And so we finished up our ten days off the grid at the meditation retreat in Bodh Gaya; and although we may not have earned our wings as superstar meditators, we at least made some progress. The next stop was the nearby city of Gaya, where we’d lay over for a couple of days before catching a train to Kolkata, our jumping-off point to finally leave India behind. That was the plan, though things didn’t quite go as planned — as we shall see later.
Taking a tuk-tuk from Bodh Gaya to Gaya, we were dropped off at our Airbnb, which turned out to be a hotel. It has become increasingly common for hotels to list their rooms on Airbnb, and we really wish they wouldn’t muddy the waters, but their rates are generally in line with those of the apartments and other properties. The major drawback is that they usually don’t have kitchen facilities — and that’s a big thing for us, as we prefer to cook our meals rather than eat out.
The website has a place in the listing amenities for the hosts to specify whether or not they have kitchen facilities, and we select only those that state they do. But what often happens is that they state they do when they really don’t — perhaps they interpret it to mean that they have a kitchen for their own use, even if not for the use of guests. And lo and behold, that turned out to be the case here — even though we had contacted them in advance, and they had verified that yes indeed, we could use their kitchen.
It was still before noon when we arrived, so we had to wait a while for our prospective room to be vacated and cleaned. In the interim, we underwent the decidedly antiquated process of checking in, which involved signing our names in an actual paper ledger that looked like a leftover prop from cinema noir days. And we presented our travel documents to a government official, which is not something that normally happens at check-in.
After verifying once again with the manager that we would indeed have access to the kitchen, we went shopping for enough groceries to get us through a day or two. But then when we went into the kitchen to put things away, the two fellows on duty there informed us that no, we would not be able to use the kitchen after all. So then it was back to rake it up with the manager again, and he reassured us that indeed we could, and he would straighten things out with the staff. Furthermore, he told us that if any of them asked for money in exchange for the privilege, we should refuse. Wow.
Apparently he did get the matter straightened out, but it didn’t do us a lot of good. There were simply no suitable vessels and utensils for cooking. There were just a couple of pans, good for heating water but not much else. And they were almost always in use; the kitchen helpers were constantly making chai to deliver to guests. This was India, after all. In order to make our own tea, we’d have to hightail it into the kitchen first thing in the morning before it got busy. The kitchen workers offered to make our tea for us too, and bring it to us as they did with everyone else. But that wasn’t what we wanted. We wanted to brew our own tea in our own fashion, dammit.
Once we’d checked out of the hotel, we duly reported the issues with the kitchen in our review of the property (which otherwise was mostly positive) on Airbnb. The management’s review of us as customers, by the way, was just about the strangest we’ve ever received. It simply said: “They came as a couple”. Were they expecting something else? Maybe a barbershop quartet in disguise? (In some countries we’ve visited, if a male and female guest share a room, they must present proof of marriage — at least if they are residents of that country. Foreigners seem to be given a pass for the most part. Which doesn’t mean they aren’t frowned on, whispered about, and/or envied.)
As for the meal problem, we ultimately just decided to eat out. After all, restaurants in India, like many other things, tend to be ridiculously cheap. There were only two prospects on our street. One was a pizza parlor, which didn’t really excite us. The other was a restaurant with a more promising menu; but when we went inside to check it out, no customers were present, and the waiter was stretched out on a couple of chairs taking a nap. Not terribly auspicious.
Then around the corner and a few blocks away, we hit paydirt: a restaurant tucked away in the lobby of a hotel, a hotel that was a star or two brighter than ours. It featured a pleasant atmosphere and an enticing menu, with entrees priced at about two dollars. We gave it a try and fell in love with it. So it became our standard culinary outing in Gaya.
Meanwhile, Dennis experienced the latest chapter in his international dental odyssey. Having already visited several dentists because of a crown on an implant that kept coming loose, he finally located a specialist in Gaya and arranged a consultation. His office was about a mile away, and the route involved negotiating streets full of a mixture of mud and cow flop.
The news from this dentist was not particularly encouraging. It turned out that the abutment (the screw implanted in the jawbone) was cracked’ so there was no point in replacing the crown, because it would just come loose again. The only way to repair the damage would be to surgically extract the abutment and then — if a new implant was desired — do a bone graft. But the patient decided he was all done with implants, having already invested too much time and money in that one. So he decided to just leave the abutment in place with no crown on it for the foreseeable future. The dentist made this more practical by sealing the hole in the head of the abutment (into which the crown is screwed) with a screw-in cap that could be removed as needed in the future. So that was that.
Except that later in the day, the dentist messaged to say that his assistant had mistakenly charged only 500 rupees (about 6 dollars, which was indeed suspiciously low even for India) instead of the correct fee of 2500 rupees (about 30 dollars, which is still quite reasonable). So Dennis replied that he’d come back the next day to pay the difference.
On the return trip, he had difficulty finding an ATM from which he could withdraw the funds; none of them wanted to deal with his ATM card. At one point, he even returned to the hotel to retrieve a different card. Finally he succeeded. When he walked into the dentist’s office, the dentist was actually astonished to see him. He really didn’t expect he’d ever see the patient or the money again. He was so thrilled that he sent his assistant across the street to a vendor to purchase a pair of green coconuts with straws for sipping so they could have a celebratory coconut sipping session.
Now Dennis is always a bit wary of street vendor fare, being rather obsessive about sanitation (Kimberly likes to characterize him as a germaphobe). But he cautiously took a couple of sips, and then announced that he’d take the rest back to share with his wife. Whereupon the doctor ordered another coconut bought just for her. So we each had one to savor later, which we did. And neither of us got sick, so there.
Aside from a good dentist and a good restaurant, we really didn’t find much of interest on this, or any other, visit to Gaya. But we really were just biding our time; the real point of being there was to catch a train to Kolkata. And our hotel was only a couple of blocks away from the station. So after laying over for a couple of nights in Gaya, we could get up, take a short stroll, and be on our way.
Or so we thought.
9/16-18/2022
world travel with a theatrical flair 
Was the positioning of the dentist and his backdrop (library) planned?
LikeLike