Mysore

Thursday November 22nd: Mysore
At last! A proper night’s sleep, what a difference it makes. Today is all about the sight-seeing, most notably, Mysore’s beautiful royal palace. I can sort of see it from my hotel room so it’s only a short distance away. I approach ready to fight off trinket sellers and ‘guides’. The guides drive me insane. I do not need somebody waffling in my ear, gurning in my general direction then sticking his hand out for cash at the end of it. I will happily pay for say, a map, descriptions of what I’m actaully looking at but noooooooo. You really after left to your own devices. Occasionally, if you’re lucky, there might be a very badly printed souvenir book to buy after you’ve left. Let me have it before I go in so I know where I’m going goddamit!!! I pay my entry fee, 10- for locals, 100- for foreigners (welcome to India!), then pay to put my camera in, and then pay again to leave my shoes behind……It’s worth it though as the palace is a-mazing. Beautiful. The whole of the front is one big open terrace, like a Grandstand where you can just imagine all the Indian and British dignitaries watching some sumptuous parade out the front. The forecourt is guarded by 4 extremely angry looking bronze tigers on plinths painted with even angrier red letters saying “Don’t Touch Me!” Inside is stunning and surprisingly well kept, save a huge pile of rubble in one of the courtyards. The upper terrace leading down to the viewing stalls is astonishing – tuquoise and gold arches almost to a vanishing point, with pink & gold striped pillars supporting. I am almost moved to tears, not by that but by the HUGE, plastic, yellow protective barrier running twice the length of the room, totally ruining the view. It’s waist-height and, I repeat, huge, plastic and yellow. It’s the sort of thing you might put up for night-time roadworks, who the hell thought that was a good idea for a palace? What about a good old piece of unobtrusive rope?! It looks brand new too, so has probably been quite an investment. I want to slap somebody but the high count of musketed guards keeps me quiet. Outside is amusingly Indian, ‘well, they’ve seen the palace so let’s not worry about the rest of it’. Round the back is a sort of mini shanty town. Three rather pissed-off looking camels are tethered next to a sign advertising ‘Camel Joy Rides’ and the misery extends as far as a collection of tacky drinks stalls, right in the doorway of the toilet. You wouldn’t get that at Balmoral.
Joking apart, it really is a lovely place but as I wander the grounds, yet again I am pestered for photos. This time a man asks me to “put over my shoulder your hand” Absolutely not!!
Next stop is the Art Gallery, a short walk away. I say art gallery in that it contained art but was yet another case of bugger-all description as to who anything was by, when it was made/painted, the artistic significance…… I’m no Brian Sewell, but I do at least want a bit of detail. The odd thing will have a sticker next to it, most notably in a cabinet full of fairly horrendous ‘back of the Sunday supplement’ glass objects. Very insightful labels such as “red fan made of glass”. Yes, I can see that. Tell me what the bloody hell it’s for and when it was made will you! I can’t bear it any longer so give the final floor of musical instruments a miss, fearing more of the same; “Drum” etc.
Following ‘Uncle’s advice, I take a bus up to Chamundi Hill from where panoramic views of Mysore are possible. It’s only 20 minutes and I am slightly hearted to see signs on the way advertising a ‘plastic bag free zone’. This is quite common in hill-top places; plastic bags really are the scourge of India as they obviously don’t decompose so are literally everywhere, most notably in any kind of waterway. Sadly, ‘plastic-free’ is only ever a well-meaning gesture and is rarely born out in reality. Chamundi is riddled with litter like anywhere else, thanks in part to the hillside method of sweeping. Sweep, sweep, sweep…..chuck all sweepings down the side of the hill so you can’t see it from where you’re standing.
A path of 1,000 steps (!) leading down the hill gives lovely views over Mysore but as I turn back, I hit the school rush hour and am bombarded by requests for ‘schoolpen?’. It’s almost dark by the time I get back to my hotel and should have remembered that going anywhere on foot after dark is a no-no. Not at all because I’m likely to meet with any personal danger, just that you try crossing a busy, un-lit road with vehicles coming at you from every directions, minus lights and you’re lucky to make it to the other side alive!

Friday November 23rd: Mysore
I’m already sad this is my last day here as is one of my favourite places so far out of all my trips. Today is all about the shopping. There’s not much here jewelery-wise that I’d buy which is a shame as there is an entire road given over to jewelers here. This is very common in India to sort your merchandise by road so that you have all the jewelers in one street, all the silk shops in another etc. At least it makes shopping around easy! There is a lovely bookshop in the centre of town where I buy something called ‘Jesus Lived In India’, which suggests that Jesus actually survived the crucifixion and went back-packing of sorts through Central and South Asia. That would explain why so many travellers dress like him! I can’t wait to read it.
As I potter the main drag, there is a commotion at the far end and traffic has been blocked off. Huge crowds are nothing out of the ordinary here, but this crowd is very interested in whatever they are looking at. A large, very shiny JCB is digging a huge hole in the road, casually dumping all the earth into one of the side streets, yet traffic still manages to find a way around it. The earth is getting nearer and nearer a little old lady sat by the side of the road selling, er, cricket bats. There is absolutely nothing to protect the public from the machine so they are literally teetering on the edge of the hole it is digging. I am nervous to walk behind it to carry on my way, just in case the confused-looking operator pulls the wrong level and runs me over.
I take a rickshaw to the Government Sandalwood Factory as it may be interesting to see how it’s all done. As we approach the entrance, I have to check with the guard that this is actually the right place as there is absolutely no sign of activity whatsoever. I sign a book (again) and am led on a tour round a factory a) covered in soot and general debris b) with absolutely nothing happening bar 2 young guys in an corner splitting rather small bits of wood by hand. This is the epicentre of this indsutry?! All the rusty-looking machines lay dormant and the guide explains that they haven’t had enough wood from the forest in over a month, hence nothing is happening. I am in and out in half an hour, wondering how much money they are losing by the day…….
Back in town, I polish up my bargaining skills to come away with a lot of raw silk that I probably won’t use. Back on the street, the JCB has made huge progress and the main road is now completely blocked with water pouring everywhere. There is only one construction worker in sight – the digger himself who is having lots of fun. I am yet to see a hard hat and high-viz jacket here – most builders work in bare feet! – but you’d think there’d be some incentive to clear the earth from the busiest shopping street in town!
At the other end, the street is less busy with a very sorry area with badly injured beggars and street families camped by a very beautiful classical-style building, many of their possessions stuffed into its railings. The building has a badly-hung banner which as I get closer reads….. “Casuality Department”. Oh God, it’s the hospital. I just hope it’s cleaner inside…
I pay one more visit to Uncle and Aziz at the market before leaving; they are very busy today and shifting a lot of incense sticks. I ask how many they sell during festivals – up to 25,000 per day during Diwali! They bid me farewell and hope to see me next year. Maybe not next year, but definitely some other time. I have loved it here, very friendly people but some strange questions regarding my homeland which gives an idea of who has been staying in the area recently. “England? You from Manchester? How was Glastonbury?” Glastonbury? Hmmmn, let’s see, if I want unspeakable toilets and hoardes of people, I prefer to come here actually. Of course I’d never say that, it’s just easier to say “great, thanks” and move on.
As I clamber home over the JCBs soggy mound of earth, it’s time for some last-minute photos of Mysore beautiful statues and official buildings. I also walk by the Mysore branch of the Communist Party of India, I didn’t know there was one! It shares premises with the local mosque, too. It’s day one of the first test against ‘Pak’ as they call it, and the Indian media are gleeful at Pak’s very average innings. They are also rubbing their hands together over what’s happening with ‘Mush’, bombasting their democracy at every opportunity, of which they are fiercely proud. You’ve got to hand it to them, whatever you or I may think of the place, they bloody love it here! Now if they'd just tidy up a bit.....