Four stories tall with one side of the building half open, because the builder ran out of money, cement or thought this was a way to air cool in the building was what I drove up to. I lugged my pack up the stairs to the reception area, and behind the counter was this sour faced man in a drab dirty uniform. He was having a loud conversation with four guys all in wife beater t-shirts, no shoes or flip flops and matching brown pants. He gave me the key to room 203 and pointed towards the stairs and as soon as he did that, the four guys all started to scream at one another about who was going to take my bag upstairs. Before I headed toward the stairs the man handed me a towel that looked like it was used to dry cars in a car wash, and a bar of soap that that lost its chemical composition and was oozing out of the wrapper.
Outside of most of the rooms were trays littered with moldy plates of food and empty liquor bottles. The hallway was dark, and the door to the room across from mine was open and the smell of cigarettes was enough to give you cancer by contact. I turned the key in the lock, but the door didn't open. After three futile attempts one of the screaming men from earlier on came carrying my bag and tried his luck. He too had trouble, and eventually punched the door and which caused it to fly open. I saw the spot where he punched it, and this wooden door had definitely been punched many times. We entered the room and he dropped my bag, put his hand out and shouted in my face, "Money now!" I laughed, shook his hand, smiled and whispered, "Money later." He didn't understand this, and walked out of the room. I heard him screaming once he got to the reception area.
The floor had layers of caked dirt, the bed was basically a board with a sheet on it, and the pillow stopped being a pillow years ago. The night table was ornate, yet wobbly and not something I would put my watch on. When I stepped onto the wet bathroom floor, found the toilet seat wasn't attached to the toilet and the shower head was hanging down and oozing, I knew that I would not be opening the door again. I decided I would be joining the ranks of millions of Indians who brush their teeth in front of their homes and find another place to do my business. When my tour operator asked me how I found Hotel Aane I asked him what he thought of it. He said the other foreigners stayed there and never complained, I asked how many last year and he replied; four. I wanted to photograph the room, but didn't want to take my camera out in the room. I slept in my sleep sack, put some clothing in a pillow case that I brought from home and didn't even open my suitcase. With the help of Ambien, I slept six hours and carried my own bag to the car.
Goodbye Hotel Aane in Pasighat, I will not be back.