HER NAME IS LEELA

My last experience here in Bangalore was an impressionist painting of germophobic challenges framed by my stay at the Moldy Orchid (called The Royal Orchid by its friends and family).

But I think it was Pythagoras who pointed out that, like triangles, not all hotels are created equal.

And so when booking this trip, it was with quite some trepidation that I considered hotel options.  The Musty Orchid is recommended because (a) it is walking distance to the office (with no limb-threatening traffic issues), and (b) it is inexpensive and thereby fits the SAP travel policy to which I am pressured to comply.

After my first night there in October, I clearly recall pricing out other hotels and being both tempted by and dismayed by the much higher room rates of the Leela Palace.  Looking at their web site it is difficult to imagine that staying there is anything less than a resort for the rich and famous at an exclusive tropical paradise.

So you can imagine by joy when, using the SAP travel planning tool, I saw that the Leela Palace now has SAP-negotiated rates!  It is still more expensive than the Mildewed Orchid, but irrelevantly so.

So let me now provide some pictorial evidence to substantiate the claim I'm making that Leela Palace is a step up from the Withering Orchid.

Let’s start with the lobby.

Welcome to the Royal Orchid.

Allow me to make some observations with the clarity of hindsight.

First, there is the nice, shiny floor.  This first sets the impression of a nice, clean establishment that cares for the facility as though it were a royal residence.  But sometimes things are too clean and overly-polished for a reason.  Bait-and-switch comes to mind.  It is my contention now that this is probably the cleanest part of the building and the floors are kept super-polished so that they are too slippery for the rats to set foot on and thereby scare away unsuspecting clientele.

Second, note the statue.  Like any good work of art, empathize with it.  Feel its oppression, its desperation, its pathetic plight of escape.  Here we have, embodied in materials too suspicious-looking to describe, the eventual fate of all who stay here at this hotel.  Dirty, moldy, bent over from coughing and hacking too long due to the mildewed air of the rooms and the cesspool stench of the river right outside the hotel, this broken soul warns to all who enter to abandon hope.  All hope.

Third, you will note the impressive absence of staff waiting to greet all who enter.  Now, I personally do not care one way or the other for hotel greetings, but as you will see, this is in stark contrast to Leela.  But let’s not ignore what IS there in that picture.  There is a hotel guest sitting in the faded sofa most likely acquired from a curbside nearby, looking dazed and vacant.  This poor soul lost the struggle to escape unscathed, and to this day may still be there.  Finally there is the security guard pacing outside.  I admit this guy was very friendly and always seemed glad to see me, but in retrospect I must question whether his gladness was more about the fact that every time he saw me I still had some spark of life remaining in my eyes.

The Leela, on the other hand, is a welcoming environment.

This isn't even the lobby.

From the moment you disembark from the car, there are folks to help you with luggage, find your way, point out the bar, the attached mall, and make sure you have enough water.  The area outside the lobby entrance is pristinely clean and detailed in marble flooring, columns, ceiling décor and more.

Entering the Leela Palace is facilitated by pretty young women and handsome young men who clasp their hands and bow respectfully, indicating that here you are king, and they are but humble servants.

Reading the awe on your face, they recognize that you are just arriving and usher you to the desk for check-in.  Being a seasoned traveler I was prepared to stand at that desk like a beggar seeking for shelter.

Not so fast, weary traveller.

Only suckers stand at the check-in counter waiting to be processed.  I was shown a nice comfortable seat on one of the couches in the lobby, and my passport and paperwork taken to be processed.

Score: Leela 1, Orchid 0.

After check-in one must find one’s room, which involves navigating various elevators and hallways.  Again this provides material for a comparative analysis.

The Contaminated Orchid's hallway to my room.

I admit the quality of the photo isn’t great – my smartphone doesn’t stabilize well when taking pictures while walking.  Why not stop and get a clearer picture, you ask?  One does not stop walking in this hotel, as anything standing still is a target for varmints and critters.

Notice that this hallway is narrow and bland, receding into a light which I believe is the crossover point between this world and the next.  Why here in this hotel?

Vultures gather where death abounds, my friend.

Now in the Leela, it is a bit different.

As the bellman took my bag and ushered me to the elevator, he noted my room number and told me with a friendly, apologetic smile that I had a long walk ahead of me.  Indeed, he was not kidding.  It probably takes between one and two minutes to walk at a brisk pace between my room and the elevators.  But that walk is day vs. night compared to the Orchid.

One of three hallways leading to my room.

Well lit, spacious, and decorated and architected again like you’re in a palace.  Well done, Leela.  The score is now 2-0 in favor of Leela.

Now, we compare the rooms.  First, the Wilting Orchid.

The entrance, designed to make first impressions.

The first impression one gets is a solid “meh” – if you ignore the stench.

Orchid gets points for dual toilet paper rolls, knowing that in India the risk of needing an emergency supply is at elevated levels.

Crooked pictures above the bed, indicating the quality of sleep one will get.

Pillows stacked like corpses.  Foreshadowing?

"Like new.,"

The view looking out of my window.

Effective not so much at cooling, but at mildewing.

From the Martha Stewart Collection: Decorative Mildew.  (Look closely - you'll see it.)

A stay at The Grimy Orchid is a gift that keeps on giving.

I think that should about do it.  The Grimy Orchid has set the standard.  Defined the yardstick.  Set the bar, it did.

And now for the contender: the Leela Palace.

The "foyer" for my Leela Palace room.

Indeed, the first impression is a good one here.

This is in the foyer, there in case you get tired from the long walk into the room or want to stop and make up your face before going out.

Note the pillows: at the ready, standing at attention.  Not at all like stacked corpses.

The contrast to the sofa in the Nasty Orchid is self-evident.

Not just an elegant workplace, but here I can interview potential butlers.

Granite?  Marble?  Both?  Does it matter?

Granted, no “dual dispenser” like the Greasy Orchid, but note the extra roll nicely wrapped like a present!

The window here has blinds I can open and shut with a switch on the wall.

The view upon stepping out onto my room's balcony.

Updated score: Leela 10, Orchid 0.  (Extra points just for being so nice.)

And then there’s the level of attentive service one receives at the Leela.  The staff here like to be helpful.  Very helpful.  In fact at all times they are actively concerned about whether I’m happy with the stay.

They want to bring you to your room.  They want to carry your luggage to the room.  They want to clean your room every morning, then again in the evening.  They want to turn down your bed at night.  They want to know whether you have enough towels.  Enough cookies.  Enough bottles of water.  They want to know that you are enjoying your room.  They want to deliver your food you ordered or the laundry you had them do.

All that is nice, and they do it with a smile.

BUT...

First, I have no idea how to tip these guys.  The porter who brought my luggage up refused a tip with a facial expression that suggested he was offended that I would offer one.  I'm not sure if it was because it was not worth the energy to come over and get the whopping 10 rupee note I was about to hand him (which is $0.15 – a fact I failed to pre-calculate and so was blindly thinking he’d benefit from my generosity), or just doesn't want or need tips.  I had tried with another guy to give him 20 rupees, thinking that I must be very generous, and he took it but it didn't seem to phase him.  I guess not with that exchange rate. Of course, later when I looked at the exchange rate and figured out how much I must have been insulting these guys, I did feel pretty bad, but then apparently tipping is not expected in India.  This is actually not universally true, as a future chapter in my saga will illustrate.

Second, these guys have an uncanny knack for coming when I'm not immediately able to open the door.  When I first arrived, I had stripped down to nothing and was about to step in the shower.  The room’s doorbell rings.  This time it was to ask if I had enough water and towels.  Another couple of times I was on the toilet, only to find after a panicked hurry-and-finish-and-get-decent-to-open-the-door that they wanted to know if I had enough fresh fruit.  The first night I was in my skivvies (it is hot here even in the room, where it is relatively cool!) lying on the bed reading before I was gonna sleep and they wanted to come in and turn down the bed.

I'm now afraid to go to bed, to the bathroom, shower - anything that puts me in a panic to re-clothe myself sufficiently to let them do what they want to do.

The last thing I should note is that my first evening there I unpacked everything and found out that some damage occurred to my luggage contents in coming here to India.  Of all the things that could have broken – my laptop, my headset, my Bluetooth speaker, my personal USB-powered fan – what actually suffered damage was something far more valuable.

My Purell hand sanitizer no longer dispenses its viral-killing, life-preserving nectar.

I'm doomed.