The hotel sits in the city center, but it feels like a Soviet-era building under renovation, with a bathroom in awful condition—there's a hole in the wall patched with pine foam, and you can see another room through a crack. I went for breakfast and asked if the sausage was halal; the woman at the buffet replied in a haughty tone, “I can’t say for sure,” and then asked me if I wanted to find out. I ended up eating buckwheat with salad. Unfortunately, I sensed a strong sense of nationalism.
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