Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Eventually, we found ourselves outside a twelve-storey building with golden let-
ters emblazoned above the entrance: Hotel V'atka. Several black Mercedes and a
Toyota Landcruiser were parked outside, and as we pulled up three men in business
suits sauntered out.
Chris darted inside and soon returned with a room key. 'Tim, mate, let's go!'
he said. The V'atka was a plush-looking place, but a room for two only cost about
AU$15. It was more than our budget allowed but we had little choice; besides, a
little bit of luxury wouldn't hurt after what we'd been through.
Moments later we were wheeling the bikes across the polished marble floor of
the lobby. There was no hiding our grease-stained panniers, muddy tyres, cracked
soft drink bottles, and filthy socks lashed onto my backpack. It took two trips to lug
the cumbersome bikes upstairs to our landing on the third floor. As we rolled them
down the corridor, the landlady appeared. She stood as tall as possible on her high-
heel shoes, accentuating the shortness of her white dress and apron. With her shiny
legs bending at the knees and beginning to shake, she let out a deafening scream.
'Aaaahhhhhhh! What are you doing! You are disgusting, you are so dirty! You
can't bring motorbikes up here! Get out, get out of here!' Her thick lipstick parted
to expose a blur of perfect white teeth; peroxide blonde hair shivered atop her head.
'Oh no, don't worry, it's a bicycle and we have permission from downstairs,' I
said.
'Like hell you do! I am going to ring the manager now. This is a clean hotel, we
can't have you here. This isn't a garage, you know!'
By the time she made her phone calls, we had already spread our gear across
the tiny two-bed room and parked the bicycles close to the window. Sleeping bags
were up and drying on a makeshift washing line, bags of food were piled into a
corner, and a mountain of dirty clothes sat in the middle of the floor. When she
returned we were stripped down to shorts and preparing for a wash. She had no
choice: we were foreigners and could be excused for our lack of manners.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognise myself. Black grease stains
framed my eyes and my hair was a giant mop that moved as one mass. A rough
beard pierced the brown and black muck on my chin.
We divided the washing into two lots. For several hours Chris scrubbed at our
socks and pants. It took six or seven bathtubs of black water before any sense of
cleanliness was restored.
