22 May 2015
Postcard from Mysore
November 2012
We've spent years collecting Airmiles by shuttling across
the Atlantic and doing many Asian trips, with the dream of travelling round the
world in first or business class for free. So, with enough miles and a three
week slot, we start to look at available destinations. Nothing doing to
Australia, all full to South America, South Africa has no availability in any
month, any year, ever, and San Francisco's a no-go. Our years of collecting and
yes, sometimes choosing the less than perfect or cheapest flight to get all
those miles, were leading us to a few weeks in Milwaukee or Islamabad. Not
wishing to imply they wouldn't have been interesting destinations, it's just
not quite what we had in mind.
We eventually found a flight to Bangalore, the centre of
India's technology boom, flying back from Delhi and, after a bit of fiddling
about, we had a trip to India and Nepal planned, encompassing Mysore, a lush
green royal capital, Coorg, a mountainous region of scattered villages, Wyanad,
with spice plantations and untouched forests, the Nagarhole National Park,
Delhi, the pink city of Jaipur, Agra and the Taj Mahal. Plus a few days in
Kathmandu, Pokhara and Chitwan National Park in Nepal. (For those of you
wondering whether it was Pamela or me who sorted out this great trip, let me
give you a hint: Nagarhole means 'Snake Stream'. I can't wait.)
Met by a tour guide and driver, we are first instructed
to turn back and admire Bangalore airport because it's apparently 'just like
Heathrow Terminal 5'. We're not convinced, because after all at T5 you can't
walk from plane to taxi in 5 min, nor does the immigration official complain
that we only have a single entry visa when a single trip is not nearly enough
to enjoy India to the full.
At 05:30 and having paid the equivalent of 30p for the
toll, we're off on the motorway for the 140km drive, to be there in time for
breakfast. We've clearly been ripped off: this is not a motorway as we know it,
with cows wandering down the carriageway, the occasional car driving the wrong
way, hooting for us to get out of the way, potholes about the size of a Tata
Nano, the cheapest car in the world, infinite roadworks and unbelievably slow
traffic. All that before we get past Bangalore.
There are signs and advertisements everywhere, but let's
just say they don't use London agencies. One product is promoted as being 'as
advanced as tomorrow', an ageing smoky bus has the word 'Express'
optimistically displayed on its back, and a garage offers 'tyres, batteries and
tinkering'. We can just imagine a phone call, "May I book my car in,
please? It needs a jolly good tinker." There's a man cleaning his teeth at
a standpipe, and rows of schoolchildren in smart uniforms waiting for their
school bus (the Express, no doubt). It's all very noisy, perhaps because every
bus and truck have the words "Sound Horn Please" or similar
hand-painted on their back. Everyone obliges, with gusto.
Our hotel calls itself a spa, and is laid out like some
US hotels, with different buildings surrounding a pool and garden. It doesn't
quite work, with for example the pond being fish-less, the room's furniture
being placed at one end of the room and the lights at the other and the tap on
the bathroom not being placed over the basin. But it has an undeniable charm,
everyone is very friendly and Pamela tells me "relax, is your first India
hotel". I risk a massage at the Spa, although I don't recognise any of the
names. Pamela recommends Shirodhara, because it 'nourishes the mind and
improves the mood'. I worry there might be a message there. There's no question
of anything dodgy at the massage, as two hunky men come out, present themselves
as my masseurs and sing me a Hindu hymn to get be in the right mood. I'm
plastered with mud, covered in oil and pulled to pieces. It's pretty weird and
I can't move very well today, but let's hope I'm less grumpy - it's just seems
an improbable recipe.
Mysore is gorgeous, with a C12 Hindu temple, complete
with cows in the car park and monkeys on the facade. It's packed with school
tours and surrounded by tourist shops. We visit the regional Maharajah palace
designed by a British architect after the original was destroyed by fire, with
its interesting mix of European fixtures and Indian style and splendour. The
current prince still lives there, so there are large sections out of bounds to
tourists.
An unlikely highlight is the Post Office, which we visit
to send some of our heavier shopping home. In a next door alley a man offers a
packing service, taking our goods and packing them beautifully in cardboard,
plastic and hand-sewn fabric outer. He's only there in daylight hours, because
there is no electricity. A 12-year old boy assistant threads needles and cuts
tape to the right length. It takes about 15 min to wrap and we pay about £1 for
the materials and service, knowing he would have been happy with less.
# posted by DavidF @ 16:26 
