Update January 2017: I am in the process of finding more photos for this hostel. You can view my TripAdvisor review here: Sarah’s Mount Maunganui TA review.
I’ve debated for a while on whether or not to post this. I feel like people need to be aware of this place, as Lonely Planet calls it “tidy,” and tidy it most definitely was NOT. I’ve stayed in some rather crappy places: rank hostels in Paris, attic garrets in Vienna, drafty, rain soaked places in Scotland… but this was by far the worst. Awful. Horrible.
how we ended up at the horrible hostel
While staying in Gisborne, Paul and I got to chatting with an Irish girl living in Auckland.When we said we were thinking of stopping in Tauranga before Coromandel, she said “oh, no, stay in Mount Maunganui. It’s much nicer, cooler, on the beach, etc.” We thought about it, it sounded awesome, and we looked into hostels.
Paul’s Lonely Planet guidebook listed one, and with the location being on “the main drag” and us being there on a Friday night, it sounded ideal. It sounded small and cute, again, they called it “tidy,” so we booked ourselves two beds.
We arrived in The Mount, as it’s affectionately called, around 6pm on a Friday. Maunganui Road, the main street, is lined with shops and bars, and it was *packed.* We drove slowly down, looking for the hostel. We were almost at the end of the road before we found it: a surf shop/reception with a side door into the hostel itself.
Our troubles began here, and they didn’t stop until we had checked out the next morning.
the mount backpackers
The first sign that the hostel might not be what it’s marketed as was when she handed up two keys and said, “You’re actually in room 3, but we don’t have any room 3 keys left… people lost them or whatever and we didn’t make new ones.”
Here I am thinking, “we just paid a $40 key deposit. Alright…”
She continued, “You really only need the keys to get into the main door because it’s always locked, no one locks their room here.”
Again, I’m thinking, “um, what? No one locks their doors?”
She directed us out of the surf shop cum reception and around to get into the main building, then she led showed us the communal space, bathrooms and kitchen. Flies buzzed around everywhere, and surfer dudes with dreads screamed obscenities (friendly, I guess) at each other while slinging back Coronas and Heinekens. Then she led us upstairs to room 3.
our room at mount backpackers
Surprise! It was locked. She knocked a few times, and said, “oh this only happens when a girl is changing.” She knocked again. And again. And then we said, so if we go out tonight and come back to a locked room, are you 24 hours so we can get let in?
Her reply was, “yeah, we’re 24 hours until like, 9pm.” HA.
FINALLY she went down and got her keys to let us in – no one was there. We dragged my combo lock out of my bag and went to leave our daypacks in a locker downstairs by reception – no way was I about to leave my camera, iPad, and computer in an unlocked room. She said she would see if another room resident would swap one key with us.
We grabbed our bags out of the car and went up to hash out a game plan for the night. We decided to shower – it was STEAMING in the room, even with the door cracked – and then have a drink while we decided if we should cook or go out.
the bathroom at mount backpackers
I walked into the bathroom – just one, mind you, for maybe 30 people, although to be honest, I never saw anyone use it – to a guy peeing in the sink by the door. I ignored that, and walked into a shower stall. No curtain to keep your clothes and towel dry, no hooks to hang anything on, nothing. I solved that problem by taking my jandals off (something I actually did NOT want to do), placing my dirty clothes on them, then my clean clothes, then my towel.
I had a think while in the shower, as you do, and decided, “well, I could like this town, seems cute, lets think of this as an adventure.” Oh, man.
After my shower, I met two of my roommates, both from the States. They’re hitching around New Zealand and are sharing a bed – something about a “better” rate for the two of them to share a bed. So, potentially, a room with six beds and this “deal” of bed-sharing for couples, could actually have anywhere from seven to ten people. Seems legit, right?
I decided wine would be a good idea, so Paul and I went down to grab a drink. We walked into the outdoor dining space, only to be met with loud young things still drinking the Coronas and Heinekens. No wine glasses, but I found a great green mason jar to drink my somewhat fancy, somewhat decently expensive, Shiraz out of. Solid.
There was nowhere to sit at the long wooden table, but we squeezed next to a few girls, all with ratty hair and surfing tans. All American. They were talking about… well, it doesn’t really matter. No one said anything of importance that night (until later.) Turns out these people have been here for months. Finding a flat or house share in Mt. Maunganui is near impossible, so people with jobs live at the hostel. Makes for some interesting times, as the ever-revolving door of roommates must get annoying. Also, I’d be drunk every day.
the evening and how it progressed
Paul and I made a snap decision to order takeaway food rather than cook, so we left the hostel and walked along the street. We weren’t sure what we wanted, but fish and chips sounded good to me; Paul opted for Mexican takeaway. We got his first, and then went back to get mine. There was a 30 minute wait for it, so we figured we’d go back and he could eat while I was waiting. I poured another bit of wine, and we sat there chatting with mostly each other. A few guys across the table started chatting with us, but before we could really get a good conversation going, someone jumped up behind them and started humping their heads.
I left Paul in charge of my wine (and mason jar glass) so I could grab my food. When I got back, it looked a little funny, but I still (stupidly!) poured a bit more in. When I lifted it to my mouth, my nostrils filled with not the delicious, peppery nose of a good Shiraz, but instead the watery, stale smell of old beer. What. The. Fuck.
Alright, Paul admitted he might have not paid the best attention to it. I rinsed it out and repoured (but that was a whole glass of wine down the drain!)
I enjoyed my meal as much as I could with the noise and the obscenities and the dry humping peoples’ heads that went on. And then a guy bumped into me, said something completely unintelligible, and proceeded to slop his beer across the table next to me. Paul grabbed my phone, which was sitting in the line of fire.
The last straw was about five minutes later, when someone behind me dumped their beer across my back. I picked up my wine and my bottle and headed up to the little loft space I’d found earlier.
Paul came to find me here, said he was going out “to the Mount” for a fire spinning event. I said I’d be right behind him. Since he’d been told that the event was by the mountain, I assumed it was and headed that way. No fire, no drumbeats, nothing. At this point I was a little ticked off… I’d come out to be social, and where was everyone? Turns out the fire spinning was not “at the Mount” but rather on a side street about six seconds from the hostel. I never made it.
Upon my return to the hostel, post-looking for the fire spinning, I met Emily. Emily is from Montreal and she was not happy with the hostel either. When I mentioned that we had the keys for room 4, instead of room 3, she said, “OH, you should have just grabbed a bed in there. They have a cat.”
Huh? A CAT? Yes, apparently, someone in that room adopted a stray cat who now lives there. I poured myself a glass of wine and we sat there dissecting the hostel piece by piece. Music from across the street poured in – a live singer with a DJ, we think. Unexpected bonus to this room? Free music. Paul texted me then, saying he was downstairs drinking. I replied that I was in the room and he came up a minute later. Emily regaled him with the same stories I had heard before we headed out into town.
Later that night, I met all five of my roommates, hanging out and chatting. There should have been six (total seven) but some girl apparently left earlier that night. Not such a bad idea, really. However, Paul and I decided we got lucky with the roommates: they were all older and somewhat calm – no screaming obscenities and raging parties in this room (only across the street.)
It was about now that Emily and Richard revealed the duvets. It was still hot in the room, so Paul took his duvet out of the cover. It was spotted with dried blood, pee stains, and god only knows what else. I took my out; it was the same. We chucked them under the bed, they were so disgusting, I can’t even begin to tell you how grossed out I was.
My bed was little more than a piece of foam; I could feel the slats of the bed beneath me. I also had to figure out how to climb into the top bunk: the only “ladder” was at the head of the bed, and I was afraid I might step on Richard’s head. I almost did.
The place has great potential, it really does. Everything is there – location, great kitchen space, etc. But no one seems to be running the place. Reception was rude, although Emily said that a manager let her in when she was locked out – in the kitchen space – after 11pm, while other people were still out there. So that begs the question, what happens if a manager isn’t there?
Again, great potential, but probably needs a complete overhaul, new mattresses, new duvets, etc, before I’d even set foot in it again. I can’t believe that the owners would let it get to this state; I wonder if the owners are even around? I find it hard to believe that a responsible owner would leave the hostel in the state it was in, but… I guess if dirt cheap is what you offer, then dirt cheap is what you’re gonna get.
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