To Hellholes and Back: Bribes, Lies, and the Art of Extreme Tourism by Chuck Thompson

Author:Chuck Thompson [Thompson, Chuck]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780805087888
Publisher: Holt Paperbacks
Published: 2010-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

Jaisalmer proves to be a tough place to leave and not just because Joyce and I like it so much. The morning we check out, I find Belu loitering in front of the hotel. This is a surprise given that when we’d arrived in the city three days earlier, I’d promptly fi red him for reckless driving, general petulance, and air-conditioning malfeasance.

“Belu, what are you doing here?”I ask.

“I will drive you to Udaipur as planned.”Belu says this the way Steve Buscemi says, “I’m not going to debate you, Jerry. I’m not going to sit here and debate,”in Fargo.

“You’re supposed to be back in Delhi.”

“Sir, get in the car. I will take you to Udaipur.”Belu reaches for my bag, and a minor struggle for control ensues.

I’m no grudge holder and insofar as petty disputes are concerned, a three-day cooling-off period is pretty much like soaking me in a vat of Palmolive. Much as I dislike him, I also feel sorry for Belu. If his driving is any indication, the guy’s entire life has to be a disaster. Unfortunately for us both, extraneous circumstances are at work.

“Belu, normally I’d be happy to ride to Udaipur with you. But at this point, doing so would require divorcing my wife. Now that the Gujjars have stopped rioting, we’re going to resume our itinerary by train.”

“Sir, please get in the car.”

Getting rid of Belu is like breaking up with a psycho girlfriend. Apparently, he’s been lurking in the shadows for our entire Jaisalmer visit. If it turned out that he’d been disguised as a guide on the camel trek, I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Sir, as my employer in India, you are considered my big brother,”Belu says, shifting from bossing to pleading. “It is your obligation to take care of me.”

“Belu, I’m sorry, but a team of camels couldn’t drag us into your car. And by ‘us’ I specifically mean ‘Joyce.’ ”

After half an hour of negotiation, Belu finally allows me to fi re him for a second time. Adding salt to the wound, we don’t even let him drive us to the station, flagging down a cab off the street instead. From the train, I call Ajay to tell him what’s happened.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Belu,”I say in the hedging way of the habitual apologizer. “Seriously, I think the guy was sort of insane. I feel badly about leaving him out here, but we just couldn’t carry on with him behind the wheel.”

“You must get off of this guilt trip and stop apologizing,”Ajay demands. “You are the aggrieved party here. This man has besmirched the good name of the drivingprofession. Not to mention my own. Now please get on with your travels and think of this sorry excuse for a man no more.”

I hang up feeling better. India’s caste system comes in for a lot of criticism, but it must be noted that there’s nothing quite like upper-crust sensibility and boarding-school English to help you leave the social troglodytes in your wake.

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