Mysore 11th – 14th January 05

We wake up to the news that there has been a major bus crash in the state killing all 57 people on board. Described by the Indian press as ‘a mishap in which passengers were expired’ (they have a somewhat unorthodox use of the English language). This news, as you can imagine filled us with great enthusiasm for our bus journey down the winding mountain roads to Mysore.

At the bus stand our nervousness was added to by the fact that the ‘Karnataka State Transport Corporation’ appeared to have dug out their most antique, knackered bus from the back of a scrap yard and re-commissioned it especially for this journey. To add to this they appointed their maddest looking driver with deep red eyes to see us down. Deep red eyes (common in India) generally suggest a habit for street alcohol, known to send people blind, and all too often kill people. Local papers report daily on how ‘A suspect batch of illegal street alcohol has been pinpointed as the cause of expiry for fourteen people in a village, the cause of expiry being ‘Mishap by misadventure’’. The driver didn’t disappoint, he fancied himself as a bit of a Michael Schumacher and raced down the winding roads taking no prisoners, stopping for no one, and under no circumstances being prepared to use the brakes. Why would he, the drums are worn out and there bugger all tread left on the tires. Besides which, the flashing shrine to Ganesh hanging above the front window will bring us all good karma, and in an Indian mindset good Karma alone will ensure that we get to our destination safely.

Unfortunately I get a seat right at the front of the bus. Sitting almost along side the driver (under the flashing Ganesh shrine, so ill be ok!!). I get a brilliant panoramic view of the chaos that is unfolding on the roads in front of me. I wont rant any further about Indian Driving as I’m sure by now you get the picture. I will however just make one final plea: “Please Mr. Blair; stop allowing people with Indian driving licenses to drive on our roads back home”

Finally, somehow we arrive in Mysore alive. It’s a bloody miracle but it happened. From the bus stand we start walking through the city’s streets toward an area where hotels are situated. On route I notice something very strange. This cows here are massive. In most Indian towns and cities you get used to seeing rather sorry looking gaunt thin and undernourished cows. Here however they are truly mammoth creatures, taller, broader and fatter than any I have seen before. They are more the size of a shire-horse than a cow, which can be quite scary if you inadvertently walk in to the path of one. I don’t know what they feed them on here but its obviously working.

We find a place to stay (rather shabby and dank but a place to stay non the less), drop of our bags and head off to have a look around the city. Within a few minutes walk of the hotel I notice something else that seems to be unique to Mysore, A huge gambling habit’. The Indian national lottery here seems to be the favored pastime of the towns entire population. In one street every single shop space is a lottery outlet, huge queues bellow out on to the street and literally thousands of discarded loosing tickets litter the ground. Sorry, queue suggests something remotely orderly, what I actually meant is mosh or stampede of people. Indians aren’t capable of queuing for anything. At a train station once I got the hump with a man who just came and barged in front of me, he turned, shrugged his shoulders and calmely stated ‘In India Sir we do not operate a queuing system’ followed by a smug wobble of the head he proceeded to order his ticket.
Trucks and rickshaws that have been converted into mobile lottery outlets circle the streets with noisy tanoy’s attached trying to entice yet more custom. This lot need some rehab!! And I cant spell tanoy…

The following day we go to the local municipal market, a real colorful affair with fruit, veg., and spices being sold. There were types of fruit and Veg there that I have never seen before.. strange exotic shapes and colors most of which I have probably been unknowingly eating for the past 3½ months. One section of the market was dedicated to banana sellers, and I swear there must have been enough banana’s on that market to feed the entire world twice over. God knows what they need that many bananas for?

We walk out of the market and head across the city to visit Mysore Palace, en-route we pass hundred of street stall all selling… yep. You’ve guessed it.. Banana’s… So far it would appear that mysore is full of fat cows, gamblers, and banana’s. A strange combination by anyone’s standards. After walking for what seemed like miles around the perimeter of the palace grounds, we eventually find the correct gate to enter. Here we are greeted with a now familiar nonsensical Indian ‘System’. You have to join one queue to pay to enter, another to hand in your camera (not allowed in the palace), then a you are ushered across a court yard where you have to remove you shoes, give them to on man, who then passes them to another, who puts them on a shelf, a third man then takes them off the shelf, looks at them and issues you with a raffle ticket before giving your shoes to a forth man who carefully places your shoes with a raffle ticket back on the shelf. In India it seems there are infinite ways to create jobs and make the simplest things in life into a real complex pain in the arse..

Finally shoeless we join another queue where we have to show the raffle ticket that we were given at the entrance to a further two people who check them and put a small tear in the corner. We now have three raffle ticket all the same color, one for proof of entrance, one for camera deposit box, and another for the shoe’s. I’m getting confused..

The palace was great inside if a little over the trop and decadent. The rooms are all brightly painted with huge stained glass windows and intricate columns.. Much of the architectural features are verging on Art Nuvae in style, each room with its own theme and decorative style. Build in the early 20th century it is a relatively modern palace compared to many in India, the original having been burned down.

The following day we visit a temple up a hill about 5km outside the city, we cheat and get the bus to the top of the hill. Most pilgrims make the walk climbing up over 1000 steps. We walk down! Halfway down the steps there is a huge statue of Shiva’s Bull Chariot. Basically a huge giant sized bull that Hindu believe was Shiva gods mode of transport. Here pilgrims are praying and walking around the statue splashing water on it and on them self. Strange! I get told off for walking up to the concrete bull without having removed my shoes and then we continue down the hill.

We spend a further two days in Mysore, it’s a likable town and we are happy in our shabby little rooms. The final day we spend relaxing and playing cards on the roof terrace when we notice a building site across the road. Nothing unusual about the building site, only that there is no activity. Then we notice a man, obviously employed to be there but it was hard to fathom out what he was doing. Just standing and watching the traffic, all day long, standing, watching, standing and watching. We go for a walk get some food, and return a few hours later and the guy is still there standing and watching traffic. See what I mean? they just invent jobs for people. And to think India is the fastest growing economy in the world.. Come on guy’s, what the hell does that say about the rest of us?

From Mysore Paul and Karen head North to Hampi, and I am alone again after along time with company. I catch a bus heading high in the hills to another Hill station called Ooty.