India – From Pyrenees to Pennines

Indian Friday: A Day in Mysore

My diary, revived from my trip to India back in 2007. This second part details my solo travels during the last three weeks or so.

A Day in Mysore

Wednesday 21st November.

Time to say goodbye to everyone: people are off to all points north, south, east and west.

I took a rick to the station, and didn’t manage to change my ticket (Jobsworth in charge) But there was good internet access and I caught up a bit.

The market, if colourful, was a lot of hassle. Touts everywhere. Of unbelievable persistence. A youth selling flutes came down from Rs 280 to Rs 50, unable to take ‘no’ for an answer. And STILL I didn’t buy (This market remains one of my worst memories of India. I couldn’t enjoy a single second in peace). Later though, in a side street, I found a tailor and bought fabric , so that for Rs 600 (not much more than £5.00) I’ll have a custom made salwar kameez by 7.30 this evening.

Lunch was fun, at a local cafe where all the locals were, like me, enjoying the ‘small’ veg thali served on a banana leaf. A guy with a big canister kept doing the rounds, topping up the already big portions of all the diners. I declined sugar on my yoghourt-for-pudding, but my table mates didn’t, and sugar equal to the amount of yoghourt was spooned into their bowls.

I got quite comprehensively lost after lunch (easy to do. No street signs. Stop to look, and a rick driver is on your tail, or a vendor. Ask the way, and you’ll pick one of the few inhabitants who speaks no English).

But here I am at the Art Gallery. There’s supposed to be an Indian Dance Festival, and I’ve been here for about 40 minutes now, with lots of audience, mainly women, sitting patiently waiting … but … nothing.

And that was how it went really. A ‘warm up’ singer came along, and I quite enjoyed that, as well as watching the stage being set up with plush seating and flower garlands. I thought I’d leave at one point, but a man implored me to stay, saying it was starting in 10 minutes – which it did … But after the presentation of garlands to the Great and the Good, they moved onto – I dunno – soliloquies, perhaps poetry, impenetrable – to me anyway – so I did go.

And got a rickshaw to FabIndia which has lovely simply styled stuff, so I got a salwar kameez, a blouse, and a kurta for Malcolm.

Rick back to Om Shanti – my driver looked as though he’d just got a place at Oxford: all preppy glasses and smart casual shirt and trousers – perhaps he has! Anway, he was the first person who knew where Harding’s Circus was. Where I had my first disappointing meal: cabbage vadi with some trimmings and a lassi. Expensive for what it was. The last time I use Lonely Planet!

Ran into a young man, Samir, a teacher. We got ito conversation and he took me to the funfair. ‘I no try funny business. You – old lady – like my mother. Me – like your son’ That went down well. But we were in a public place and it was indeed fine. He took me round the funfair because it I’d noticed all the lights – it was quite fun. Then a rick to the market to collect my salwar kameez. Then, inevitably, to his friend’s uncle, and Ayurvedic practitioner, where I did indeed buy some oils (they were brilliant and lasted me ages). A rick home was produced and we said our goodbyes. Market salwar inevitably disappointing: FabIndia’s – not.

My featured photo was taken at the station. Those schoolgirls have just dismounted from that autorickshaw to hurry off to school. You might be able to see the rickshaw still has several passengers within. The schoolchildren I saw were always smartly dressed. Definitely no customisation of uniforms, with rolled-over skirt waistbands or heavily-adjusted ties, as here in the UK.

Snapshot Sunday: Adverts repurposed as breakfast

This week’s WordPress photo challenge is ‘Repurpose’. We’re to submit an image of something of our own that we’ve put to a new use. I couldn’t come up with anything worth a snapshot, even though I’m rather keen on ‘repurposing’.

Instead, I want you to come with me to Thanjavur in Tamil Nadu. I was there almost ten years ago as part of my Indian Adventure. I loved this town. It’s not quite on the tourist trail, as its glorious and extravagantly carved temples remain unpainted. They are not vibrantly painted like those in nearby Madurai, so Madurai gets the foreign visitors.

I stayed* with a young American academic, Gwen, who for seven years had made Thanjavur her home. She whisked me about on her motor bike, introduced me to her Indian friends and neighbours, asked me to run errands for her in the market where nobody spoke English or saw tourists much, and took me to tiny back street shops to buy freshly prepared and sizzling-hot evening meals.

I was by myself though, when early one morning I came upon these goats. They’d found a new use for the adverts pasted on the walls of a house. Look.

And here’s the cow that was tethered outside Gwen’s window. It’s found an unfortunate use for the pile of rubbish tumbled into a pile on the corner.

View from Gwen's window — View from Gwen’s window

Finally, here’s a different use for a pavement. It’s become a canvas for traditional drawings in fine sand. These designs frame the lights which lit our path homewards every evening during Diwali, the Hindu Festival of Light.

And here are three picture postcards – temple views.

Thanjavur: Breehadeeswara Temple.

Temple elephant, Thanjavur

Thanjavur: Periya Kovil Temple

* via ‘Couchsurfing’, a scheme which matches travellers with locals, who offer beds, local knowledge and friendship.

Snapshot Sunday: Do you prefer your street names in French … or Tamil?

Almost ten years ago now, I had my Indian Adventure, when I travelled first of all with a small group of like-minded English travellers, and then solo round southern India. That’s when I started blogging, using TravelBlog, though I later transcribed it onto WordPress which may be more user-friendly.

The culture shock of arriving in Bangalore with its constant traffic noise, its motor horns, its street-cattle, its monkeys, its people, its eagles and vultures wheeling overhead is unforgettable.

A back street in Bangalore, and a few rickshaws.

Arriving in Pondicherry some three weeks later was just as much of a jolt. Suddenly I was transported (after a motorway journey which included goats grazing on the central reservation) to colonial era France. Here were policemen in kepis, elegant public buildings, corner shops selling baguettes and croissants.

Dept of Public Works, Pondicherry

My guesthouse was a charming 19th century throwback which would have been totally at home on the French Riviera.

My verandah at le Rêve Bleu.

Yet I was undoubtedly in India. There was a spot of building work going on outside my bedroom window. Here’s the delivery wagon:

A delivery from the builder’s Yard

Here’s a more up-to-date delivery lorry:

They don’t usually need reminding to ‘Sound Horn’

Here’s the school run:

School run, Indian style

And here’s the beach:

The beach at Pondicherry.

Here though is the photo which answers this week’s WordPress photo challenge: ‘Names’. A street sign which represents the many-faceted cultural references of what I thought of as my favourite Indian city.

Cathedral Street, Pondicherry — Cathedral Road, Pondicherry

In a couple of days I plan to re-blog an old post of mine which has something further to contribute to the ‘Names’ theme.