Chennai

The drivers name was Money (really, he made the finger motion we do when something is expensive, when I asked him to re-say it).  Money says he’s getting married in a few days.  He is 30 and his soon to be wife is 25.  He says they’ll have a small wedding.

We talk, and he doesn’t understand a whole lot.  In fact, when he doesn’t understand something, he honks.  It takes me a few minutes to realize what’s going on.  I ask him if he wants children he says yes.  No honk.  When I say, are you hoping for a girl or a boy, he says yes again, and then honks.  Aha.  I get it.

So now I ask him a few other questions, just to test out my observation.  When I ask him something a bit more difficult or more complicated, he honks.  When I ask him the same question again (which he does not understand, but does not say so), he will honk twice.  Just for show, one time I asked it a third time just to see what would happen.  That’s right.  Three honks.

He pulls off about halfway through for a covert cigarette, a bathroom break, and the ubiquitous chai.  He doesn’t ask, like most drivers don’t.  When he’s wants a chai, we pull over.

He turns off the car (and AC) and goes into the open-air restaurant.  I say restaurant, but it’s more like a covered picnic area you find in some larger suburban parks in America.

Chai over with, we head on.  We come to a toll booth, he wants me to pay, the Accommodations manager was specific about the cost: 2500rs, and that I should only pay 60 extra, if I was going to the airport, because the driver would have to pay that money if we took more than 5 minutes.  If he didn’t have to pay it, I was not to reimburse him.  So here we are at the toll-both, and I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to pay this, that it comes out of the 2500, but he doesn’t.  I pay the 40rs.

We drive another hour or two and boom, another toll booth, and again he wants me to pay. 

Finally we get to Chennai, at the hotel I have booked for the night, and on the ride, I am thinking about giving him a little something for his upcoming wedding (hopefully he really is getting married).  Before I can offer though, he says “something for my wedding?” with his hand out, and because I was already considering it,  I gave it to him anyway.  But I didn’t feel good about it at all.  When you give a gift, something because you want to, it feels differently than if it’s expected.  I mean, it’s the same money, but not the same feeling.

I give him 500rs, which is pretty decent amount of money for this guy.  He doesn’t thank me.  He tells me the chai was 10rs.

I had read before that the person who pays for the car, also pays for the drivers food, but it struck as me as so odd.  It would be like giving someone who makes about 30k a year in America $50 or $100 dollars, and having them ask for another $.20.  And not thanking you for the gift.

I give him the 10rs because it’s my duty, and walk away without saying goodbye.  Such a shame.  We had a good time on the drive in.  But maybe it was because he thought he’d get something out of me.  I sure hope he was getting married.  And if he isn’t, and for all the other people that have done that to me while I’ve been here, I hope karma gives a touching payback.

I get in the hotel, which is so expensive, I actually talked with my wife about it, even though it was my own personal travel fund that would pay for it.

All the hotels in Chennai are so far beyond the pale it’s crazy.  All of them that I could find at least, with availability for that day and someone near the airport.

This hotel, The Trident, was one-hundred-and-eighty-dollars in United States money.  Meals on the grounds were about par for room service in the US, though there was no surcharge for having it in your room as opposed to one of the restaurants downstairs.

But boy was it nice.  I took 3 showers in the day I was there.  Cleaned and repacked and threw out the stuff I didn’t need to bring home (or at least the stuff that I would throw out once I got home).  I soaked my clothes in the piping hot bath water for 30 minutes to kill any hitchhikers I might bring home.  I wiped down my pack too, but it didn’t do much good.

Last night I had a “Minute Steak Sandwich” which was like a Philly Cheesesteak, and it came with actual French fries, and they were great.  They were served with the awesome Indian ketchup, which I wish I could have in America.  I ordered a homemade Ginger Ale also, and it was made with real ginger, sections of real limes, sections of real lemons and mint leaves.  It was good, but not quite sweet enough for me.  The sandwich was excellent however.  I couldn’t finish it.

Incidentally, I weighed myself here, because they had a scale.  Similar to the way I used the hair dryer in Goa, just because I could.

The scale says I weight 173 pounds.  When I left I was closer to 195.  And I’m “up” from my lowest Indian weight, because I have felt like I’m gaining weight once my appetite settled in.  My guess is that I was probably nearer 165 at my lowest, and I recovered the extra 10 to get me to my Chennai weight.

I slept like a baby as they had actual doors that slid across the windows instead of black out shades.  As a result I ended up missing the included breakfast, but the Club Lounge on my floor, the one with complimentary foods had stuff, and no one was there the whole time I was ransacking the place.  Figuratively of course.

I had a banana pastry.  Then a cake doughnut with sugar on the outside.  Then I had some crackers with some expensive looking cheese and some dates.  Then I had a bowl of the ever-present Indian cornflakes with warm milk.  What would I give to show an Indian the cereal aisle in America.  There apparently is only one cereal available in India, and it’s plain cornflakes.  Not even the sugar coated ones!  I am dead serious.  I have never seen another cereal offered for sale in a shop or a booth or a stand or any restaurant of any kind.

Anyway, I was still hungry.  So I ate an orange.  And then the strawberry pastry.  And then the chocolate doughnut.  And then a large mango.  I figured I’d better stop there.  I think my pride was the only think preventing me from eating anything else.  I mean all the serving plates were now empty because I had eaten everything on them.  There were still cornflakes in the dispenser, and some fruit and crackers remaining, but I cleaned out the rest of it.

I came back to the room, made some tea and did the final pack.  Added some newspaper (after I had read it) to the souvenirs I had gotten, managed to break the gift I thought my wife would like best, and generally finished up my Indian business.  I printed off my etickets for the trip home, synced my phone with my laptop for my Evernotes, topped off the phone’s battery, and checked out.

The hotel staff was awesome.  The best and most genuine appearing service I’ve had yet, but I paid for it too.

They got a car for me (he wanted a tip, but didn’t get one for the 2 minute ride), and I write (and post!) this as I am sitting in the waiting room for my flight from Chennai to Delhi, where I will catch my US bound winged chariot.

The battery on the laptop is dying quickly, so I’m wrapping it up.  There’s not much that I’ve left unsaid anyway.  I’ve enjoyed my time in India, but I’ll save a more formal wrap-up for my next post.