Bangalore, part I

or: A complaints choir

As I had already mentioned, Bangalore was going to be the last and a rather big portion of our trip, ten days, from this Saturday to Tuesday the week after. And we had big plans for this time (more later), starting with a two-day trip to Mysore from Sunday to Monday because outside of festival season, the palace is only lit on Sunday evenings at 7 pm (keep that in mind, it might be important unless you're travelling with me .. but I'm getting ahead of myself again).

I left Hyderabad with the feeling that I had some unfinished business there, nothing I could really put my finger on but something .. something that seemed to not want to let me go. Anyway, we arrived at Bangalore Airport and took a Meru cab like the pros that we by then had become. It really is as easy as that. Plus you don't have to negotiate the fare. 

So we reached the hotel safely (not the one where we had stayed during the first two days of the trip, the website had shown it as unavailable for the second period of time) and as promising as it had looked and sounded on said website, as uninviting ('Oh look, construction right outside! :|') was it in reality. Never mind, it won't be all that loud and maybe it is super from the inside. Maybe. Possibly. Turns out it really was not. Dust in corners and on window sills, worn out carpets, broken shower head - you name it. We might have tolerated all that if, yes, if the service would have made up for it. 

The truth however was different. When we entered the lobby, one receptionist looked annoyed at best, probably because we disturbed him in a task that was considerably more important than checking in mere guests. The other receptionist hesitantly started dealing with us. Hesitantly not because she was shy in any way but because she had to weigh the pros and cons at first. The pros, such as having the opportunity of being sniffy, unfriendly and even outright rude to us must have outweighed the cons. Who, for example, would have thought that handing out a second key card to two individuals who are visibly not joined by the hip was such an exhausting task nor that the card we politely asked for was so precious that before handing it over, one has to make sure we understood that the loss of it would be punished with a fine. (The irony: in the end, M. forgot that she still carried hers and accidentally stole it when we left.)

A rather indifferent bellboy carried our mountain of luggage upstairs (well, not actually carried, he pushed the cart into an elevator and then out again at our floor) and we moved into the room. Granted, it was huge. And it looked out over the race track which would have been even nicer if the window had opened. Well, never mind, there was a roof terrace, so we could easily live with a window that didn't open, that had been the case in most hotels anyway. 

One thing that I demanded each hotel should have (in addition to M.'s wish for a restaurant, a bar and a pool) was unlimited free wi-fi. Not an unreasonable demand, given the fact that we were a few thousand kilometres away from home and yes, did want to keep in touch with the world outside. All the bigger was our shock when we learned that the wi-fi was indeed free here but limited to an hour per day. 'Absolutely unacceptable' was both M.'s and my reaction to these news and that's what we told the manager (btw. the only person who tried to make our stay more pleasant or actually to try and make us stay in the first place) as well. 'The booking website clearly stated that the free wi-fi was unlimited, otherwise we would never have booked this hotel.' The manager had that fixed too, we would get unlimited access, a fruit basket and a well equipped mini bar instead of the empty fridge we found upon arrival if only we stayed. 

The pool, we had been told at the reception, was in a different building so we would have to get out, walk around the entire hotel and into that other building. No, the manager told us (I forgot his name but remember that the first thing which struck me when he opened his mouth to talk to us was his castrato's voice - men with squeaky voices are such a turn off!), there was another way to get there, down unlit dusty stairs and over an equally unlit "bridge" that connected the two buildings. The pool itself was beautiful but somehow, that didn't quite make up for everything else. 

Neither did the roof terrace which was partly dusty and partly drowned in puddles (and no, it had not just rained). The music that was coming from the bar TV was so loud we could barely hear each other let alone the person on the phone that we had to talk to about leaving the hotel and getting a refund on the money M. had already paid. The waiter on the terrace was more interested in the latest cricket results than in what we might want to order. (Ok, I don't really blame him but he could have hidden it better...)

'Let's go pick up my clothes, that'll put me in a better mood', M. suggested. Off we went to the general area of Commercial street, using the big white and green mosque as a landmark on our way to "Star Plaza". We found the place but none of the young salesmen we had dealt with when we first ordered the salwars. The only person we recognised was Simran (they called her so often to do this and that in the time that I spent waiting there two weeks before that I remembered her name), the young girl friday of the store. She took us a few stairs up (I had no idea that the building was so high) into the busy tailoring area. And if I say busy, I mean busy: One cubicle after the other, filled with two to three efficiently working tailors, cutting, sewing or measuring some piece of clothing or other. When she brought us to 'our' tailor, it turned out that M.'s clothes were not ready yet, they simply must have forgotten that today was the day she was coming to collect them. After a disappointment short of yelling at the guy on M.'s part and embarrassment on his that showed by laughing uneasily, they agreed to give it another day and she would pick up the beauties the next morning.

Anyway, after returning, we decided to stay for one night and make up our minds tomorrow at breakfast. Very well, the manager said, hoping against hope that we wouldn't pursue our attempt to leave his hotel. Dinner that night was alright as was the next day's breakfast, nothing to really complain there save a slight inattentiveness on the part of a waiter. Nevertheless our decision was made: After having found out that our original hotel was indeed available and M.'s friend having called there to get us a better price, we were ready to move out. The hotel's designated driver refused to take us to the other hotel, claiming that it was too short a distance to make it worth his while (he didn't use these exact words but the general tone made it clear). So while M. made other arrangements for our transport, the manager requested me to fill in a feedback form, describing our experience at his hotel. 'Are you sure you want me to do that?, I asked him. 'In the mood I currently am, the result will be less than favourable for your hotel.' Yes, yes, he insisted, and that it was exactly what he needed to show to his superiors. Alright, I thought and sat down, not before noting down the name of the particularly unhelpful receptionist, not that she really cared. A few minutes later, M. returned, beaming and excitedly telling me that we'd take an auto. I seriously wondered what was going to happen to our luggage when the driver artistically stowed it all (and us) away in his vehicle. Those things do hold a lot!

Long story short (I know, I know, that ship has sailed about half an hour ago), we finally reached 'our' hotel and were immediately consoled by the overwhelming friendliness and helpfulness of the staff there. Phew.

Oh and before I forget: When we talked to S. on the phone the previous day and told him that we would postpone Mysore to a more auspicious time, he informed us that a close friend of his manages the palace and would show us rooms that are unavailable to the general public, including the roof, we would be allowed to take photos inside (!) and, cherry on the cake, he would switch on the palace lights on any day we wished. And yes, that was an unlimited offer. So if you want to experience all that, you better be careful to stay in my good books ;-).

Next chapter: Why I needed to stay in Bangalore for an entire week.