Calling this a vacation rental is like calling a rusty tricycle a Ferrari. Picture this: you arrive, excited for a ski trip, only to discover the pinned location is a blatant lie, placing you a 20-minute walk (or a $22 Uber ride) from where you expected to be. But hey, at least you get a microscopic bar of soap - the kind even Scrooge McDuck might scoff at! Prepare to wash your entire body with a sliver, because a shower caddy is apparently a mythical creature in this land. Speaking of showers, the downstairs one is so tiny, a claustrophobic gnome would feel cramped. Soap? Shampoo? They belong on the floor, because any attempt at placing them elsewhere results in your precious soap bar dissolving into oblivion. Did I mention there's also no hand soap upstairs? Because hygiene clearly isn't high on the priority list here.
Now, imagine arriving with your ski gear, ready to hit the slopes. Guess what? There's nowhere to store your equipment! No ski racks, no boot dryers, just a living room transformed into an obstacle course. Forget using the dining table - it's now a shrine to your skis and equipment, rendering comfortable seating for a grand total of 3 people impossible. (Unless you count your skis as guests, which, at this point, wouldn't be surprising.)
But wait, there's more! The walls are thinner than a toddler's coloring book, so enjoy strict 9pm quiet hours while your neighbors serenade you with their, ahem, enthusiastic activities. This wouldn't be so bad if the adver