Southern Hospitality Part II

Mysore is sort of place where you sleep in. A city of 800,000 people, the region was semi-autonomous during British rule and there does seem to be a difference in the culture, architecture, and flow of the place.

S and I eat Idlis for breakfast, after which I spend a much-needed half-hour in an "internet cafe." The browser is chrome, the speed is lightning-fast, and facebook/google prompt me to use something called Orkut. The internet goes out four times, prompting the maitre de to reset the router. No one seems particularly bothered, and the bill comes to 10 rupees, roughly twenty-cents.

We hit an art museum that mostly depicts and glorifies the maharaja (ousted by the congress party post-independance). The most striking portraits depict him with his key courtiers and a coterie of redcoated british officers, who look stiff an mildly miserable. I suspect the British didn't have much fun as colonialists.

We eat lunch at the Royal Orchid Metropole, the most thoroughly colonial space in which I've set foot since arriving. The indian buffet is mild and I meet a disagreeable woman from Cleveland who interrogates me near the pasta and describes her trip with commercial disinterest. I mutter absently about how she sounds like a fan of india, but draws close and informs me that it is fine and all but she is in no desire to come back anytime soon- there are too many places in the world to see.

Are there many indias, even for tourists?

The supposed highlight of Mysore is the palace. It's impressive, well decorated, and full of schoolchildren. It's only/less than a century old and designed by a British architect. One of the halls reminds me of the Haggia Sophia. The kids are well behaved and I wonder if they bored by the experience.

We drive to a hilltop on a windy mulholland drive and view the city from on high. S gets me a young coconut and we look out at the demographic glitter.

Then we meet some folks for drinks at a place called "The Roost."