I spent $55 a night to sleep in a London college dorm for my vacation — it was a disaster but I loved it

The deal seemed too good to be true — Central London for $55 a night including breakfast at a well-reviewed hotel, and all I had to do was share a bathroom.

No big thing, right?

Except the hotel wasn’t a hotel at all.

Look — I thought I understood the deal when I booked, that I’d be staying at a college dorm belonging to the London School of Economics, a prestigious educational institution that rents its residential halls out to the public when they’re not full of students.

How awful could it be, crashing for a few nights in an empty bed at one of the world’s top public research institutions?

I had no idea what I was in for.

After 25 years as a travel writer, I’ve slept every which way in London, from five-star to futon in the sitting room, but arriving at LSE’s Passfield Hall on a cruddy, post-Christmas night was a new kind of experience.

The building, combined over time from a staid row of listed Georgians in need of a good scrub, on the grot-covered northern fringes of bookish Bloomsbury, exuded all the sex appeal of a group home.

The various buzzers and locks one had to navigate to get into the waiting area, which might have better suited a free clinic or municipal old age home, did not make me feel more secure.

But then I thought about the parents packing their students off to college, very often from halfway around the world, and how multiple levels of security might make them feel good, so I rested a little easier.

Behind the staff’s blank stares turned out to be fairly friendly building attendants, who may have been paid employees for all I knew, but appeared to approach their work with the casual attitude of student work/study participants.

Their vibe put me at ease, if temporarily; my reservation was honored and I was pointed without fanfare through yet another door, to a garishly lit hallway, smelling vaguely of old bathroom plumbing of drains and a lot like the cleaning products used to cover it up.

It was official. I was in hell.

What I expected for $55 a night — the starting rate for a stay of 4 nights or more, at most periods during the year when the dorms are open to the public — I’m not quite sure.

But alternate accommodation ideas were whizzing through my head before I even opened the door to my room, where the tiniest and shortest twin bed, with a mattress with barely enough support for a skinny child awaited, along with a busted-up cupboard for my things, a sink and a mirror and a towel.

You’ll have seen jail cells with more charm — maybe not in the United States, but definitely in this part of the world.

But then — godsend! — there were two items that ranked as nearly luxurious, by comparison, almost saving the day. An massive old window opened to let the fresh air in (the room was massively overheated), right next to a spacious desk setup with too many plugs, foreign converters and, i’d soon find out, lightning speed internet, something you rarely get in an English hotel.

Just when I was starting to feel hopeful, I crossed the hall to the shared bathroom.

The best thing to say about the poorly lit warren of showers and water closets — bingo, I’d found the source of that dreadful drain smell — was that there was nobody else there.

That’s probably because none of us were brave enough. Then, or any time I ventured into the grim, linoleum-tiled hell, about 15 years being overdue for a complete retrofit, I was entirely on my own, even though the hall was full of guests from all over the world speaking a host of different languages.

Most likely, they all figured out, as I did, that the sinks in our rooms had gobs of hot water and great pressure to boot, and could easily be used for quick morning “baths.”

That, plus a handful of one-stall hall bathrooms made the nightmare-inducing shared facility less of a daily necessity.

And, to be fair — yes, I was slowly warming to my surroundings — I’ve spent double what I paid at Passfield for a traditional Central London stay, hotels where I’ve barely dared step down onto the floor in bare feet, the place felt so dirty. Spartan and worn out is a very different vibe, and as long as it’s clean — which Passfield was — it’s possible to get used to, at least.

One of the things guests mention very often in their reviews of the LSE dorm stays is the breakfast, typically included in the rate.

You eat the way the students eat, in each hall’s dining room. At Passfield, given the age of the building, this means you’re eating in a low-ceilinged, maze-like basement room that’s typically too full of other hungry people to really feel relaxed.

But that doesn’t really matter; if you’re the kind of person — and I definitely am — who would sit down to a full English breakfast in the middle of a bus station if it was worth eating, and let’s just say, the LSE serves up a pretty good spread.

Still, it took me a couple trips down the buffet to figure out that the staff aren’t being skimpy with the bacon and sausage and hash browns or whatever else you’re after; they’re under orders to only hand out so much at a time, in order to avoid waste.

But as far as they’re concerned, one staffer told me, you could sit there all morning as long as you didn’t mind lining up for more helpings. If you want to eat a pound of quality British bacon before you leave for the day, have at it.

In nice weather, a large garden courtyard with tables relieves the pressure put on the cramped dining hall; during my stay, I could only look out and think spring.

Later, I would discover one of the nicest amenities on the premises — a kitchen just for our floor, kept neat as a pin and unlike the bathrooms and rooms, updated some time in the last decade; but during my visit, I spent most of my mealtimes out in the streets of London, and why not, with so much of what the city has to offer just steps away.

The British Museum? Eight minutes on foot. Not to mention Bloomsbury, right around me, all those garden squares and independent bookstores and little cafes and reams of literary history.

The heaving transport hub at Euston, just around the corner, could take me anywhere in London and beyond; the sparkling new Elizabeth Line service to Heathrow was handy as well.

But unlike every other stay in Central London over the years, posting up on a quiet side street in this kind of neighborhood gives a vibe like you’re arriving home at the end of the day, rather than heading to tourist housing.

That’s something even Claridge’s or The Dorchester could never make me feel.

The bottom line

Never mind the torture mattresses, the ancient plumbing and the cafeteria ladies handing out one slice of bacon at a time — next time I’m in London, I’m booking the dorms. My back may not love me for it, my bank account sure will, and the experience is sure to be memorable. Again.

The LSE dorms will open to the public from Mar. 29 to Apr. 28. For rates, information and booking, visit lsevacations.co.uk.