Hotel Château du Rivau

Picture this: you're on your honeymoon, where your wonderful, patient spouse indulges your crazy desire to stay in a castle. You save money and book an expensive suite at Château du Rivau for three nights because it's a lifelong dream, once in a lifetime. You arrive late in the evening, drop off luggage in your amazing-looking room, and have dinner in the beautiful garden at the castle. After a satisfying meal, you return to the comfort of your suite, only to discover the room is not something out of a fairytale fantasy... it's a bloody nightmare. Picture this: a graveyard of dead flies surrounds you. Countless bodies of dead flies absolutely litter your entire suite. Dead flies adorn the floors, gathering in higher densities near the windows, their bodies sprinkled on the floor all around the bed. Intrepid individuals have crawled into nooks and crannies to die, including a handful under your pillows. It is far too late. You are locked in. There is no staff at night. You are exhausted and want to scream and run away, but you don't want to ruin the trip. Your amazing, infinitely patient spouse sweeps away the bodies of insects off the bed, including a live spider, and even checks under the sheets for strays. None there, mercifully. You try to sleep but can't, because there is a single, surviving fly buzzing up in the ceiling, trying desperately to escape. Go ahead and spend hours pondering that fly's pitiful, doomed existence, seeing its fate in its expired brethren scattered all over the floor. Go ahead and try not to think of crushing their bodies underfoot as you must inevitably get up and walk around the room in the long-awaited morning. Go ahead and pray that this last fly--let's call it Gerard, shall we?--will not choose to lay itself to rest somewhere over your head and fall lifelessly on to your face. Go ahead and spend six sleepless hours repressing your own despair, and perhaps use the (long, oh my god far too long) time awake to compose a wretched review such as this one. This was our reality: I had dragged my poor spouse into an insect horror show on our honeymoon. When morning arrived, I discovered the body of Gerard on the vanity upstairs; it hadn't been there the night before so I assume it was Gerard. We headed to the front desk downstairs--by the way, there are no elevators, so tough luck if you have lots of heavy luggage or are disabled. The receptionist, Mateo, was professional and understanding, but also new--no idea how this happened and escaped housekeeping's notice. He apologized and promised they would clean everything and change the sheets, so perhaps there was a chance to salvage this? We left for the day, hoping we'd get the experience we were here for. To their credit, I believe housekeeping did clean and change the sheets, but when my wonderful, infinitely patient spouse went up to our room to check after we got back that afternoon, the situation had only gotten worse. The insect graveyard was out of control. And