Mysore is about 100 km (4 hours by bus) from Bangalore and is the ancestral home of the Wodeyar dynasty that ruled the area almost uninterrupted from 1399 till unification in 1947. As a local put it, it’s best known for its palace, its sandal wood and its marijuana.
On the day I arrived I climbed (i.e. took a Rickshaw up) Chamundi hill in the morning, went into the enormous temple, enjoyed the view from the top and met a nice French couple. After walking the 1000+ steps down (actually walking and prompting the purchase of a knee brace later) we had a traditional South Indian Thaly lunch served on a Banana leaf and then went our separate ways. From there I headed over to the Maharaja’s Summer Palace to take in India’s version of Versailles and Peterhof. The building sported a nice blend of Dravidian, Colonial and traditional Islamic architecture. While not as large and extravagant as its European equivalents, I have to admit that they did a wonderful job incorporating all three styles. On my way in there were several large signs noting the prohibition on photography inside the palace… Really India? Really? So I go inside and I’m walking through the palace enjoying the audio guide when I come to the Royal Wedding Hall. This spectacular area was filled with stained glass, carved Teak wood, colorfully painted cast iron columns and an elegant chandelier. As I looked around taking in the room I noticed that there were many people, tourists and locals alike, taking pictures. The police officer in the corner was obviously aware of what was going on and didn’t seem to care, so I discreetly took my camera out and snapped a few photos for myself. A few seconds later the police officer and a man in plain clothes accosted me. They notified me that taking pictures in the palace is strictly forbidden and they asked for my camera. I played the dumb tourist claiming that I was oblivious to the signs and apologized profusely saying that would delete the pictures and wouldn’t do it again. The police officer in uniform insisted on having my camera and I gave it to him. Then the other man in plain clothes (who I assume was there because he spoke more English) told me that there was a 500 rs (about $10) fine for using the camera inside. I countered by pulling out all the stops and saying that I was a poor student volunteering and travelling around on a very tight budget and that I couldn’t pay the 500 rs fine. The man then told me that 200 rs would do as long as I didn’t take any more pictures. I paid the man the “fine” and went on my way glad that I survived my first experience being extorted only $4 worse off because of it.
On the second day I walked over to the Devaraja Market and on the way started talking with a local who I had asked for directions (yes, I know, I gave in and I concede a few man points for the indiscretion). He asked me what I was doing in India and when I told him about the volunteering he was so impressed that he became my tour guide for the next hour or so. He showed me a local food market and an incense/oil shop where they produce all the goods they sell. After that he pointed me in the direction of the Market and thanked me again for the work I did in his country. After a nice 20 minute walk through Mysore peaking down side streets and checking out the small hole in the wall shops I arrived the Devaraja Market. The roughly five acre market basically only had five types of shops selling pretty much the same goods at the same prices (fruit, vegetable, grain, household goods and religious accoutrements). Of course there were a few odd balls and those tended to be the most interesting. One of the ones I walked up to was filled with household goods made entirely of recycled metal that the shops proprietor had produced himself. As I was looking at his wares we engaged briefly in conversation:
Me: This is pretty cool, do you make everything yourself?
Shopkeeper: Yes, it’s all from recycled metal. Can I help you find anything or can I make something for you?
Me: No thank you, I’m just looking.
Shopkeeper: (seeing me check out all of the keys hanging) do you need a key?
Me: No.
Shopkeeper: (gesturing towards the wall to his left and a smile on his face) Then you need a lock!
I was almost temped to buy something just because he was clever, but ended up walking away before I gave myself the chance. I then headed to the Mysore Train museum where I was again disappointed by Indian museums but happened upon a German couple that was also leaving that night for Hampi. We exchanged contact info and went our separate ways. One hour later… Goodbye Mysore!
 |
| Favorites |
No comments:
Post a Comment