The robe robbers

Bit of a drama this week. Just when you thought everything was finally starting to settle down for us following the visa debacle, Peter had to go to hospital for an emergency procedure under local anaesthetic to treat an abscess in his colon. I’ll spare you the details, but it wasn’t pleasant. What might be described as a major pain in the arse.

He happened to be in Beijing for the first of three launches which he’d organised for his company. After arriving in considerable agony, he made some fruitless entreaties to BUPA International, who seemed to find the task of locating an English-speaking doctor in China’s capital a little too challenging. Hmmm. Had he consulted the local guidebook in the room, he would have found there are many hospitals to choose from, such as the Shunyi Hospital, the 2nd Shunyi Hospital, the 3rd Shunyi Hospital, or the Longwinded Town Hygienic Service Centre. In the end though he managed to track down a fantastic western hospital who sorted him out. He’s ok now but needs to have a further operation on Monday under general anaesthetic to remove the remainder of the nastiness which they couldn’t reach. However, on the recommendation of the doctor we are flying to Hong Kong for this.

It’s not the ideal way to see the world. Poor Peter has spent the last five days trapped in a Beijing airport hotel, which is a pretty grim fate. No trips to the Forbidden City or the Great Wall for him, on this occasion anyway. I joined him yesterday, laden with summer clothes for our non-sightseeing trip to Hong Kong, where it’ll be in the region of 28-30°C. (It was actually snowing in Harbin when I left yesterday morning). It’s quite warm and sunny here (although the locals all think it’s cold and keep telling us to put our coats on), but we’re limited in our attire as the hotel has a dress code which demands that you don’t wear a ‘singlet’ in public. This immediately made my hackles rise. Peter wondered if he could wear a doublet, but I said that would be twice as bad.

The hospital here have been great and have arranged our flights to and accommodation in Hong Kong, although this required complex negotiations between BUPA International, BUPA (which is different, it seems), and his company. They have booked his surgery, and even emailed him a letter from the surgeon telling him what he needs to bring to the hospital and so on.

Which is where the trouble started.

The letter stated: ‘Please bring with you pyjamas, gown, slippers, toothbrush, toiletries and towel’. Now, Peter doesn’t wear pyjamas. Or slippers. His dressing-gown is at home in Harbin. Ditto all his towels (he knew he’d be staying in hotels where towels are provided, so didn’t bring one, and neither did I).

So, ok, we think. A T-shirt and shorts will pass for pyjamas. Flip-flops will serve as slippers. We could ‘borrow’ a towel from the Hong Kong hotel for a couple of days. Then Peter had a brainwave and decided that before we leave here he would buy one of the nice, white, waffle-weave bathrobes which the hotel provide in the room. The book of guest services expressly states ‘Should you wish to purchase a bathrobe, please contact the Housekeeping Office’. Knowing that Housekeeping’s English wasn’t brilliant, we asked a guy at reception how much the bathrobes cost. It took several attempts to get him to understand what we were talking about, but eventually he phoned Housekeeping, and told us they cost 350 RMB (just under £30), which seemed not unreasonable, but we wanted to consider our finances so we thanked him and returned to our room.

The other reason for hesitating was that we couldn’t remember whether the robes had the hotel logo emblazoned across them in a prominent fashion which would be a bit embarrassing in hospital. However, when we tried to check by looking at the robes in the room, we found that the maid had taken them when she cleaned, and not replaced them. There had been one there at the start of the week, Peter said, which he’d used and it hadn’t been replaced for several days. I used the new one this morning and once again it had disappeared, as sometimes happens.

Having decided to proceed anyway, Peter phoned Housekeeping.

P: Hello, it says in the book in my room that it is possible to purchase a bathrobe, so I would like to buy one please.
Housekeeping: Book?
P: Yes, the book that is in all the rooms.
[Silence].
P: It says on it…[describes front cover and title page of book in detail].
H: Yes?
P: Yes, well, if you turn to the page where it says ‘Housekeeping’, where it says, ‘Bathrobe’, it says ‘If you wish to purchase a bathrobe, please call Housekeeping’. I would like to purchase a bathrobe.
H: One moment please, sir. [Slight hiatus, then returns]. I will send someone to your room.
P: Thank you.
H: You’re welcome.

Five minutes later, a knock at the door. Someone from Housekeeping stands silently, then says, ‘May I help you?’ Peter takes her over to where the book is. ‘Ah, book!’ she says. He turns to the relevant page and painstakingly points to the Chinese writing under the ‘Bathrobe’ bit. ‘Ah,’ she says. ‘One moment please’. And goes.

Another five minutes. Then a different wifie appears with three bathrobes, gives one to Peter, and starts looking around the room for our used ones. She looks in the cupboard, behind the bathroom door, on the bed, and casts a slightly accusing eye at our suitcases. Peter tries to explain that the bathrobes were removed when the room was cleaned and that we weren’t given new ones, but that what we want now is to buy a new one. She doesn’t understand, and phones Housekeeping. Peter patiently informs them, again, that the bathrobes were taken away and we have none. He suggests that perhaps now that she has brought three, she could leave them all – two for the room and one for us to buy. He hands the phone back to her for translation. She listens for a long time, then says, ‘One moment please’, and scuttles away, leaving one bathrobe behind.

Approximately fifteen minutes go by. Then the phone rings in the room and I answer it.

Housekeeping: Ah, good evening madam, I am so sorry to trouble you.
Me: That’s ok.
H: I just speak to room attendant, and she say that she put two bathrobe in your room this morning, so perhaps you forget or you put them somewhere different?
Me: No, we do not have any bathrobes. Well, we do, we have one, which your attendant just brought a few minutes ago, but before that we had no bathrobe. The attendant took the bathrobe away today and did not leave a new one. We have told you this several times but you don’t seem to believe us. I rather resent being accused of stealing bathrobes.
H: Oh, I am so sorry to trouble you.
Me: Well, ok, but all we want now is to buy a new one and charge it to our room bill.
[Pause]. H: Ah, you want…?
Me: To buy a bathrobe. And to add the cost to our room bill.
H: Sorry?
Me: The cost. Of the bathrobe.
H: Cost?
Me: Yes, the money. 350 Yuan. To add to our bill. Can we do that?
H: Cash or credit card?
Me: No, put on our room bill. The bill for our room. Our hotel bill. For our room.
[Pause]. H: One moment please. [Hangs up].

I’ve had enough. I phone reception and ask for the manager. He’s busy so I ask for him to phone me back.

Manager: Ah good evening madam, this is duty manager. How may I help you?
Me: Well, we’re having a bit of difficulty here this evening. [I relate the saga to date, explaining once again that we were given no new bathrobes, that we have not hidden or stolen them, and that we would like to buy one as offered in the guest services book].
DM: I am so sorry, madam, for your trouble. So you have no two bathrobe clean?
Me: [having to think a bit about this one]: When? Now?
DM: When you check in.
Me: Well, yes, there was one bathrobe when my husband checked in on Tuesday. He used it and it was taken away. Then later it was replaced with another one. I used it today and then it was taken away too, and we were given no new bathrobe. And nobody in Housekeeping seems to understand or believe us, and they keep phoning us asking where the bathrobes are.
DM: So you want new bathrobe clean? Or two?
Me [losing will to live]: No. We don’t care. [I try a new tack]. Is it possible to buy a bathrobe from the hotel? For 350 Yuan? And charge the amount to our room bill? Is that a service you offer?
DM: Ah, you want to buy new bathrobe? And to give signature and charge to your bill?
Me: YES!!!!!! Yes!! That’s what we want! Please! Thank you.
DM: Ah, sorry, we are confused. [You don’t say]. I call Housekeeping and send someone to your room.

Ten minutes later another girlie appears with two bathrobes. One is wrapped in plastic. She carefully explains that this is the one we can buy, and the other ‘you can use in my hotel’. She hands Peter a chit to sign, saying, ‘Credit card’. ‘No’, he says, ‘charge to room’. She goes to the phone. ‘Phone the Duty Manager’, I say. ‘He knows’. She phones and is quickly given the ok, so Peter signs and gets his bathrobe. This has taken more than half an hour.

The thing is, it’ll be so flippin’ hot in hospital in Hong Kong that I bet he never even wears it.
We quickly hung the remaining two in the wardrobe on full view to prevent any further accusations of robe theft. Thank God we’re leaving tomorrow.