Up At Arms

Over the months I have grown somewhat impervious to the aggressive calls of rickshaw drivers, salesmen and the occasional delinquent teen. But when Alexander and I arrived in Jaipur, tired and shaken from our bus driver’s insistent demands for a bribe, I lost it. As a crowd of drivers swarmed around me, I started to pull at my hair and shrieked: “Leave us alone!” Small tears balanced on the rims of my eyes. My scene must have made quite an impression because the pack of vying men quickly dispersed. The single, remaining gentleman quietly offered us a fair price and remained mute for our ten-minute journey to the hotel.

At the reception counter a short, slimy attendant told us that he had nearly given away our room. “You are forty minutes late,” he said, casually pointing to a clock. “Now I must tell the couple waiting for your room that you have showed up.” I stared hard in disbelief. Alexander had booked our room one month in advance and re-confirmed three times! He had even called the previous night to verify our time of arrival. “You are very lucky,” the attendant reiterated. I watched as a German couple scowled from a corner couch.

The man showed us our room, and offhandedly informed us of the price. It was twice the listed price that the hotel had confirmed and reconfirmed over the phone! November is the busy season in Jaipur (one must book their rooms ahead) and we had no choice but to accept the fee. Meanwhile, the attendant acted as if we should thank him for not canceling our reservation. “Don’t worry. Tomorrow we will find you a cheaper room,” he lied confidently.

To forget our worries, Alexander turned on the tiny television set in our room. We laughed at episodes of Seinfield and Friends until our sides hurt. In retrospect, none of the jokes were particularly funny, but we were in dire need of a good laugh.