ish, sure but so is a hospital hallway, and nobody’s calling that luxury.
Service moves at a pace best described as existential. Not slow, philosophical. Like they’re asking themselves deep questions such as: “Do we really need to help this guest?” or “What even is hospitality?”
Four stars? Please. That’s not confidence, that’s audacity.
If you come here expecting comfort, charm, or anything remotely resembling a premium experience, prepare to be spiritually disappointed. If you come with zero expectations and a strong sense of humor? Congratulations, you might survive.
Two stars.
Not because it deserves them.
Because I’m generous like that.