Southern Hospitality

Kingfisher Airlines is kinda like the Indian version of Virgin. My check-in process is handled by roughly five friendly people in red uniforms. Security is thorough and intense, though without a liquid portion.

The flight leaves an hour late, which appears to be standard. We are served lemon drink boxes before takeoff, a complimentary meal (not bad, not great), and plenty of water. There is live TV. I am impressed.

I am seated next to two Americans, both of Indian origin. Both are friendly, chatty, and interested in talking business. Cards are exchanged and plans are made. I wonder if Kingfisher does this on purpose.

The airport and weather are gorgeous and I feel like I've landed in California. I re-ncounter one of my seatmates at the baggage pick-up and he offers to have his driver take me to my friend S's house. I immediately like Bangalore (five million people), which feels clean and manageable after 36 hours in Mumbai.

Two hours later, we find the house. My friend's family are incredibly warm and friendly, greeting me with hands-touching-Namaste. They serve tea, question me intently (in multiple rounds), and teach me about Hindu mythology while feeding me delicious vegetarian food.

Then we're off to Mysore (population 800,000), a three hour drive on a mostly inhabited road. We stop at a trendy/modern coffee spot and I inhale something delicious with whip-cream and chocolate.

I wakeup at my friend's grandfather's house, a well-designed stone building with a large wraparound garden.

S and I go out for a lovely dinner with his friends from Infosys, an enormous Indian tech company for which he worked after college. The restaurant is outside on neatly shaved grass. The food is spicy, cheap, and plentiful.

Southern India reminds me of Cambodia, only busier and more developed.