Mysore
just might have the dubious distinction of being the most
unfortunately named city I have visited. It is a step up from say,
Myfesteringwound, but it doesn't exactly conjure up the most
delightful of images for native English speakers. Fortunately, the
name is not reflective of the place, and we really enjoyed our time
in Mysore, which was filled to the brim with all sorts of fun
touristy stuff. But before we could check out any palaces or ruins,
we had to get there, which was a crazy adventure all in its own
right.
Although
we did not sleep a wink on the sleeper bus, we both had a certain
level of appreciation for the “Studio 54” feel of the bus.
Rainbow holographic laminate on ceiling and walls? Check. Purple
velveteen curtains? Check. Flashing multicolor lights lining the
door frame? Check. Driver who alternated between blaring his horn
and dance music through the wee hours? Check and double check.
We
ended up taking a train from Bangalore, which was super super cheap.
For a reason. When the train arrived, an unruly mob formed at the
entrance to the cars, pushing and shoving to such an extent that
people could barely get off the train. Only the people who dove into
the scrum and weren't afraid to throw elbows got seats. I secured us
two. (My elbows are at most people's face level...winning!)
For
about two and a half hours, the journey was reasonably pleasant.
Whilst we had aisle seats--far from deliciously cool and refreshing
oxygen available to those people near a window--the people in our
train compartment were rather pleasant. In the adjacent apartment,
there were some kids sitting in the overhead luggage racks who were
interested in playing peek-a-boo with us through the metal screen
that separated us, a game they didn't seem to tire of for the next
three hours.
People
shared some of their food with us, we shared some laughs, our
headphones and the Lonely Planet guidebook. One of our fellow
passengers asked to see it, and spent over an hour poring through it.
We thought it was a bit odd, until another person asked, then
another. During the course of our travels, we have found the Lonely
Planet to be a big hit; it seems everywhere we've gone in India,
Indians have been quite curious about India. :)
Unfortunately,
all our new travel companions departed around the third hour mark.
While we were free to secure window seats, our compartment filled
with individuals who were comparatively less friendly and far more
inclined to stare. (Our peek-a-boo buddies were replaced by a total
perv of a guy who seemed like he was trying to stare down my top for
the next three hours. Trust me buddy, it's really not that
interesting down there.)
When
we finally arrived in Mysore,
we were marooned on a platform with no clear exit signs. However, a
quick glance around revealed the appropriate way to proceed: we
should jump down from the platform, clamber over a fence, amble
across two sets of tracks, slither under another fence, then hoist
ourselves back up on the opposite platform, where the exit awaited
us. Although we followed our fellow passengers across the tracks, it
didn't seem like the best idea, particularly given Jon's familial history of difficulty with train crossings. Although I had seen
several videos of people nearly hit by trains (e.g. below), I was unaware that the seemingly reckless stars of these videos were not entirely negligent,
they were simply following protocol.
One
fixed-price (more winning!) ride in a rickshaw later, we found
ourselves in the city centre, where a tout led us to our new
temporary digs. After some much needed R&R, we headed out to
investigate Mysore (haha, that sounds like a medical docudrama).
After we were lured into an incense and oil shop, and ate dinner at a restaurant that proudly featured disposable vomit bags as a dining convenience (see picture below), we turned our
attention to the--much more savory--light show at the palace.
The
light show basically meant that the light bulbs covering the palace
and its attendant grounds were switched on, then without any fanfare,
they are switched off. (I think the more western concept of “light
show” may have been lost in translation.) In general, it is like
a much classier version of Clark Griswalds infamous Christmas décor
in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Although the notion of the
“light show” was somewhat lost in translation, it was a really
lovely atmosphere and we both really enjoyed the evening. With all
the lights, food vendors, and friends and families milling about, it
even had a bit of a Christmassy feel to it.
On
our way back to the guesthouse, we saw a man with long hair sat in a
silver chariot that was pulled by a white horse, which was led by a
processional of drum players. Periodically, the entourage would stop
in the middle of the road and everybody would get down for a group
boogie. Jon and I watched the scene unfold, and before we knew it,
we were pulled into the fray. (Me willingly, Jon a bit less so.) In
India thus far, I have subscribed to a basic formula of
jump+flail=dance. While I have tried to use the moves I have been
taught of “sow the seed” and “twist the lightbulb,” sometimes
I just don't know what's going on, so I just wave my arms about
wildly whilst bouncing. Surprisingly, this seems to go down well.
After we shook our groove thing in the middle of the road not once,
but twice, it was time for bed.
The above is for illustrative (v. aesthetic) purposes. :) Too busy dancing for a good snap. |
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