Soaped up

The shave started all according to plan: we agreed on Rs20 and he went to work. When he was finished he asked if I wanted a face massage. I was asked this after the first shave I had, but not the second and I had regretted saying no since the first one because I was sure Big Davie told me that he got a face massage included with his Rs20 rejuvenating shave. So this time I was not going to miss out and said yes. Joanne came in with her sandals during my massage which was OK, but not as good as the one Joanne's beauty therapist niece, Maxine had once given me. Once that was all over he said something to me which I thought was “finishing off?” and I assumed he was talking about the aftershave they usually finish with, so I said yes again. Before I new it my face was getting covered in a whitish caking substance. A face mask! I had never had one before and I can't say I really enjoyed it. I particularly didn't enjoy sitting there while other people could see me apparently paying to be pampered, but while I was starting to panic about the amount of time ticking away when we had so much to do. Do face masks really need that amount of time?

Nearly finished

Despite me holding us up we were still sure we could get everything done in time for the taxi we had booked to the airport, but just to make sure we broke with personal protocol and decided to splash out on an auto-rickshaw to Connaught Place where our next mission was: posting home a parcel of Joanne's new sandals and a couple of books I wanted to keep. When we arrived at the post-office the rickshaw driver ask us if we wanted him to wait for us, and when we agreed he asked how long we would be. About ten or fifteen minutes, it depends on them, we said.

After queuing for a bit we explained that we wanted to send these three items to the UK, whereupon they sent us back outside to get it wrapped. We had been expecting them just to put the stuff in a box in the post office itself but instead we had to wait around outside for about fifteen minutes until the freelance wrapping expert they use returned to his post. He asked for a small fee and we handed over the items, which he then started to sew up in a piece of canvas, which took some time. When he eventually finished we rushed back inside thinking we might still have time to shower and change before our airport taxi arrived. In fact we had to wait in a very long and very slow moving queue and when we eventually got to the front the man behind the counter did not seem to have any idea what he was doing. He kept wandering off for the next form to fill in, and at one point sent us back outside to borrow the wrapping man's pen and write the address, then later sent us out again to write the sender information on the canvas. Then we had to pay for a photocopy of Joanne's passport, which he disappeared for about ten minutes to make, and when he finally got around to weighing it and telling us the price we were five minutes over the “very latest we need to leave” and the auto-rickshaw driver had been in twice to check we were still there. We were surprised how high the price was (surface mail was apparently not an option) and since we didn't know how much longer this could go on for we just told him it was too much and stormed out with the silly canvas package. We were about an hour in there, just to post a parcel. Not for the first time I thought that the West has no reason to fear India as an economic threat and marvelled at their incredible bureaucracy and obstinacy.

Our patient auto-rickshaw driver was still there and returned us to our hotel just in time for us to retrieve our bags and book a hostel in Tokyo, since there were still no responses to our Couchsurfing requests, before our airport taxi arrived at the door. We were sweaty, unwashed, and still wearing our sweaty clothes. At least we'd be able to change at the airport.

When we arrived at the airport we discovered that Indian bureaucracy had not yet finished with us. At the door of the terminal building we were turned away by the armed guards because we were too early to check in. Instead we had to wait on the opposite side of the road in the waiting room. I remembered many very miserable hours in that waiting room from the last time I was in India but, luckily, they have upgraded it so that it now has a fast food cafe in it, instead of absolutely nothing at all except for some broken seats. When the allotted time had nearly passed we went back over the road and the guard grudgingly let us in. There was a post office in the terminal, so Joanne sent the package there while I changed in the toilet. It seemed to go much more smoothly there, but it still cost the same. After we had both changed we set about looking for our check in desk, but could see no sign of our flight. As the time grew closer and our flight had still not appeared on any boards we got a bit nervous until we finally cracked and asked someone.

This flight is not on today, we were told. “You mean it's cancelled”, we said. No, not cancelled, just not on today, they insisted. They fetched a representative for Japan Airlines with whom we were flying and he marched us up and down, checking with people and making phone calls until he was able to confirm that the number of flights on this route had been cut two months previously, so we should have been rescheduled for the next day. But nobody had told us. He asked who our ticket holder was and when we said BA took us out of the building into a neighbouring office. This was not as straightforward as you would think because we all had to sign out of the terminal building again, including an excuse for leaving. Having taken us up one floor to a BA office, he promptly disappeared, clearly feeling he had dispensed with his duty. The two girls behind the desk were a bit confused and quite annoyed to be lumbered with us. It turned out to be the lost luggage office, but it was the only BA place still open after 5pm. They told us they couldn't help and wrote down a number for us to call, sending us back outside to a call box. We duly lugged our big bags down to the phone only to discover that the number did not work and when we returned to the office to check the number it too was shut. BA have no representation at all in Delhi International Airport after 6pm. A helpful janitor unlocked the door for me and I went in. Even more annoyed the girl I spoke to said that it wasn't BA's fault and I should contact whoever I booked the ticket through. Stuck an extra day in India and stuck right in the middle of their obstinacy again!

We didn't know what to do. Clearly we weren't going to get our flight until the next day, but unable to contact BA to find out whether they would give us compensation, we didn't know whether to just book into some convenient hotel or to return all the way to Paharganj and look for another cheap place within our budget. Not knowing what else to do, I sent my friend John a text asking him to get in touch with STA where I booked the tickets and ask them to call me on my Indian mobile number. We didn't have enough credit or money to call internationally, but I hoped this would work. John had already been a lifesaver several times when we needed information in a hurry but had no access to the internet; a quick text to John and the information is usually returned by text in just a few minutes. John came to the rescue again and I was soon talking to someone from STA who confirmed what I had suspected: BA were responsible for letting us know about the change of schedule, since STA no longer received notification relating to our schedule after we made the first changes. The guy was very helpful, though, and when I said there was nobody from BA to speak to there, he offered to call BA in Britain. A few minutes later he called back and told me that BA accepted responsibilty and would compensate us, so I should just go ahead and book into a hotel. He didn't think it would be a problem to get compensation for a fifty pound room in the nearby three-star hotel a taxi driver kept walking past and suggesting we go to.

Before we went with the taxi driver I confirmed there was a bar and a restaurant in the hotel, since we were now both starving and in dire need of a drink. Yes, he told us, and added that there was also TV, internet, Air-conditioning, and breakfast all included in the price. Great! A wee bit of luxury for our extra last night in India to make up for this awful turn of events. We took the taxi to the hotel, being sure to get a receipt. We eagerly checked in and dropped our bags in the room. The room was rather disappointing for three stars and we had actually stayed in similar places for nearly one tenth of the price. The TV turned out not to have any English language channels either. But it was the first time we'd had aircon in India. We left our shabby room behind and went to the desk to ask where the bar was. No bar. But they said they could get us alcohol and we ordered a few beers. They wanted cash up front, which was odd, and also problematic because we had spent all of our Rupees in advance of the rescheduled flight. It was not possible to put the beer on the bill apparently. Clearly this hotel wasn't even licensed, so I was going to be able to pay for beer by credit card along with everything else. It also meant, rather annoyingly that we would not be compensated for the drinks, and I was determined that we deserved to be compensated for some alcohol after all the stress it had caused us.

The manager directed me to a nearby cash machine, where I discovered that the ATM was refusing me card again. I returned and pleaded with them to put it on the bill, but they just sent me to the next nearest ATM, which was attached to the nearish Radisson Hotel. While I was in there I popped in to check their room rates, wondering if the compensation would stretch to that, fully intending to leave our horrible, barless hotel if it was at all reasonable. It wasn't: it was about five times what we were paying, so I just went to the cash machine. No money again. When I got back I was raging and had decided we would just get a taxi to another hotel if they couldn't help me out. I really wanted a drink! Maybe the could tell what I was thinking because suddenly it became possible to put the beer on the bill and we were able to get slightly drunk before falling asleep and dreaming of Japan.

written by  The Happy Couple on July 2, 2009 from Delhi, India
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
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What a particularly fine blog entry. That John chap sounds exceptionally cool and most likely wise and good looking too I shouldn't be at all suprised.

written by  Definitely not John on July 30, 2009

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