Hey
A World of Comfort and Luxury
The brochure boasted the hotel as, "A World of Comfort and Luxury." We found ourselves there by accident, at this fancy hotel in Juhu, a faded beach resort area of Mumbai near the domestic airport, where we'd arrived, and the Bandra train station, where we were to depart the next day.
We flew to Mumbai from Fort Cochin to save time and avoid the rail system... we needed a little 'time out' from the rail system -- like a relationship on the rocks, we were constantly giving and giving to the train reservation process, only to get nothing back in return. When we became stranded in Fort Cochin, we decided to make our lives easier by using a travel agent for future arrangements. Forget what I've said in the past about the importance of securing our own tickets. A commission is, I've decided, well worth the headache of doing things yourself in India.
In addition to the plane tickets, we asked the travel agent to secure train tickets to Jodhpur, leaving Mumbai as soon as possible -- we were anxious to get to Rajasthan for our last month in India, before the country turns into a giant tandoor oven. We had one night to kill in Mumbai before catching our train to Jodhpur the next afternoon.
So there we were in Juhu, a neighborhood largely ignored by the Lonely Planet guidebook, save for a few meager listings of hotels for the benefit of people like us... people in suburban Mumbai for a night, people in transit... a sort of travel purgatory, when you're in a place with too much time to kill, but not enough time to explore.
We blindly picked one of the hotels listed -- it was, at least, a destination to give the cab driver. Arriving as the Iskon, we discovered it to be an odd combination of an Hare Krishna Ashram and Hotel. "This should be interesting," I thought as we entered the building, passing several men in orange robes with funny hair cuts. I wondered what kind of peculiarities were in store, not being an Hare Krishna devotee, and all. Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, there were no rooms available. We left the hotel without a map, no clear idea of where to go... in search of a place to stay for the night.
After a while of huffing it through the sun baked streets of Juhu with our packs, we stumbled upon the Ramee Guestline Juhu Hotel. It appeared too expensive for our budget, but we had no choice. It was the kind of a place with a doorman, central air, and a wall of clocks set to show the time in cities like New York, London, and Dubai. Waiters in faux tuxedos proffered glasses of water on trays, there was a candy dish on the front desk at our disposal, and people greeted us with big, friednly smiles, all despite the fact that we'd arrived with backpacks and everyone knows backpackers are dirty and cheap bastards.
After some horror at the price (internalized, of course... I didn't want to look like a dirty, cheap backpacker), we agreed to take a room at the hotel. As I mentioned before, we had no choice -- we didn't really know what might be around the corner, and I'm glad we stopped looking for upon further exploration later that evening, we did not find one 'budget' hotel. There didn't even appear to be restaurants. Seemed that a trip to the beach resort of Juhu consisted mostly of checking into fancy hotels and staying there except a foray onto the beach now and then.
I decided to take full advantage of our splurge, rather -- to get every rupee's worth of 'comfort and luxury' that I could in 24 hours, which entailed dialing the AC up to full blast, snuggling under the covers in a comfy bed, and channel surfing the satellite cable TV.
Later, we found ourselves in the dining room downstairs, staring at -- of all things -- a wine list. "Should we get a glass?" Benjamin asked. The prices made me uncomfortable... but part of me wondered, since we are splurging on the hotel, should we not just take it all the way... and treat ourselves to a bottle? The watier, sensing the winos in our spirits, teased us with a taste and the next thing we knew, we had a bottle of Indian Cabernet on our table, and had placed two orders of steak and fries for dinner. Since we were taking our residency in 'a world of comfort and luxury' literally, we thought beef would be safe and it wasn't much more expensive than anything else on the menu, which was all overpriced as one might imagine. But we had no choice.
After we'd finished eating, an Indian gentlemen with henna'd hair, a slight English accent, and some major bling was seated next to us. He was wearing several thick gold chains with giant medallions that would make P Diddy turn green. Indian bling is common, though not usually so over-the-top, as it shows a person's wealth, his/her place in society. In addition, this gentleman was highly religious, a follower of Lord Ganesh, who was engraved on one of his medallions -- the one he kissed before eating a bite of his dinner. Otherwise, he was fairly ordinary: early 40s, plaid shirt, plain trousers, argyle socks, tan leather loafers.
We struck up a conversation -- he'd lived in the US for a period of time and recounted stories of visits to Hollywood where people would drive around in limousines with 6 doors, where lights shined in the night like a galaxy had fallen into the valley... we talked about strange things like the quality of American cotton... we discussed places like Colorado, and Cedar Rapids where he worked for a few years. He said Americans get 10 out of 10 for attitude in the workplace, but 7 out of 10 for quality of work done. The Brits, he added, scored the same in the reverse: 7 out of 10 for attitude and 10 out of 10 for quality of work.
After about an hour, he looked at his watch, motioned for the bill and instructed the waiter to add our bill onto his own. We were flabbergasted. I'd been feeling a little guilty over dinner about our 'splurge' (although each sip of wine helped me to rationalize the expense...). He ignored our half-hearted pleas, "No, no... you can't do that..." Secretly, I was excited that he was picking up the tab, and even though it was too extravagant for a total stranger to pay, I was clicking my heals in my head, fealing quite lucky, but mostly I was in awe. Later, the waiter told us that he was like a Santa Claus for us, that we were very lucky, and will probably never have that happen to us ever again in India. Never.
A world of comfort and luxury, indeed.
We flew to Mumbai from Fort Cochin to save time and avoid the rail system... we needed a little 'time out' from the rail system -- like a relationship on the rocks, we were constantly giving and giving to the train reservation process, only to get nothing back in return. When we became stranded in Fort Cochin, we decided to make our lives easier by using a travel agent for future arrangements. Forget what I've said in the past about the importance of securing our own tickets. A commission is, I've decided, well worth the headache of doing things yourself in India.
In addition to the plane tickets, we asked the travel agent to secure train tickets to Jodhpur, leaving Mumbai as soon as possible -- we were anxious to get to Rajasthan for our last month in India, before the country turns into a giant tandoor oven. We had one night to kill in Mumbai before catching our train to Jodhpur the next afternoon.
So there we were in Juhu, a neighborhood largely ignored by the Lonely Planet guidebook, save for a few meager listings of hotels for the benefit of people like us... people in suburban Mumbai for a night, people in transit... a sort of travel purgatory, when you're in a place with too much time to kill, but not enough time to explore.
We blindly picked one of the hotels listed -- it was, at least, a destination to give the cab driver. Arriving as the Iskon, we discovered it to be an odd combination of an Hare Krishna Ashram and Hotel. "This should be interesting," I thought as we entered the building, passing several men in orange robes with funny hair cuts. I wondered what kind of peculiarities were in store, not being an Hare Krishna devotee, and all. Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, there were no rooms available. We left the hotel without a map, no clear idea of where to go... in search of a place to stay for the night.
After a while of huffing it through the sun baked streets of Juhu with our packs, we stumbled upon the Ramee Guestline Juhu Hotel. It appeared too expensive for our budget, but we had no choice. It was the kind of a place with a doorman, central air, and a wall of clocks set to show the time in cities like New York, London, and Dubai. Waiters in faux tuxedos proffered glasses of water on trays, there was a candy dish on the front desk at our disposal, and people greeted us with big, friednly smiles, all despite the fact that we'd arrived with backpacks and everyone knows backpackers are dirty and cheap bastards.
After some horror at the price (internalized, of course... I didn't want to look like a dirty, cheap backpacker), we agreed to take a room at the hotel. As I mentioned before, we had no choice -- we didn't really know what might be around the corner, and I'm glad we stopped looking for upon further exploration later that evening, we did not find one 'budget' hotel. There didn't even appear to be restaurants. Seemed that a trip to the beach resort of Juhu consisted mostly of checking into fancy hotels and staying there except a foray onto the beach now and then.
I decided to take full advantage of our splurge, rather -- to get every rupee's worth of 'comfort and luxury' that I could in 24 hours, which entailed dialing the AC up to full blast, snuggling under the covers in a comfy bed, and channel surfing the satellite cable TV.
Later, we found ourselves in the dining room downstairs, staring at -- of all things -- a wine list. "Should we get a glass?" Benjamin asked. The prices made me uncomfortable... but part of me wondered, since we are splurging on the hotel, should we not just take it all the way... and treat ourselves to a bottle? The watier, sensing the winos in our spirits, teased us with a taste and the next thing we knew, we had a bottle of Indian Cabernet on our table, and had placed two orders of steak and fries for dinner. Since we were taking our residency in 'a world of comfort and luxury' literally, we thought beef would be safe and it wasn't much more expensive than anything else on the menu, which was all overpriced as one might imagine. But we had no choice.
After we'd finished eating, an Indian gentlemen with henna'd hair, a slight English accent, and some major bling was seated next to us. He was wearing several thick gold chains with giant medallions that would make P Diddy turn green. Indian bling is common, though not usually so over-the-top, as it shows a person's wealth, his/her place in society. In addition, this gentleman was highly religious, a follower of Lord Ganesh, who was engraved on one of his medallions -- the one he kissed before eating a bite of his dinner. Otherwise, he was fairly ordinary: early 40s, plaid shirt, plain trousers, argyle socks, tan leather loafers.
We struck up a conversation -- he'd lived in the US for a period of time and recounted stories of visits to Hollywood where people would drive around in limousines with 6 doors, where lights shined in the night like a galaxy had fallen into the valley... we talked about strange things like the quality of American cotton... we discussed places like Colorado, and Cedar Rapids where he worked for a few years. He said Americans get 10 out of 10 for attitude in the workplace, but 7 out of 10 for quality of work done. The Brits, he added, scored the same in the reverse: 7 out of 10 for attitude and 10 out of 10 for quality of work.
After about an hour, he looked at his watch, motioned for the bill and instructed the waiter to add our bill onto his own. We were flabbergasted. I'd been feeling a little guilty over dinner about our 'splurge' (although each sip of wine helped me to rationalize the expense...). He ignored our half-hearted pleas, "No, no... you can't do that..." Secretly, I was excited that he was picking up the tab, and even though it was too extravagant for a total stranger to pay, I was clicking my heals in my head, fealing quite lucky, but mostly I was in awe. Later, the waiter told us that he was like a Santa Claus for us, that we were very lucky, and will probably never have that happen to us ever again in India. Never.
A world of comfort and luxury, indeed.
posted by Cheryn at 7:01 PM
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