What a crappy, crappy start to the day. Worst morning yet. First of all, the sun doesn’t really rise here. Instead, the haze changes colors from grey to purple to pink to bluish. You don’t actually see the sun until it’s about quarter of the way through the sky already. Less than majestic. Then I woke up ten minutes late and missed the free morning boat ride that I have been wanting to go on. I would get into how badly breakfast went, but I’ll save myself the time and just post a copy of my letter to Lonely Planet later. But then again, without missing the boat and getting that crappy breakfast I wouldn’t have met Marc, this cute Australian guy who might meet up with me in Udaipur. Hmm…
I hop into the first cycle rickshaw that comes along and immediately regret it. This guy is old and slow. Traffic is a mess, but he seems content to simply wait in line behind everyone else rather than weave his way in and out of the cars like other drivers I’ve had tend to do. I had hoped to try to transfer my ticket to the train leaving at the same time today, but I get to the station ten minutes after it’s left. Although, apparently I can buy a ticket to the “open seating” car (basically first come first serve) on the train leaving in half an hour. Can’t wait.
So I congratulate myself for staying calm. I think I’d be more nervous if I weren’t meeting up with Laura. It’s nice to know I’ve got someone I can call to help me figure out how to get to Khajuraho. She got there earlier today and found a guest house run by nice people who are even willing to pick me up from the bus stand (my train doesn’t go all the way to Kho so I’m taking a 3 hour bus ride to get closer).
A couple hours later, though, I realize I’ve completely misjudged the people around me. When I ask one of them how much further to Satna, he asks me some questions of his own as best as he can with his limited English (including, of course, whether I’m traveling alone and why such a pretty lady doesn’t have a man to protect her. ‘Because this pretty lady can protect herself’, I think). The other guys must have questions, too, because periodically they say things to him in Hindi and he turns to me to ask another question. Right before I get off the train he says he is very happy because he has a new sister and that I can say I have an Indian brother. Everyone makes sure I get off at the right station, have my bag and am not jostled by the other passengers. My new ‘brothers’ were pretty good to me and I’m sorry to have been so hasty to judge them.
After being told by the tourist office at the station and a few rickshaw drivers that there are no more buses going to Khajuraho tonight so I should go to this fabulous Rs2000 hotel, I decide to go to the station anyway, just to have a little look around. Fifteen minutes later I’m bouncing down the road to Kho and trying to ignore how closely the bus driver gets to the cars coming from the opposite direction. I end up with a creepy guy who likes to lean into me for a neighbor, and when pretending to sleep doesn’t deter him a fake one-hour call to my fake boyfriend does the trick. Fortunately, Rahim from Laura’s hotel is there to pick me up as soon as I step off the bus and twenty minutes later I’m in Kho.
Rakshana guesthouse is pretty homely, but my room is big and I have my own bathroom (which I never end up using because it kind of scares me). Right before I go to bed I find out this is where the owner typically sleeps and that he’s giving it to me because the other rooms are taken. At midnight, beggars can’t be choosers, so I kill about a dozen mosquitoes, slather on bug spray, cover up any free skin I can find and pass out. My last thought: at least I made it here; that’s all that matters.
Dear Lonely Planet,
I want to share my recent experience at Shanti Guest House in Varanasi, India, which I stayed at based on your recommendation. I walked in and asked for a single room for two nights and paid Rs200 up front. The man at the reception desk couldn’t be less enthused by my arrival and they seemed to tolerate my business at best. I didn’t hear a single ‘welcome’ or ‘thank you’ during my entire 3 day stay. The room was fine, but without sheets or a blanket. Also, this was the noisiest place I’ve stayed in all of India; my very first night I couldn’t fall asleep until 1 because of people talking, doors slamming and music playing.
All of that is bearable, though; my biggest problems are with the rooftop restaurant. Oh, where to begin. The extremely mediocre food? Lack of cleanliness? Utterly horrible service? Let’s start with the fact that it’s not actually open ’24 hours’, like it claims. I went up for breakfast at 6:15 one day. A man was watching TV, but when he saw me, apparently his first customer of the day, he switched it off, walked towards me, ignored my hello, flipped a light switch and went into the kitchen. Thirty minutes later two other hapless customers wandered in and the three of us proceeded to knock on the kitchen door. The man I saw said the restaurant would be open in five minutes. Ten minutes later he came and took the other customers’ orders. Ten minutes after that I walked up and asked to order food; he gave me a pad of paper and told me to write it down myself (which I had to do twice after apparently writing in the wrong, but identical, box).
My two friends had joined me by this point and we all ordered toast, theirs with fried eggs, and chai. Fifteen minutes later, our chai arrived (by this point the other customers had their food already). Another ten minutes later, one friend got her toast and eggs. I got my plain toast five minutes after that and a whopping thirty minutes after ordering (and 2 inquisitive trips to the kitchen) my other friend got her food. The eggs were so undercooked she couldn’t bear to eat them so she went without breakfast. Ninety minutes after arriving, I finished my meal and left.
This scenario was pretty typical, unfortunately, and through my personal experience and overhearing other customers I can tell you they didn’t even bring out 7 orders in just the 3 meals I ate there. The customers either left or ordered again, only to wait another thirty minutes to get their food. The workers’ only responses were rolled eyes, sighs and nasty comments; one even snatched my friend’s utensils out of her hand because she “took the wrong one” from the tray she’d been forced to fetch them from herself.
On to cleanliness. As we ate the breakfast described above, they moved us to another table so they could finally clean up the mess from the night before. A man hosed down the floors, pushing water and garbage around with a whisk broom, then did the same to the tables. To our horror, though, he didn’t use a different broom to clean the tables, just the same one he’d been cleaning the sticky, disgusting floors with. He then proceeded to chuck the garbage over the edge of the building (although, this is probably a normal practice).
Overall, the people at Shanti really couldn’t have cared less if we were there, let alone happy. Recommend the accommodations if you must, but I hope you’ll stop featuring their restaurant. I haven’t been this disappointed in anything in your book as with their café and I hope you’ll be able to note this in the future.
Sincerely,
Lauren Montgomery
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