Mysore

      MYSORE

I had'nt planned on Mysore. My original plan was to have headed further south and spent a couple of weeks r and r on some quiet backwater of Kerala, surrounded by palm trees and doing nothing more strenuous than lifting a cup of toddy and taking photos. Unfortunatley, avarice reared its codicious head and I made for Mysore. I was told by a friend of Carmen's that Mysore was the centre of sandalwood oil in India, true; she went on to inform me that due to the slow growth of the sandalwood tree and production processes it was very costly, also true and that I could make a pretty tidy profit back in Europe, untrue. It turned out to be a fool's errand of sorts in as much as I did not make a “pretty tidy profit”; however, it turned out to be the most beautiful city I had seen to date in India as I hope the Nikons will show. The best way to describe it is white and blue. The sky is blue every day and the buildings and monuments are a stark white. It is clean(by indian standards) and a pleasure to stroll through its streets without being accosed by people wanting to sell you things. I also got the best rate of exchange ever on the euro(73inr/euro), the next day it dropped to the 72inr/euro. It never recuperated to such a level during my stay. I stayed in a large complex named the hotel Dasprakash, bang slap in the middle of town, but its rooms seemed to keep it all the noise out. The walls were thick and the rooms themselves were basic but scrupuously clean. For 400 inr a day you had a basic single bed with small attached shower and toilet. The walls were bare. It was spartan, but clean, great value. The building itself I was reliably informed by the chap at the tourist office that in the past had been the residence of a wealthy merchant. It is crescent shaped and as I said in the middle of the city. The whole city is dominated by the massive Maharajas' palace in the centre and about ten minutes walk from the Dasprakash, with its manicured grounds and imposing bronze lions.

Around the palace perimetre the city is laid out in orderly Victorian style with squares and roundabouts bearing the names of bygone heroes of the Raj such as Hardinge circle and Irwin road, although a Ghandi square cropped up just outside the hotel. I adopted another hotel as my daytime GHQ which had a restaurant and an open terrace which looked out onto the square below. From here I would breakfast, occasionally lunch and after my days' wanderings would wind up my evenings with an acceptable and cheap tandoori or whatever Rashid the waiter would suggest. I asked him where the best place to acquire sandalwood oil would be and he suggested the Cauvery emporium, just a few minutes walk in front of the huge and colourful market. I could not miss it he said and after a few basic directions if I did'nt find it, I was to ask anyone as it was on the tourist agenda. He was right. Mysore has a balmy, just right temperature which makes strolling through it a joy and I soon found the Cauvery. A large, long establishment where everything it contained had a sandalwood link, from minute carvings of every type of adornment to highly polished furniture; tables, cupboards, beds all carved from this delightfully scented wood. At the entrance were two artisans carving away at something. It was too early in its creation to be able to tell what the end result was going to be. I finally got round to asking the salesman about the oil. I cannot remember what the price was, except that I came close to fainting when he told me. Although I should have guessed it was not going to be within my budget when he unlocked a cabinet behind the counter, with a key on a chain, around his neck and when the tiny bottle he held could hardly be seen. It contained a very thick oil which could be smelled without his having to break the seal. When told the price of the 15 milligram bottle I thanked him and apologised for wasting his time and despondent walked out of the emporium. I got the impression that he was used to repeating the process often and I crossed the road to the market marvelling at the colour and activity, snapping away to my heart’s content. After a day or so visiting the various sites and snapping away I decided to forgo the visit to Seringapatam, eleven miles away, where in 1799, under the command of Colonel Arthur Wellesley( he was'nt an Iron Duke yet) defeated the army of Tipu Sultan and thus managed to gain control of a vast patch of India for Victoria's quickley growing empire. I had a schedule unhappily to adhere to and was also quite down in the dumps about not having able to procure the sandalwood oil. Apart from missing out on the financial gain, the time spent in Mysore was time not spent in Kerala and I had resolved to catch the early bus next morning for a gut wrenching journey of twenty one hours to Panaji, the capital of Goa, leaving at nine in the morning and arriving at six am the following day. It was my last in Mysore and around mid morning I sat on the terrace, nursing a bottle of Kingfisher and gazing at the spectacle below. Hundreds of people weaving their way around the old fashioned taxis designed around the ancient English Ambassador model and the typical yellow and black three wheeled tuk tuks, wondering how I should spend the next eight hours before turning in and steeling myself for what was going to be yet another odyssey on a private air conditioned private bus with bunk bed included. My deciding was put to an end when I was approached by a young man in his early twenties. He woggled his head in the typical south indian fashion and tried to sell me a sight seeing tour around Mysore. I politely declined, but he insisted “maybe relaxing massage?” Again I offered a total lack of interest and he produced from behind his shirt a rather large(by european standards) bag of marijuana. “Maybe smoke? Very good grass” he proclaimed. To get him off my back I said I would buy 2000 rupees. It seemed quite good and knew it would come in handy for the tedious journey that awaited me and my stay in Goa. I decided to ask him whether he could procure me some sandalwood oil. He immidietly pushed both his hands down palms open as though to quiet down and looked around anxiously as though I had just blasphemed in a temple. He told me he could but we would have to go to his house and he would show me his hidden stash. I jumped up and leaving money on the table for the beer, we jumped onto a tuk tuk and headed into Mysore's hinterland. In the back, with the machines’ old noisy engine he explained to me why he was more anxious at being found in posession of sandalwood oil than a bagful of weed. The sandalwood tree is protected and controlled by the government and the tree and production of its oil is limited to only three months a year. Anyone, other than the government controlled emporium and its oil processing factory,(which I could have visited but was closed at this time of the year) dealing in it was liable to a lengthy prison sentence as well as a hefty fine. In effect, he was a poacher and the oil were his tusks of ivory. I felt rather guilty now at being an acomplice to this wretched business and had begun to regret the whole affair. We travelled along narrow lanes, left and right, all the time wondering if I was really being taken to a mugging and was going to lose my Nikon and cash which was carefully folded in gaps of the Lowepro straps. Fifteen minutes later, after which had seemed an eternity the tuk tuk stopped at the entrance to a narrow alley and I followed him into a court yard were two adolescent girls were handrolling hundreds of joss sticks, their hands darkened with the powdered substance which they were deftly  sticking to thin strips of bamboo. They were working with a startling velocity, with huge piles of different coloured sticks on the floor around them. I asked if I could take a photograph of them, to which they happily woggled their heads sideways. Inside the dwelling I found a welcoming settee surrounded by racks of different scented sticks of joss sticks. In the centre was a small round table laden with glass bottles of different multi coloured oils, most beautiful to observe. Mikey, as that was how he had decided to identify himself to me disappeared into a back room shut off from the rest of the place by a curtain on a set of rings. That was where he gave massages he explained when he returned with a plugged coca cola bottle, three quarters full of the treasured and dangerous amber liquid. He tipped a minute amount onto his palm and rubbed it vigourously around stretching it all round his hands and offered it to me to smell. He explained how it was unadulterated as otherwise he could not have been able to have covered such a surface with such a small amount. The smell was over powering even from the settee I was sitting on. Without a doubt it was the real thing. We decided on a price and I purchased five small 5mg phials which he filled and stoppered and sealed with molten wax and electrician's tape. After paying, I bought a a kilo of joss sticks of different scents; jasmine,opium and yes, sandalwood. I thanked him and hopped back onto a tuktuk and headed back to the Dasprakash, grateful that in the end I had not walked into a tiger's lair and carefully stowed away my purchases, taking great care to hide as best I could the minute bottles of sandalwood oil. After my rucksack was perfectly packed I headed to Rashid's restaurant/hotel and had an excellent duck curry in coconut followed by a cup of strong coffee and a few pegs of Johnnie Walker on the terrace as dusk fell. At eight, already dark I thanked Rashhid with a generous tip and thanked him for everything. I went back to the hotel and settled my bill, then I tried a spliff of mickey's rather good grass and fell into a fitful slumber. The next day I slipped out early to the bus station bound for Panaji, Goa. 




                                     

View from the entrance to my hotel

Grafting

On the streets of India , they fix and manufacture everything

An Ambassador taxi

My hotel

Don't know what this is, but I thought it a worthwhile photo

The state run Cauvery emporium. If you want sandalwood, this is the place.

Working the wood

Mickeys yard and his joss sticks

And his table of exotic oils

What did I say about hand rolling joss sticks' The real Mcoy

View from my daytime GHQ

The Dasaprakash hotel. Well recomended, great value for money.

More vistas from my daytime GHQ

My daytime GHQ aroungd elevan am.

Just finished lunch with a Kingfisher beer, great stuff.

The following five pics are from Mysore's market, grat colours.

Entering the Mysore palace

What can I say? What a yard!

It's many bronze lions, Tipu sultan was quite keen on lions.

Very well kept grounds.

My sleeping quaters.

The following five pics are around nine am on the twenty one hour journey to Goa

Some chums I made in the palaces' gardens

My famous skull ring and a bud of Mickey's weed, great stuff!

Hardinge square, middle of Mysore.

                                                                                                     El plan original no era Mysore. El plan original era tirar más al sur y tomar un descansito en un calladito remanso de Kerala, rodeado de cocoteros y haciendo nada más laborioso que levantar un vaso de toddy y sacar unas fotos. Desgraciadamente la avaricia levantó su codiciosa cabeza y me hizo tirar hacia Mysore. Una amiga de Carmen me dijo que Mysore era el centro de produccion de aceite de sándalo, y efectivamente es verdad;  me dijo que el aceite de sándalo era muy caro debido al crecimiento lento de dicho árbol y el proceso costoso de extraer su aceite,  tambien verdad y tambien me dijo que le podía sacarle una ganancia bastante respetable en Europa, falso. Fue lo que llamamos en ingles un recado de tontos. De todas formas no me arrepentí. Mysore fue la ciudad más preciosa en que había estado hasta ahora, como espero que las Nikons mostraran. La mejor manera de describir la ciudad es azul y blanco, el cielo de día siempre azul sin una nube y los edificios de un blanco resplandeciente; también era la ciudad más limpia (por estandar indio) que había encontrado. La calles eran un placer para pasear sin ser acosado por mendingos o gente persiguiendome para venderme algo. También habia sacado el mejor cambio, 73 rupias al euro, al día siguiente empezó a bajar hacia 72. Nunca volvió a recuperarse durante mi estancia. Me alojé en un complejo llamado el hotel Dasprakash, justo en el centro de la ciudad, cuyas paredes de un grosor impresionante mantenían el ruido de la calle alejado y mantenian un frescor agradable. Por 400 rupias la noche tenía una habitación pequeña y espartana con ducha y vater limpio, justo lo que quería. Tenia forma de media luna y me informó el encargado que en tiempos pasados había sido la casa de un mercante rico. La ciudad está dominada por el impresionante palacio del marajá de Mysore con sus jardines muy bien cuidados y enormes tigres de bronce. El perímetro del palacio está rodeado en forma Victoriana, ordenada, con plazas y rotondas que llevan los nombres de antiguos héroes del raj Britanico como calle Irwin y rotonda Hardinge, aunque cerca del hotel apareció una rotonda Ghandi.Cogí otro hotel como cuartel general durante el día, que tenía una terraza donde podia ver la plaza abajo, aquí desayunaría y por la tarde vería la gente llendo  y viniendo, mientras cenaba un tandoori agradable a un un precio razonable, o qualquier otra cosa que el camarero Rashid me sugiriese. Le pregunté una mañana, donde podía conseguir el famoso aceite de sándalo. Sin deliberar me mando al Cauvery emporio a unos minutos, en frente del colorido y bullicioso mercado, que era fácil de encontrar y si me perdía, preguntando a qualquiera, llegaría. En efecto, fue fácil y a la entrada habia dos carpinteros artesanos esculpiendo la fragrante madera. Era demasiado joven en  su creación para que pudiese ver  el resultado final., El  interior estaba repleteo de todo tipo de adornos y muebles; camas, sillones, armarios y hasta un columpio, todos esculpidos de ésta madera, que llenaba el lugar con su aroma. Fuí al mostrador y le pregunté al encargado el precio del aceite de sándalo. Se acercó a una vitrina a su espalda y saco una llave que llevaba a su cuello en una cadenita de oro. La cosa ya empezaba a oler a caro.Me trajo una botellita minúscula que se escondia en la palma de su mano, contenía un aceite amarillento y espeso que desprendía un tufo fuertísimo que se podía discernir sin romper el sello, pero agradable. El frasquiito contenía 15mg y cuando me dijo el precio, me curo el hipo. No me extrañaba que lo tuviese cerrado y bajo llave. Aún a precios indios era carísimo y no quiero pensar lo que hubiese valido en Europa. Lo que era seguro era que pocos clientes iba a encontrar para pagarlo. Disculpándome al señor, le dí  las gracias y salí del lugar al Mercado en frente donde  me quedé alucinado con los colores, olores y bullicio y los artículos varios en venta. Me pasé la tarde sacando fotos antes de volver al cuartel general y cenar. Después de ver las vistas un par de días y sacar cientos de fotos había decidido marcharme al día siguiente, pasando de ir al campo de batalla de Seringapatam, donde en 1799, el ejército británico bajo el mando del Coronel Arthur Wellesley( de esa aun no era el Duque de ‘hierro’ Wellington) aplastó las fuerzas del Tipu Sultan de Mysore y así aseguro un gran cacho del sur de la India para el imperio de Victoria, que se estaba expandiendo por el siglo 19. Tenía una agenda a que tenía que adherirme. Aparte de haber perdido la oportunidad de ir a Kerala,, no iba a sacarle un centavo de mi alto en Mysore. Desgraciadamente no pude salir al día siguiente, ya que no me di cuenta que el bus privado salía temprano y no me había preparado ni había conseguido el viaje por adelantado así que me tocó otro día en Mysore. Estaba a media mañana del día siguiente tomando un Kingfisher fresco decidiendo como pasar las próximas ocho horas, mirando hacia la plaza abajo, donde veía las idas y venidas de los transeuntes; observando como la multitude se enredaba entre los tul tuks amarillos y negro y los antiguos táxis ‘Amabassadors’ cuando apareció como por arte de magia un chaval de unos veinte pocos años. Quería venderme un gira turística por la ciudad, le dí las gracias, pero no, que ya lo había visto todo. Fue cuando me ofrecio una bolsa de maría por 2000 rupias, que se la compré, decidiendo que una hierba del sur de la india me vendria bien para aguantar el viaje de miedo que me esperaba a Goa y  que se me ocurrió preguntarle por el aceite de sándalo. Al preguntale, me hizo un gesto nervioso con las manos, palmas para bajo como si acababa de decir un disparate en un templo y miró a su alrededor. Me dijo que me podría ayudarme pero que tendría que ir a su casa, donde me enseñaría lo que guardaba. Sin pensarlo dos veces, dejé un montón de rupias en la mesa y me subí a un tuk tuk con él. Por encima del ruido del motor me explicó porqué era tan peligroso conseguir el aceite Ser pillado con una enorme bolsa de de marihuana era nada.. El árbol de sándalo está protegido y la producción del aceite está controlado por el gobierno como la tala, que estaba  limitada a tres meses del año. Cualquiera que intente comercializar con dicha substancia que no fuese el emporio aprobado por el gobierno, se exponia a una temporada larga de cárcel y una multa cuantiosa. Osea que Mickey( como asi se dió a conoce,r era un furtive), el aceite era sus “colmillos de marfil” y yo su puto traficante. Toda la historia me empezó a dar mala espina y me estaba arrepintiendo al meternos en las entrañas de las afueras de Mysore. Dimos vueltas, izquierda y derecha, por callejuelas polvorientas sin asfaltar, todo el tiempo pensando que me estaba adentrandome en una movida donde se me iba a despojar de la Nikon y todo mi metálico, que iba escondido en las hombreras de la bolsa Lowepro. Después de unos quince minutos, que me parecieron una eternidad, la máqiuna paró en frente de un portal, en un callejón silencioso. En el patio habia dos chicas adolescentes fabricando decenas de palos de incienso, sus manos teñidas del polvo y trabajando a una velocidad impresionante con centenares de palitos apiladas a su lado. Trabajaban por Mickey y me permitió sacarles una foto. Dentro de la pequeña vivienda había un sofa muy acojedor rodeado de estanterias de palos de incienso de fragrancias diferentes; jasmine,opio y claro, por supuesto sándalo. En el centro,  una mesa bajita llena de frascos de ungentos varios que Mickey usaba para los masajes. Desapareció a un cuarto cerrado por una cortina de tela y al poco tiempo volvió con una botellita de coca cola llena de tres quartos del preciado y peligroso aceite. Al destaparlo, sentado en el sofa, ya se podía percibir el aroma potente. Dejó caer una gotita minuscula en la palma de su mano y empezo a frotarla con ambas. El olor era tan penetrante que sin duda sabía que éste era auténtico y no estaba adulterado, Después de el obligatorio regateo, le compré cinco botellitas de cinco mg de aceite y un kilo de palos de incienso variado. Las gracias dadas, me monté de vuelta en un tuk tuk, agradecido de que no me había adentrado en la guarida del tigre y volví al hotel Daskaprash a esconder cuidadosamente mi compra ilícita. Preparé mi mochila,  lista para una salida temprana y salí a comer a la terraza de Rashid. Me aconsejó un maravilloso curri de pato al coco con un par de botellas de Kingfisher y lo finalicé con una taza de café y unos chupitos de Johnnie Walker. Me despedí de Rashid dándole una buena propina y con un “Namaste”; al anochezer, me fui a dormir en Mysore  la última noche depués de un porro buenísimo de la maría de Mickey. Al día siguiente salí de madrugada hacía la estación de autobuses privados (aire acondicionado) para la paliza de viaje hacia Panaji, capital de Goa.