Mugged in Mysore

We started our first day at one of ubiquitous 'Cafe Coffee Days' which seem to be India's answer to Starbucks. Chris had an 'Irish' coffee with a 'whiskey flavoured' alcohol free liquor in it and a curry sandwich. Lovely.

Off to the palace which Mysore is famous for. We looked round its insanely over the top interior with about a million school children who, again, were more interested in us than the building. It was built on the site of the old wooden palace in the 1800s after the last one burned down when a wedding got a bit out of hand. Oddly it was designed and built by a Brit and from the outside it really does look at lot like the Brighton Pavilion (or the Pavilion looks a lot like it). 

That done we wondered what to do next. Chris was in no doubt… to the railway museum!

Please see pictures. There is also a video of Chris pretending to be a train driver which he may not let me share ("choo! choo!").

Finally we rounded the day off my joining a rickshaw driver we'd met when we arrived the day before. He promised to take us round places and show us the best sights. 

Oh Mr Kumar you seemed so nice.

First stop was a flower market. I'd been to one of these in Mumbai when I was last there and it had been amazing with thousands and thousands of blooms all being traded to make garlands for temples and so on. As we walked down the dirty street towards where he'd pointed us I saw the first giant dead rat, then another couple as we neared. For those who don't know, I HATE rats. So I was on edge. 

The 'flower market' turned out to be a few tired looking people selling very vegetable shaped flowers. Ummm. We beat a hasty retreat. Back on the street Mr Kumar had gone but the man at the incense shop (where Mr Kumar had said we should go next) was waiting for us. Ok. 

Ten minutes later we were stuck in the back of small strong room with a giant man standing over us trying to get us to buy sandlewood oil for £10 and 'marijuana oil' for an undisclosed sum. The room seemed to close in on us. His voice got louder. Somehow we escaped after paying £5 for handful of gross smelling joss sticks (which have since been abandoned in a homestay in Kerala after their alleged mosquito repelling qualities were manifestly disproved). After this purchase and some further prodding on the merits of various oils he clearly decided he'd mugged us enough. A phone call was made and miraculously Mr Kumar reappeared. 

We felt pretty stupid at the time but on reflection if its the worse we get ripped off in two months that's not bad going. 

The next day we took the early evening bus out of Mysore towards Ooty. The bus was showing a Bollywood film in Hindi which seemed to be both a love story with sudden bouts of joyous dancing and a very serious film about the conflict in Kashmir culminating in the two lead characters blowing up as one of them detonates the suicide bomb strapped to her chest. Bamboozled we wove up the mountain to Ooty.