THE GRAND HOTEL, PT. THREE

The broken key and locked door and all of it was resolved personally by the owner of the hotel. Despite initial problems I was rewarded for patience: the owners and staff of the Grand were great hosts who helped me through a rough patch - I stayed a week.

On Residency Road near the intersection with Poloview, the Grand Hotel is adjacent to the largest open spaces in the entire city. The Mughal Darbar Restaurant & Bakery is a short walk, recommended. Also close by are the Jet Airways office, the Net Surfer Café, and the Pick ‘n Choose Market, where you can find peanut butter, Nutella, and incredibly – Bonne Maman jams from France.

The Kashmiri that I meet are universally polite. Without exception I was made welcome in hotels & restaurants, offered coffee and a comfortable seat in offices, and invited into homes, even to stay in a sick bed. No one was ever rude to me and I was never menaced about my nationality. People on the street were sometimes curious but mainly indifferent to me.

Back at the Grand the Srinagar flu persisted in me four days and claimed Waseem and others. My agony would have been far worse without the comforts of room service. It was usually the friendly Bilal who broke the isolation with deliveries of soup and the hot water bottles I'd place in my sleeping bag. When the power was out, or the central heating was taking a break, it was easy to get chilled. My mind was on those less fortunate who lived in Srinagar and worried about the winter. These were the coldest days of the season to date if you read the news, and the stories were of closed mountain passes and kerosene heating fuel shortages.
Photo credit: MHIP

THE GRAND HOTEL, PT. TWO

It was almost dark in Srinagar and I was stuffed in the back of a farting two-stroke weaving through a scrum of twilight traffic. It was the right direction, but I didn’t know what to look for and couldn’t discern much out the window. It was starting to look more prosperous when the driver suddenly hucked this three-wheeled jammy hard right betwixt an ox-cart and a bus and into the alley opposite. We were at the Grand Hotel.

The decision to stop was not mine but I didn’t quibble – it would soon be dark. The Grand Hotel & Restaurant had central heating, hot water, room service, newspapers, television, security, and a friendly, helpful staff. I felt lucky to drop in here of all the places in this city; I was going to be OK.

Something had happened in my universe. What had I done to cause it? The first room was very nice but when I turned back the bedroll it looked like a barbershop floor - so much hair. I transferred to the next room, but in the confusion the central heat was not activated. The next morning I rolled out early to see town and do errands; when I returned the key broke in the lock and it took an hour to get in and transfer to the third room in 12 hours.
Photo credit: MHIP

THE GRAND HOTEL

I arrived in Srinagar without the name of a hotel, let alone a reservation. All I knew was it ought to cost 350 rupees (it did) for a taxi to the TRC (Tourist Reception Center) located in town, so I did that after clearing customs. This got me into nearly the center of Srinagar, which is much, much farther from the airport than I supposed. Don’t attempt to take a two-stroke or a bus for this trip. You will never get your gear into either of those vehicle types, and it would not be the happy ending you’d want after a long plane ride.

The TRC was devoid of tourists when I arrived, but is probably busier in the summer tourist season. In any case, the gentleman there was welcoming: he immediately beckoned me to a seat closest to the heat source in the room. Quite near the TRC was the Government Block Hotel (450 rupees/night), which appeared gloomy in the bad weather, but again the host was friendly. I turned it down because I did not see a lobby or other social areas. I wanted to meet other travelers if there was any chance.

I succumbed at this point to a man who had spotted me arriving, and was singing praises of his own guesthouse. I was only interested in a hotel on or near Residency Road, but followed him over the Zero Bridge, and past the private hospital (this was a factor later). It was nowhere near the area I wanted, and it was not really a guesthouse, and maybe it was not really his place. In any case, it was not really finished, so I scurried off to suss out hotels with the remaining half-hour of daylight.

I have a tactic I employ when traveling, to arrive in daylight, and never be seeking a hotel after dark. A new town is more ominous in the dark, and your bargaining power vanishes - reception have you by the short & curlys, and know it well.

At this point I was thinking about the experience that drove this lesson home 17 years earlier. Arriving from Buddhist Thailand to Islamic Malaysia an hour after sunset, I took a bed in a fifth-floor, dormitory-room “guesthouse”. At 5:00AM an earth-shatteringly loud wailing startled me 12 inches off my mattress. Was I dreaming? I pinched my eyes, I felt the glass – it was vibrating. Twenty feet away a gaping loudspeaker was pointed directly at my window and the muezzin was calling the faithful to morning prayers. From that point on I knew to locate a hotel far from any mosque or masjid. No offense . . . . . . .Peace!
Photo credit: MHIP