Iberostar Rose Hall Beach — Hotel Review Rating: 3.5 Pearls

Oyster Review Summary

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Oyster undercover reporters photographed this hotel. See the hotel exactly the way we did when we stayed there. (View All Photos)

Oyster Hotel Review

Reporter: William B.
Updated: December 9, 2009

 Scene

The Iberostar exterior looks like a suburban shopping mall. Splashed with some invigorating paintings, cast-iron chandeliers, a slithering fountain throughout the interior courtyard with wood-planked walkways, and concrete iterations of Spanish architecture (much like the nearby Ritz Carlton on steroids), the hotel displays a hint of style that is a significant improvement over cookie-cutter places like the Holiday Inn or Sunrise all-inclusive resorts.

But while the property is enormous, every square inch of it is covered -- ongoing construction, tire tracks along the beach, blasting reggae on the poolside loudspeakers, and compulsory poolside gaming. Serenity is a lot harder to find than a mojito.

As it was designed to accommodate thousands of guests (932 rooms across three strictly divided buildings), crowding was never an issue (though I was there during the slight off-season). Depressingly vacant bars, abandoned theater performances, and shut-down dining halls deadened the vivacious thrill the hotel seemed to be shooting for. The hotel apparently gets more exciting during the high points of the year; as my taxi driver explained on the way in, "It's a good place to party, mon," (compared to the Ritz Carlton).

 Rooms

On the ground floor of a shadowed outer wing, I found my room beside rusted, deactivated, brown water fountains, crumpling cement floors, and towers of 10-gallon plaster buckets. The hallways looked as though they were at one time beautiful, or on their way to becoming beautiful. But while I was there, they looked like a parking garage.

My room consistently smelled like a dentist's office, or like a chemical deodorizer you'd use to cover the stale cigarette stench. In the Spanish tradition, you can smoke anywhere in the hotel. There was even a third ashtray in the bathroom.

Quiet, red-leafed bedspreads were a slightly more modern take on the standard-issue floral prints found at most all-inclusives. The pillow-topped mattresses were on par with some of the better hotels in Montego Bay (not as good as the Ritz but better than Coyaba). But the Iberostar ruined these comfort considerations by only providing two pillows, each about 1½-inches thick, plus a spare in the closet.

My bathroom was huge. The showerhead was nearly the size of a Frisbee. The bathtub was ergonomically designed for soaking. The sink was wide enough to hit with toothpaste from across the room. Touches of granite and the courtesy phone made the bathroom the most luxurious space in the room, but that isn't saying much. There was film on the mirror. The aluminum wall-mounted toilet-flushing system was scarcely attached to the wall. I caught it three times just before it fell in the toilet. Too bad it fell four times.

Every other day, the hotel stocks the free minibar -- a gallon of water, some soda, and four beers (a decent enough Jamaican lager that tasted like Miller High Life). But there was no liquor, and our 19-degree (Celsius) room felt colder than the fridge.

My ground-floor balcony faced the back of the Grill House and the resort wall. Behind the wall was the mountainous Jamaican landscape, intersected with power lines and traffic. The balcony felt more like a security threat than a private sanctuary. (Anyone could have easily hopped over the waist-high gate.) I was constantly self-conscious about keeping the curtains open. However, if you're lucky enough to get a room on a higher floor, the balconies appeared to be a well-used addition to the room.

The 24-inch standard-screen TV was small but adequate, especially with HBO, Showtime, Starz, and Cinemax. (I was hit with the tail end of a hurricane during our stay and became pretty tired of sitting through post-election coverage on CNN -- pundits speculating on what already happened.)

 Service

Unlike what some of the reviewers on TripAdvisor have said, I wasn't greeted with a drink. I did, however, have a security guard shout at my cab driver and force him to drive around the hotel (about the size of a suburban shopping mall) before we finally arrived at the appropriate entrance.

Check-in was easy, but when I asked to make restaurant reservations for that evening (I checked in at about 2 p.m.), the receptionist sent me over to the unoccupied guest services desk. After waiting 20 minutes for someone to return to the desk, I asked to make a reservation. The person at guest services explained that I couldn't make a reservation that night (this needed to be done before noon) and needed to come back the following morning (I couldn't just call from my room).

The bellman who took my single, rolling bag was friendly. He guided me along the construction site labyrinth to my room (though there were times when he looked a little uncertain where it was located). When we finally arrived, he gave me a very brief tour of the room's appliances, focusing on the free beer and soda bar (clearly the room's star attraction). I gave him $100 Jamaican (about $1.30 U.S.) and apologized for the lack of small bills. (I would like to have given him $200 or $300, which would have been a very generous tip for a single bag, more than what would be appropriate in the U.S., but I wasn't about to tip $20 U.S.) In response, he looked furiously at me and explained, "This is nothing in Jamaica, you can't buy nothing with this here," which I knew not to be the case. He slammed the door and left.

I found the concierge to be extremely helpful, and when I needed a compressed-air canister to clean the sensor on my camera, he was willing to scour the camera shops in the area to help me find the right place. (He didn't find what I needed, but it's the thought that counts.)

When I called to have my laundry taken, they sent someone to the room (they arrived about 20 minutes later), and I received my clothes early that afternoon. Record time. Too bad it cost $50 to get five days' worth of shirts and undies cleaned.

Bartenders were especially friendly and routinely helpful, even when barked at by 7-year-olds demanding virgin Miami Vices. Over at the entertainment center, I saw a gaggle of children crawling over the marble-topped bar, sandaled feet kicking in the air, ordering strawberry milkshakes. "I'm sorry, we don't have milkshakes," the bartender said, to which the children, with a gasp, said, "Come on, of course you do! We want a milkshake!" Giving the matter some thought, the bartender then returned with some pink beverages (just strawberry syrup and milk). "Here are some special drinks. I made them just for you." Happy kids.

The only considerable problem I saw (excluding a solitary rude bellman) was that management seemed to be paying too close attention to their employees at all times, laying down the hammer from on high so that no one could easily relax or have a good time. In one instance, some guests ordered a round of flaming Bob Marley shots. (No clue what goes in those, but according to the group that ordered them, they'll "get you ripped!") The bartender had to apologize that he didn't have enough time to prepare them. This was merely because his white-collared boss was looking over his shoulder the whole time and making sure he was closing up shop efficiently. While I was puttering away on my laptop near the lobby bar, the managers were quick to walk around offering terrible, more-sugar-than-liquor cocktails they had prepared themselves rather than just letting the waitresses (who were much more helpful and extremely attentive) do their thing.

Though some of the reviewers on TripAdvisor made mention of male employees hitting on female guests, I didn't see anything of the sort. (It is worth noting, however, that per my culture orientation from my taxi driver, Jamaican men must be over-the-top polite to all women. "Hitting on" or "hollering at" would be considerably more direct, as he then demonstrated out the window: "Ay, girly...")

One of the guests I spoke with, K., from southern New Jersey, also mentioned that she spotted members of the water sports crew smoking a spliff (a marijuana cigarette) on the dock. This didn't seem to bother her, but it might make some guests a little uneasy about letting them properly fix them to their parasail harness.

 Features

The full-service pool was about the largest I've seen: basketball nets and scuba lessons on one end, then a wood-planked walkway, then the cocktail-focused side with the swim-up bar. In the center of the pool is a Jacuzzi tub, which strangely overflows into the other pool, turning otherwise hot water lukewarm (a bother to a few guests on TripAdvisor as well). But there's not much draw to the whirlpool anyway -- the pool closes at 7 p.m.

The resort offers scuba lessons and tours. Dressel Divers, a PADI-certified scuba crew, is on-site with a team of instructors and diving excursions at all hours of the day (including an impressive night-diving session for experienced divers). As it's the resort's most impressive feature, it is advertised everywhere; there's even a hotel TV channel that loops the same diving infomercial in French, Spanish, German, and English all day long.

Other water sports were available, like kayaking or, more impressively, parasailing, and all this was free as well.

Along the interior courtyard, I found rooms for pingpong, billiards, and Internet-equipped computer stations with for-fee service.

On the opposite side of the hotel, far from anyone paying any attention to it, the hotel has impressive tennis courts with free group or private lessons from a resident pro, whom I found to be the loneliest man in Jamaica. He pleaded with me for some time to play a game with him or at least tell my friends to come by and visit him.

 Family

Wedged behind the buffet, the kids' club building had lots of games, a small playground, and two shin-deep pools with animal-shaped floaties.

The Star Team, in addition to dealing with constant guest flirtation, also made efforts to get the kids involved in games and various daily activities like archery, and on rainy days, they'll spend two hours losing to an eight-year-old at Connect Four.

The theater also performs a kid's show, which might have been the saddest thing I've ever seen -- two lonely ladies shaking the hokey-pokey to an empty house. Empty, except for one Oyster.com reporter self-consciously taking their photos. (Don't worry, I identified myself after the show, offered my condolences, and allowed them to maintain some sense of pride.)

 Location

Located in golf central, Rose Hall, the resort is surrounded by golf courses and a long series of mega-resorts.

The hotel is about a 20-minute cab ride from the Montego Bay airport and about 25 minutes from the Hip Strip.

 Beach

First off, the white, sandy, well-groomed beach (but for the tire tracks) is better than most of the beaches in Jamaica. Low-lying palm shades create the exotic environment, and there's full drink service by the water. Akin to everywhere else in MoBay, the beach is somewhat shell infested, and a bit of seaweed had washed ashore. But this didn't seem to stop any of the guests from diving in.

The beach stretches a little less than a mile, but this is again bisected by the distinction between Hotel 1, Hotel 2, and the soon-to-be Hotel 3. The difference between Hotels 1 and 2 is an artificial line drawn down the middle of the resort and patrolled by a security guard who won't let guests from one side cross over to see their "betters" (those paying more money) on the other side. Each guest wore a colored wristband.

Some of the reviews on TripAdvisor complained of locals on kayaks selling their wares, but I didn't spot this (most likely because of the hurricane brewing off the coast).

Though some guests on TripAdvisor complained that the beach is "man-made," this isn't exactly the case. In order to set the massive mega-resort foundation, huge tracks of sand had to be moved aside and then replaced. The hotel is really still being built, and this Caterpillar movement on the beach is what some guests might mistake for inorganic sand pavement.

 Food

The food ranged a great deal in quality, but the buffets were internationally expansive and full of as many fried cheese balls as raw juice smoothies. (I tend to have buffet-induced schizophrenic dining habits.)

According to all the guests I spoke with, however, the themed restaurants were unanimously the way to go, even if it meant throwing on some long trousers to eat there. I could only sample food at the Samurai Japanese restaurant as the Cajun restaurant, Jambalaya, was temporarily shut down. Per the comments on TripAdvisor (or lack thereof), I didn't find this to be a great loss.

But eating at the full-service restaurants is dependent on the ability to score a reservation, which proved much more difficult than it should have been. Guests need to head down to guest services in person, before noon (if there's anything left for that night) or before 4 p.m. the night before. So most guests were stuck with the buffet most nights, even though the hotel was hardly full.

For breakfast, there was always a small line backed up at the made-to-order omelet station (with ham, green pepper, tomato, mushroom, onion, hot pepper, and cheddar cheese to choose from). The servers used fresh eggs, which they cracked in front of the guests, rather than the premixed egg batter (as they do at the Sunset Beach Resort). Though the bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs were cold by the time I sat down to eat them, this was pretty typical of any buffet. The fresh-baked cinnamon doughnuts and strong coffee made the Iberostar stand out as one of the best.

For lunch, the buffet looked similar, but the steakhouse buffet, beside the Dresell Dive Center at the furthest reaches of the resort, had delicious, fresh-grilled mahi mahi. It also had steak, but that was like chewing through a wallet.

Though a bit disappointed by the dinner buffet, which had some tough strips of chicken breast, overfried chicken nuggets, cold fried fish, and pork shoulder cut very sparingly, I was impressed with Samurai, the Benihana-style Japanese restaurant. Plantain and zucchini tempura was perfect -- soft on the inside, crispy on the outside -- even if they called soy sauce "Japanese ketchup." My chef, Ceron, aka "Country," was less skilled than the Benihana showmen. He couldn't flip shrimp into his hat, but he could clank a mean spatula. (He earned a 10-year-old's wow.) But the Jamaican spiced shrimp and octopus were wonderful (even if, by ordering octopus, I received bewildered stares from the rest of the guests).

 Drinks

Like most guests on TripAdvisor, I found most drinks much stronger here than at any other all-inclusive, meaning that they were about on par with any bar in the United States.

Offering better-grade vodka (Absolut or Stoli), whiskey (Dewar's or Johnnie Walker Red) and gin (Tanqueray or Beefeater), as well as a top-shelf selection of aged Appleton rum, the Iberostar had one of the best bars in town.

Even better, bartenders here can actually make cocktails, including some mean mojitos. Many of the barmen have their own secret, signature drink, like Andre's "Andre the Giant," which won over about 30 sales reps and ensured some fine tips. This is due in large part to the fact that Iberostar lacks the half-assed premixed slushie machines (found at virtually every other all-inclusive) in favor of constant blender rotation. Aggravating noise, but there's a much greater variety of drinks (and at varying sweetness and strength).

The only exception to the quality drinks were those prepared by management and dished out en masse whenever a group appeared to be idling. Whatever the drinks were supposed to be (maybe a margarita?), they all basically tasted like Kool-Aid gone terribly wrong.

 Cleanliness

On the whole, the property was well maintained. Though my bathroom mirror was a bit foamy and the metal toilet flushing panel didn't quite stuck to the wall, the room was cleaned well each day, even if it did maintain the lingering odor of smoker deodorant.

But while I was there, the whole property seemed to be in a constant state of repair. The screaming of circular saws reverberated through the hallways and into the pool, into our room, inside the elevator, all day long. However, it's likely that these preparations were being handled at the last minute in advance of the more demanding tourist season, which began about two weeks after my stay.

 Entertainment

The Star Friends, an energetic team of hyper-friendly young men and women, wandered about the hotel behaving like camp counselors. Think sing-alongs and spontaneous dancing (thankfully I didn't hear a "boom-chicka-boom"). They hosted daily games at the beach and in the pool, generally requiring some coerced participation--I ran and hid the minute I heard, "We're going to need eight handsome men up here now, Jamaican no problem." (A handsome man was anyone over 15 with his shirt off.) For success in physical feats like running across a floating raft, the hotel awarded bottles of rum or T-shirts (but only if the guests returned to the evening cabaret and were willing to pick up their prize on stage).

In the lobby bar, in the afternoon, I heard a very talented, mellow steel-drum and jazz-guitar quintet. It was easily the highlight of our stay.

The evening entertainment, however, was a painful spectacle. To put it politely, for a highly pretentious New York observer, the Vegas-style dance performance was awful. Throughout the audience, I heard whispers of "What is this? Is this supposed to be funny?" The slightly eroticized ladies in Spandex and granny panties were applauded, if merely out of sympathy.

The following was the comedy performance: a man dressed in a flashy Elvis costume (circa Vegas) was interrupted by a member of the Star team (posing as a member of the audience), who explained, "Elvis, you have my shirt." He then walked to the stage and fought Elvis in order to remove his shirt. This was then followed by someone stating, "Elvis, you have my pants," "You have my underwear," etc., until eventually there was a near-naked Elvis on stage covering himself with an oversize cardboard guitar. The only laughs came from a few children and the German man sitting behind me, who I can only hope was under the influence of humor-enhancing drugs.

 Bottom Line

For an upbeat (at times obnoxious) all-you-can-drink mega-resort, the fresh-built Iberostar destroys the competition -- better food, liquor, service, and activities for less cash. But with thousands of guests, restaurant reservations are scarce. Most meals will come from the buffet.