The hotel was a short walk from the train station. It was a four star place- supposedly the best hotel in Mysore (Ha!)- called the Royal Orchid Metropole. I suppose the Indians have difficulty in spelling Arsehole.
It is a splendid building, and originally belonged to the Maharaja of Mysore and was used as accommodation for his important British guests. The rooms are good with an old-fashioned colonial feel, and the food is excellent. Unfortunately the service is unbelievable. It was like staying in some sort of comedy hotel. I am beginning to notice a recurring theme in Indian society; more specifically in the service industries and to a greater extent with the tradesmen. When they do something for you, it's almost like they have never done it before.
In India, if your name is Sunil and you own a saw you are "Sunil the carpenter". If your name is Raj and you own a screwdriver, you are "Raj the electrician". In the Metropole hotel if you name is Ajay and you own an apron you are "Ajay the completely fucking incompetent".
Breakfast - We go into the elegantly stylish restaurant for what promises to be an excellent breakfast. The waiter approaches the table.
"Yeeeees Siiiiiiiirr. Pleeeeeease?"
"Ah. Good morning my dear fellow. Would it be possible to indulge in one of your fabulous cooked breakfasts?"
"Yeees Siiiiiiirrr What are you liking" (Head wobble)
"Would it be possible to have some fried eggs, some sausages and some bacon please, with some toast?"
"It weeelll be comming siiiiirrr"
Of he scuttles through the double doors to the kitchen. Immediately he is out again heading for the toaster. Two slices of bread put in. Ages later he comes back through the double doors with a small plate. He looks around then disappears back inside. Then he comes back out with the same plate and comes over to our table. A small side plate is thrust into my hands with two fried eggs staring mockingly at me. I look at Jen who is smiling knowingly. I can now see some smoke coming from the toaster, but thought I would just wait to see what happens. The eggs are getting cold, so I devour them. Then he is back. Another small plate with sausages. More smoke from the toaster. I eat the sausages. He returns once more with a small pot that has a lid.
"What's this?" I disdainfully ask
"Yours for eating siiiirrr"
I take the lid off. It was full of baked beans.
"I didn't order this" I scowl. He is standing back nervously wringing his hands. Over his shoulder I can see the beginnings of flames from the toaster. We decide to leave.
Dinner - I order a beer and Jen orders a grape juice and we order food. We wait, and wait, and wait, and wait. I'm amused by a young Indian boy running around like he is possessed. It's really the first time I have seen a child behaving in this way since I came here and I was trying to understand why by looking at the parents.
Eventually an incompetent appears and sets down a bottle of beer and a glass on the table and walks off. It's one of those large bottles with a crown cap on it. It hasn't been opened. I'm so thirsty that I could really just bite it off, but reckon that I didn't want a trip to the dentist to repair my shattered crowns. I have learnt from my expensive mistakes in the past.
Jen catches the eye of a manager and he opens the bottle.
"Where is my grape juice" she asks
"Juice coming"
We are now waiting for someone to take our order. Again we wait, and wait, and wait. At last the most competent of the incompetents notices and approaches our table with a notepad.
"You reeeedy to order siiirrr?"
"Yes please" I say with a degree of relief
"OK. I will come back" and off he disappears. What the hell? He does eventually return and we order.
The food arrives which isn't that bad. Still no drink for Jen. She storms off to the room and gets a bottle of orange that we brought with us and drinks that at the table, while I watch the young Indian boy who has eaten more food and is still running around, being generally stupid.
We finish the main course and still no grape juice. We think desert might be nice and we wait for someone to notice that we have finished. To pass the never ending boredom of waiting I again notice the small Indian boy he comes running in our direction, sees Jen and stops dead. He turns a kind of brown green colour, and then empties the entire contents of his stomach on the marble floor.
He is rescued by a parent, and it leaves us then just staring at the restaurant which has now become a vomitarium. The mopwallah arrives. He has a mop, but no bucket. He ushers the vomit along the marble floor and casually flicks it into the adjoining flowerbed.
At last! A desert menu arrives! He hands it to us proudly and then retreats back to wherever he came from. I was going to have the semolina pudding, but with the faint odour of vomit hanging in the air, decide against it. We peruse and are ready to order. We flag down the same guy that gave us the menu as he was hurrying off to nowhere in particular. He probaly knew where he was heading when he started out on his journey, but somewhere along the way he completely forgot.
Looking forward to my choice I point it out to the incompetent.
"Sorry. Thiiiss is not comming available"
"Oh Jesus! Right then! Tell me what else is not available!"
"Weeeell Siiirr. This one. Not available. And this one, this one, this one........oh. and this one too."
"So, let's get this right. The only things available on the menu are this, and this?"
"Yeeeeess siiiirrr"
"Could you not have told me this when you gave me the menu?"
"Sooooorrrryy Siiiirr"
We pay our bill, and then the grape juice arrives. I usher Jen to bed before she throws it at him
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