Bang Bang Bangalore to Ooty

Hello everybody, we’re both safe and very well, as you can appreciate the Intruder took a lot out of both of us and for a little while it was hard to write about what was, now, when we look back a funny yet traumatic experience. All is good now and we’re both back on track. So much has happened since then, it’s almost like our adventure’s are becoming a little bit hard to keep track of, if it wasn’t for Mel’s own personal journal, I’m sure much would remain as memories more than stories.

So we’re in the land of the Dalai Lama - Mcleod Ganj, an inspirational little town will be our rest stop for the next few days before we continue on the last leg of this Indian adventure. Not long, only 9 days before we hit the western world and Europe. So I’ll keep the stories coming so that, hopefully we can have a good part of India covered by the time we leave. See what happens….

Bangalore

Another overnight train journey in the palace on wheels later and we reach the IT hub of the Indian sub continent, but not without another little gastric detour. As I remember correctly it was about four in the morning, when, over the top of the constant droning of the rumbling train I hear a voice from the top bunk on the other side. It’s Mel, “rez can you pass me the toilet paper” instantly I knew we were in for another bout of belly India. You just know something is up when your forced awake from your sleep to go to the bathroom. Mel being tough and everything tried to shrug it off, but as the dawn broke on the technology city, all was not as one travelling chick had thought. Well I knew that, Mel was still in denial.

Bangalore central station was bustling. As with most trains in India, unless you hit the coast or a very large city, the train continues on and it is always a scramble to get all your stuff together, jump down off the bunk and start moving towards the doors, which are at the opposing ends of the carriage. The that links the two doors is just wide enough for the average person to fit, given that we have two large packs and two travel back packs at times getting out is an achievement in itself. This morning was different, we were travelling with walking wounded and to compound this, the bangalorians, were more eager than any others we had encountered in trying to get on and secure their seats. I’m sure my feet were still hanging off the top bunk when faces appeared through the blue curtains eagerly awaiting to secure their seats. What do you do when your packed up, looking down a tiny aisle full of people moving in both directions, knowing that you only have a few minutes to get off, yet realising that in front of you is a human traffic jam that would rival any people crushing event known to man. Think being in the middle of the front row of a concert, pressed up against the security barricades, knowing that the only exits are at either ends of the throngs and you desperately need to go to the bathroom. Panic, anxiety, claustrophobia and fear all set in, in an instance. We got off, a few people got jostled, everyone I’m sure found their seats and true to Indian form the train left just that little bit later than it should have, just like everything here, no problems. We thought getting of the train was difficult…. Manoeuvring our way through the hundreds of taxi drivers all eager to pounce, once we got off the train was a whole other experience in itself. “Taxi sir, taxi madam, you want rickshaw, where you go?” At 6am, it’s all a bit much, so I parked our bags at safe distance and we just watched, people everywhere, all on a mission all needing to be somewhere and getting there slowly.

A cup of roadside chai later and we embarked on our next taxi adventure. Luckily for us Bangalore was always going to be a rest stop, and this time we needed it. Mel was quite sick again, not as bad as Mumbai, but not well enough to continue travelling. I think the heat, chaos and the intrusion, got the better of us a so we stopped. What better way to get over your not wellness, retail therapy, it fixes everything doesn’t it…? Bangalore is the place to shop, all the labels all at Indian prices and all definitely Indian sizes. Nothing is what it appears; you’ve heard me say, clothes are no different. Sizes mean nothing over here; a small can be larger than an xxl and vice versa. So many shops soo many tops, bottoms and in betweens later and we know have an understanding of just how ludicrous our western brand values are. Everything is branded, and labels do not amount for much, quality does not have to come at a price and India is proof of that. You can buy any label here, the difference in quality and finish depends on whether it is manufacture in Thailand or India. You see Thailand is where most of our fashion comes from and so products form Thailand are authentic and original, where as product from India is copied and not finished as well. Both of which are a best 25% of the cost of the same products back home. There is no such thing as a special piece or limited collection; it just depends on how many of the thousands of pieces arrive on our shore that determines their perceived value in our world. We pay way too much too all the wrong people for what is essentially products manufactured in Thai sweat shops. In all honesty one is better off flying to Thailand or India to buy clothes and the like, at least that way you can experience another culture for your 10 pairs of western boutique denim. Our values our changing as quickly as the scenery, what has appeared important in the past no longer holds the same intrinsic value…. Hooray!

It took us a good five days to recover from our latest bout of Bangalore belly, even with the tourist strength antibiotics recommended by our saviour in Mumbai, Dr. Baxi. So we rested, didn’t venture to far from our abode and just took stock of our travels to date. All in all Bangalore is just another big city, a little greener, a little cleaner but a big city nonetheless.

Some comparisons for you to ponder

At home India
$1.00 Rs 35

Mineral water $2.00 Minral Vater Rs 10
Premium Beer 1litre $5.00 Kingfisher/Carlsberg Rs 80
Big Mac meal $6.00 Mc Aloo meal Rs 180
Naan Bread $2.00 Naan Rs 8-15
Ciggies $12.00 Davidoff Rs 100
Hotel $50-200 Hotel 3 star Rs 100 - 1600
Coke $3.00 Coke Rs 40
Overnight bus $150 Bus Rs 350
Overnight train $200 Train 1st class Rs 1200
Flight 1hr $99 Flight Rs 1500-2500
Diesel Jeans $300 Diesel Jeans Rs 600
Meal for two $50-200 Dinner Rs 50-1000
Taxi flagfall $4.00 Falgfall Rs 12
Per km $1.75 per km Rs 7

You can see that the economies of scale of AUD to Rupee is enormous, however one must take into consideration tourist levy applied by anyone who is selling anything. In our experience this can be as much as 300% of the original cost. Taxi drivers and street merchants will take you for as much as you are willing to part with, with the most appropriate way of keeping you n the dark being the saying “pay me as you wish”, knowing full well that we will always pay more than they could ever dream of receiving from a local. This became blatantly apparent when we the real cost of taxi’s. What we had been paying Rs 150 for, was costing the locals Rs15. We got stung so many times; all you can do is laugh. It’s not much to us, but sometimes I’m sure it has felt like a lottery win for those that met us. Oh well good Karma for the next life for us then, with the amount we have given away without thought!

Our first bus trip to Mysore

A very pleasant experience, a short trip 5 hour trip in a new Volvo AC bus, complete with push back seats. If it wasn’t for the Hindi moving blaring from the onboard DVD, I’m sure it would have been very relaxing for Mel; I feel asleep and woke up just as we entered Mysore.

Our first night in Mysore starts like most others, we check our hotel room, tell the front desk that the room is un acceptable, get shown to the room that we’re actually paying for look around before agreeing to stay. Then it’s usually a drink from room service, a quick freshen up and out onto the streets.

It doesn’t take long; with in a few steps from the stairs which lead us back into the palace hotel, which is nothing like a palace, but receives its name because of its close proximity to the palace, we are accosted. The Mysore scam is a good one. It goes something like this. So your new to Mysore, easily picked, new prey awaiting a friendly guide who will show you all that Mysore has to offer. And there is lots to see, for Mysore is the home of Indian Sandalwood, oil production, carvings anything sandalwood, Mysore has. It is also the home of essential oils, ones that sound so exotic, like Lotus oil, applied to the forehead and one opens up a gateway into the world of enlightenment. Sounds good huh…. Well if you can find pure Lotus Oil, it does have properties which enable clarity of thought when used in a supporting environment. I digress. Back to the scam. “Sir, madam you are so lucky, the hand rolling incense competition has started and today is the finals, let me take you to see.” Great, we’re a little more clued up to the stories, but as you will find out still manage o get stung in Mysore.

So there’s a hierarchy of scamsters, it starts with the “be-frienders”, these are the young guys, all in their mid to late teens, all who can strike up a conversation in no less than 5 languages, not including the many native dialects, who approach new tourists upon arrival. There contribution is to provide the hook. Next it’s the transport, so then there are the auto-rick drivers who get a cut, the chain then leads to some “essence merchant” who, for all intents and purposes, looks sounds and definitely acts the part. It’s a great story that captures the imagination, the mystery and intrigue of the unknown treasures of the essential east. These guys are good, this sales process has been refined and fine tuned over, I’m sure, a period of hundreds of years if not at least a thousand. We weren’t the first to see this first hand and certainly won’t be the last.

Our experience to the letter, we were approached by at least 4 persistent young men who if this had of been our first day in India would have easily gained our curiosity. However being the veteran tourers of the great sub continent being majestic India, we were onto it… not, it just took someone who was just a little smoother, was great at reading non verbal communication to tune into our space and start our great Mysore stich up. His name was Julian, funny name for a good Muslim, but he appeared nice enough at the time and on some level did genuinely want to show us around. So we let him find us a bike. It so happens that the “essence merchant” Anan, was also in the business of hiring out motorbikes to tourists how convenient... Anan, was a professional, his abode, was exactly as one would expect of a merchant of the mysterious’. Ornate glass bottles similar to the bottle a genie would appear from filled with richly coloured and intensely fragrant oils of the east. Jasmine, Lotus, water lily, lavender, all sorts of essential oils for a plethora of ailments and enlightenments was available to all who had the rupees to spend. We had rupees alright, it is, I’m positive know, written across our faces. That and “we are trusting” is the other non verbal vibe we must be emitting. Back Anan, we enter his house, there’s hand rolled incense filling up what looks like a small bookcase to one side of the room, exotic hand woven silk rugs adorn the walls, similar woollen blend, richly coloured carpets cover the 100year plus wooden floors, the place smells amazing. The scent alone is enough to transport one on a magical carpet ride back in time where camel convoys would bring the exotic closer to our home in the west. We were both mesmerised and easy pickings. A sharp, interactive well rehearsed sales pitch / demonstration and a good hour later and we were loaded with incense and oils and promises and the like and you know what we felt really good about it all.

It wasn’t until later in that day after we had made our way back from yet another Hunuman temple on yet another hill, equally as impressive as Hampi, yet different, that we discovered the truth behind the Mysore sting. No one is completely honest, but there are varying degrees of the truth. Anan family operated hand pressing oil producing factory does not exist, the 100% pure oils are impossible to buy at the price we bought at and the sandal wood oil, which does possess healing property, can only be safely bought from the Govt Sandalwood factory which guarantees its authenticity and purity. I really dislike being taken for a ride, but hey its India so what do you do… I went back and demanded a refund, luckily we were able to recoup 80% or our outlay, in saying all of this, we did end up with some good products, and some very pure sandalwood oil. Come to think about it in so many ways it’s no different from our attractively packaged products which proclaim to do the same. I guess being closer to the true source, one can only hope that things aren’t as diluted as in the west.

We very quickly removed ourselves from the Mysore Matrix and started to explore on our own. We had to give the bike back after I demanded the refund, but not before visiting the Zoo and the local surrounds. It is actually a very grand little town, with no less than two very impressive palaces within its boundaries. Old and steeped in history Mysore is a mysterious containment of many religions and it shows in the diversity of the towns’ architecture. Apart form the scam, the sandalwood, the oils and the tricksters Mysore is all well known for its Dosa’s. Rice pancakes filled with potato infused with spice. The difference being Mysore dosa’s are thick like pancakes, where as traditional south Indian Dosa’s are thin much like crepes. Mylari is the Dosa house over here. A little passageway in a tightly packed string off shops, this restaurant is no more than an opening in a wall just wide enough o fit four tables and an aisle. But the dosa’s are good and Mel’s favourite Indian dish to date, she was in heaven and my life, on a food front, had received a little reprieve. It’s just so difficult when you physically can not eat something and so in this way I was grateful that for at least these meals, Mel was in culinary nirvana.

The final sting….

We picked up this moonstone necklace for Mel in Goa and wanted to have stone set in silver. Simple task, lots of silver smiths in Mysore, should be to hard….right? Well find a jeweller and agreeing on price was not, accepting the quality of the finished product was impossible. Our expectation and the reality of what was presented were poles apart. We expected a fine piece; we got a rushed, unpolished scratched ill-fitting piece of work that was just not acceptable. We asked for the stone back we were told that it was fixed and we would have to pay for it. After not much coaxing at all the stone was free and so were we. It took another 10 minutes of stern looks and defiant no’s before we finally got our deposit. Enough were out of here. And so we organised to head to Ooty, an old English hill station, high enough to grow tea and to accommodate the hunting parties of many a proper man in its time. Today, it’s just a beautiful peaceful spot, where we found some solace after Mysore.

So it’s here that we leave you, with many more pics and another Indian experience which as always shows us a little bit more about ourselves. I never thought that being trusting could also be so troublesome when it’s the wrong time and wrong place. I still trust, and trust that you are all well and have started the New Year fulfilling all of those resolutions you have intended for this year. Something to ponder, as you read this we have less than 7 days left in India, yep it’s been close to 3 months Stay well friends and family, we are missing your presence with us and will be back before you know it..

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