Mysore: Snake Charmers, Bribes and "Madam, I fuck you?"

We leave the comfort and solitude of Gokarna beach behind and head on the bus to Mysore, a city in southern Karnataka. Bus first, then an overnight train....

The bus journey takes us through fairly rural India, and every time we stop people smile, wave or stare at us. One woman even sends food over to us from another bus (which we accept, of course!) By the time we arrive in Hubli to catch our train, we think the attention can't really get any worse. But it does. And I am asked for my 'autograph' at the station. My first thought, obviously, is "whit?" Swiftly followed by "oh-god-am-i-in-a-porno...?" Hopefully the answer to the latter is no; like most people we meet in India, the autograph-seeker is just curious and wants to talk to us.

After a bit more pestering we catch our train and arrive in Mysore fresh and chirpy early the next morning (the last bit is a lie).
We find some cheapo accommodation in the city centre, and after a nap, head out to start exploring. First stop is the Maharajas Palace. Whilst expensive enter (if you're foreign, that is. One price for Indians, another for everyone else), it's a beautiful building architecturally, and decorated with such beautiful and elaborate designs inside. Naturally I want to take some pictures but as soon as I do the nasty wee guard appears and, this being India, I have to pay him an Rs 50 fine. Grudgingly I do, but I feel humiliated by the experience, not least because a crowd of around 20 people has stopped to watch (privacy is a thing of the past, relegated to memory. everything we do, from buying tea to tying a shoelace attracts an audience!).

Although I'm annoyed by having to pay baksheesh, corruption is endemic in India, from grassroots level right up to the very top. This is something that we witness more of later in our travels.

So, disgruntled by Mysore, we do the Western thing and go for a Dominos pizza and then to the cinema. The film itself is fairly shit, and all in Hindi, so mostly we have not-a-clue what's going on. But there is one blonde-haired western woman in it, who is essentially portrayed as a slut who sleeps around (rough dialogue - Man: "You want it?" Woman: "Ok") Both of us are pretty incensed by this to say the least, and wonder if, for some Indians, this is the only reality that they have of Westerners? It seems all too ironic when we leave the cinema and a man on a scooter kerb-crawls next to us, puts on his best sex-pervert voice and says, "Madam, I fuck you?"

Both of us are too stunned to retort, and cannot quite believe what he's said to us. But when it happens again (several times), we make sure that they know the only people they can fuck are themselves. With sharp objects.

So our experience of Mysore has been fairly disappointing; the produce market is so filled with meat (most of it rotting) that Lisa can't stop heaving. The streets are filthy and rain only makes it worse. It smells of pee. It's noisy; noisier than most cities we've been to so far. And there is only minimal evidence of the incense and sandalwood production that is so famous there. Perhaps the only redeeming feature is the snake-charmer that we see as we are leaving. It's a stereotypical image of India that's ingrained in my mind, and I'm finally happy to experience it for real. Albeit from a safe distance....