An Unforgettable Stay... That We're Still Trying to Forget
We pulled up to Caravan Inn and instantly felt like we'd stumbled onto the set of a low-budget thriller—complete with dilapidated units, knee-high uncut grass, and garbage strewn about like set dressing for a post-apocalyptic scene. The office was... fine—nothing fancy, just enough to lull you into a false sense of hope before the rest of the property kicks you in the gut. As we climbed the creaking stairs, surrounded by narrow hallways and chipped railings that probably haven’t seen a maintenance man since Y2K, the atmosphere quickly shifted from “rustic” to “we may not make it out alive.”
By the time we reached the main hallway, it was full-on Walking Dead mode—dimly lit at 3PM (yes, afternoon), with the scent of rotting wood and a general sense that hygiene took a permanent vacation. I half expected Negan to swing around the corner with Lucille. And just when we thought it couldn’t get worse, we reached the room.
The moment we opened the door, a wave of musty air greeted us—thick with mildew and nostalgia for the last time anyone cleaned it, which, judging by the smell, was sometime before Wi-Fi was invented. The floor creaked with every step, like it was whispering “turn back,” but we pressed on… and met The Beds.
Very terrible experience
