Bel-Air Hotel, Bucket and Mug, Titanic Struggle - Ethiopian journey, Blog Post no - 81.

The day was mildly sunny and Bahirdar's  Ginbot Haya Airport was getting basked in it. The surly and suspicious looking guards let us in. We were in for a shock of our life. We had not noticed at the time of our arrival in November 2002, the Airport was eeriecally quiet.

Ginbot Haya would get the first prize among the quietest Airports of the world. Two reasons for the quietness, it was a Sunday and very few flights landed and took off.

It looked just like a typical African airport. Functional yet rudimentary. We had experience of the bustling and ever busy Hyderabad and Mumbai Airports and it was quite strange to wait in an Airport like Ginbot Haya with very few fellow passengers.

The Airport staff was multi skilled and performed multiple activities. The personnel who gave us the boarding passes, doubled as boarding pass checkers at the aeroplane boarding point. One of them became the purser of the flight.

Pranav and Sahithi had a ball playing in the almost deserted Airport. Sahithi got a small injury and got herself a medal – a tiny weeny Johnson and Johnson band aid strip that she proudly adorned. She was as happy as a soldier who poses off his war time injuries! 

The flight to Addis was uneventful and the flight landed at Bole Airport. In November 2002 we landed at the old Airport. The old Airport was a Haile Selassie era Airport. Old and dated. 

The new airport or Bole International Airport was swank and ultra-modern. Glass fronted with attractive Ethiopian motifs, paintings and long flowing, colourful and artistic cloth draped from the ceiling, it was a sight to behold! We were astonished. It was a grand looking airport that could be pitted against any other airport in the looks and the grandeur department.

We stepped out and the bracing Addis Ababa air hit us right in the face. We remembered “Addis Ababa is the 4^th highest capital in the world”. Unlike Hyderabad and Mumbai, where cab drivers scoop down on passengers like vultures scooping down on unsuspecting rabbits, Addis Ababa cab drivers were mostly placid and laid back.

We walked up to the taxi stand and negotiated with the taxi driver. Our destination, Bel-Air hotel. The driver was smart and could converse in English. We agreed for a price of 80 birr (Rs 400/-) and off we went.

Bel Air was on the queen Elizabeth road and it was on a hillock. The scenery was breath taking. The view could have been out of any well-known hill station from India. We were given a double room and we paid 70 birr (Rs 350/-). It was a fair deal. It was bang next to the Indian Embassy. Our chests swelled in pride seeing the Indian tricolour fluttering away in the bracing Addis Ababa weather.

The door had a lock that would not close. The room was big but the bathroom was bigger. Pranav’s mouth opened by a foot “why such a big bath room?” “I don’t know” I replied. Even though the bath room was big there was no bucket or a mug. Buckets and mugs, it seemed were not on as far as Ethiopian hotels were concerned. I went down to the reception and asked for a bucket and a mug.

I was given the LOOK. The Ethiopian look is the look that they give the foreigners when they don’t understand or comprehend.  It is the look that only the sufferers like us understand. “BUCKET???” the lady at the reception parroted.

She looked at me like a school teacher looks at a dim-witted student. “What is a bucket?”

I was desperate. I knew only the word bucket and no other synonyms. I tried telling and even drew the picture. She studied the picture with the utmost concentration. “1/5” she must have muttered to herself at my drawing skills. She looked at the picture of the bucket and gave a nod. It was hopeless, she could not comprehend.

I was at my wits end. A helpful Ethiopian came to my rescue. After what looked like an interrogation, the friendly Ethiopian’s face lit up. He said something in Amharic to the receptionist.

The lady at the reception gave me a withering look that would have burned lesser mortals. “So you were looking for a Balidi!! “why can’t you simply say so?” she said incredulously.  

After 10 minutes of anxious waiting a quite beaten up bucket arrived. “Eureka” I mentally shouted and grabbed it. I was clinging on to it just like a frightened mountain climber clings on to a tree wine for survival. The bucket was the most important thing as far as we were concerned. Inspite of our best efforts none could understand the concept of a mug. A two litre mineral water bottle was cut at the neck and that became our mug!!! 

We went out in the evening and bought kerosene (we had brought the kerosene stove from Bahirdar), rice, red gram, cooking oil, sugar, salt, candles, match box and washing soap. We returned to Bel-Air. The telephone in the room chimed. “A call for Mr. Aneel” the clipped voice announced. I had to go to the reception area to take the call. Padma wanted to shut the door and lock it. The bolt would not shut. With a herculean effort and great Indian jugaad Padma managed to close the door and bolt it.

The call was from Pradeep, our colleague from Bahirdar. He was enquiring about our next day’s programme. I returned back to the room and to my horror the main door would not open. The door was having a last laugh. It was shut as the doors of the proverbial Fort Knox. No human force in the world was enough to open it.

I rushed back to the reception. Now there were four or five able bodied men struggling with the smug door. The door stayed put. It was not budging for anything. One of the hotel attender leaped through the adjacent window, cat style into the room. He landed safely and another followed. Now it was two inside and two outside. It appeared funny now, but it was serious at that time. 

The four of them were waging a battle with the grim door. After a titanic struggle the door simply gave up. Once the door’s resistance was worn down the bolt was broken and the door opened with an almighty creak. We were all relieved. It was quite stressful.

The next day morning, presented a new challenge. There was no hot water facility. “10 birr extra for a room with hot water” was the dour announcement from the reception clerk. “chigrey illam (no problem)” I glibly remarked. We repacked and moved to the room with hot water facility.

This new room was a colonial style room. It had a cute veranda and a very decent bathroom with hot water facility. Pranav was clutching onto to the bucket that he carried with him from the earlier room. 

"Smart guy" I intoned trying my best imitation of Lion, Ajit the iconic hindi actor, who would say "Smart guy " whenever his henchmen did a clever thing.