**As usual, supporting photos can be found here (look for the post with the matching lead photo).
We boarded the night bus to Mysore in a big hurry, since Indian buses stop for the absolute bare minimum time required to get all feet onboard. We were delighted to discover that our side-by-side berths came with full electrical sockets (not just USB ports) and effectively gave us a queen-sized bed. That seems like a great idea until you hit mountain roads and are tossed around like croutons in a Caesar salad.
We set our alarms to make sure we didn’t miss our stop (lesson learned from previous near-misses) and were surprised to arrive in Mysore slightly ahead of schedule. We had both managed to get some sleep, but disembarked feeling a little rattled and ready for a proper snooze. We had an easy walk to our hotel, where we dropped our bags because we were too early even for early check-in, and we went in search of breakfast – and, perhaps, some toothpicks to hold my eyelids open for the next two hours. We confidently ordered a couple of items based on words we knew and were presented with a dosa that looked like a party hat (my tired brain found this hilarious) and Rich’s vada came buried under curd and crispy droplets of fried dough. Tasty, but definitely unexpected.
Walking back after breakfast, we noticed that many doorways had elaborate chalk drawings out front. We came to learn that these rangolis are, at their essence, Hindu spiritual doormats that are intended to welcome good fortune. As I walked the city over the next two days, I smiled to think of all the families who might have their wishes granted. I’ve since learned that the tradition may have originally started to prevent insects from entering the house – a little less feel-good, a lot more practical. I hope those families have stayed bug-free as well. 😉
We checked into White Castle Hotel and quickly realised that $34 can get you pretty darn close to a North American hotel standard in India! We were thrilled to have space, modern finishings, big windows, and a shower with some serious water pressure (Rich was particularly excited about that part) – and a duvet! I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed a duvet after dealing with a whole hodgepodge of bedding that ranged from none to towel-adjacent material to single sheets to throw blankets. We immediately cranked the AC and crashed for three hours.
We had a pile of admin to do, the most important of which was getting multiple train journeys booked. We spent the afternoon at the train station, where we realised that the archaic rail system was going to be a significant test of our patience. We handled the process as smoothly as we could and I quickly learned that the trick to queueing in India is assertiveness. He (or she) who shows weakness goes last. So, I squared my shoulders and stood my ground as I watched various men come up the outside of my line multiple times. When it was my (actual, original) turn to approach the window, I had extra company on either side but as soon as a gap appeared in the glass cutout in front of the agent, I wasted precisely zero seconds before slapping my booking forms and passports down on the counter so that I could proceed with my transactions. Two hours after we started, we walked out with four train journeys booked (plus one that the agent booked in error, which we just had to hope would eventually get refunded) and our nerves frayed.
We walked home via Devaraja Market, where we took in the abundance of flowers, bananas, dye powder (used for bindis) and cows. So many cows. Just after we left the market, we got talking to one of the palace mahouts, who suggested we hop in an auto (tuk tuk) and head to Mandi Market before it closes because it’s better than Devaraja.
We haven’t figured out where, exactly, we went wrong with this part of our evening, but it resulted in us jumping in an auto for a very fair price, and heading to a market that was in the process of closing and had nothing more to offer than what we’d just seen. We were then directed by our driver to an essential oils shop, where I had the misfortune of telling the salesman that I wasn’t interested in oils because I have no sense of smell. Not one to be shut down by such an excuse, he offered to cure me and proceeded to rub oil on my hands and firmly hold them in front of my face, at which point I realised his plan was to sear my entire sinus cavity until the only thing I’d ever be able to smell was peppermint. Tears rolling down my cheeks, we declined the suggestion that we buy enough supply for me to repeat this torture twice daily for 60 days. I’ve never expended much energy trying to resolve my lifelong olfactory malfunction, but I can definitively say that I’d rather carve my eyeballs out with a dull spoon than regain my sense of smell by huffing peppermint oil twice daily. Upon re-entering our auto, we were quoted a rate that was 5x what we’d paid to get to the market. We laughed in shock, got out, and proceeded to walk home. It’s a classic tuk tuk scam in many Asian countries and I was mad that we’d been taken for a figurative ride along with the literal one by a driver who thought we’d fork out the money he was asking for. As we marched off down the road, I sat with the feeling of being “had.” It was time to get my act together.
Nothing makes things right again like food, so we stopped for a bite to eat. Dinner was our first introduction to the level of service that we’ve since learned is common in India: even a relatively simple dinner is plated for you by your server, rather than simply placed in front of you. Talk about putting my days as a server at the golf course to shame…
Mysore’s main draw is its namesake palace, which is still inhabited by the royal family and is India’s second most significant (and most-visited) palace after Taj Mahal, so we made plans to be there when it opened the following morning. It has had a bit of a facelift, since the original structure was built out of wood and burned down during a royal wedding in 1897 (talk about a big “oops!”), and the current iteration – built out of stone, this time around – was completed in 1912.
After a run along an entirely uninspiring route that made me question once again why I do this to myself, we headed for breakfast at a spot just across from our hotel and discovered that Hotel Mysore Refreshments does excellent dosas. We also learned about the delights of sambar, which is a tangy, tomato-based vegetable soup served with the dosa. Our server made sure we had plenty, and we finished our meal with big smiles, so we left a tip for our waiter (an uncommon gesture in smaller local eateries), clearly making his entire day, and headed for Mysore Palace.
I’d read reviews that indicated photos wouldn’t be allowed in the palace, but I brought my camera along so that I could get some photos of the exterior from the courtyard and the main gates. Once inside, we decided to hire a guide because there are too many little details and backstories that are easily missed in places like this, and we’re so glad we did. Not only did he have a (sometimes) entertaining dead-pan delivery of his take on the palace, but he also confirmed that photos are allowed – and then proceeded to take some occasionally-bizarre photos on Rich’s phone for us to go with the shots I snagged on my own camera.
I was most excited to see the ornate columns and green arches of Durbar Hall, and it was every bit as special as I’d hoped. I could’ve spent two hours just watching the light weave through the arches, bounce off the columns, and highlight unknowing palace visitors. Alas, our guide clearly had places to be and people to sell himself to, so we moved along at a fast clip. Other details that were interesting include the collection of mail boxes (literally boxes that were each used to send single messages instead of envelopes); the incredibly detailed paintings, which were based off of photographs and therefore depict real citizens of Mysore; the stained glass windows of the marriage hall; and our guide’s schoolboy giggle when he explained the silver Kama Sutra carvings in one of the doors. By the time we finished, the grounds were heaving with visitors and we were thankful that we’d made the decision to get there for opening.
That evening, we jumped in an auto for a visit to the Neo-Gothic St Joseph’s Cathedral, which we quickly realised was considerably more impressive from the outside than the inside (although the abundance of graffiti directly under the “Do not write on the wall” sign did make me laugh), as well as the trip up the Chamundi Hills, which is home to the Shree Chamundeshwari Devi Temple. We were caught by surprise by the aggression displayed in the temple queue; there was so much jockeying for position that we couldn’t figure out if they were just really that desperate to pray or if there was a deadline at play – it felt that harried. After a brief wander in the hopes of catching sunset, we realised that it looked to be a pretty futile effort. The smog was quite heavy over the city and the foreground was obscured. We headed off to rejoin our driver, Sina, who was lounging in the back of his auto. As we walked up, I made as though to climb in the driver’s seat and said, “Okay, I’ll drive you home!” Hardly an original joke but Sina laughed so hard that, after we all took our appropriate seats, he got out and instructed me to climb back onto his bike seat so he could take a photo. It made me smile to see him enjoy the humour of the situation so much. It almost took away the sting of seeing an absolutely spectacular sunset take shape behind buildings and trees as we made our way back down the mountain.
Back in town, Rich humoured my request to be back at the palace gate in time to catch the evening light display, and even feigned enthusiasm while I “ooh”ed and “ahh”ed and took 837 photos.
The next morning, we were eagerly greeted by our new best friend back at Hotel Mysore Refreshments when we went for breakfast across the road, then we headed for the bus. It was time to head back to the coast.
Grateful for: hiring a guide; patience; a duvet