After one night and less than 24 hours in Bangalore, PZ and I decided to hop the next bus to Mysore. We arrived at the bus station and were directed by 7 different people onto a bus that left within minutes of our arrival.
We found a hotel and discussed a few things we’d be interested in checking out that evening. This ended up being completely useless because within minutes of our wanderings we met Mags. He started by commenting on PZ’s pink hair (the first of many), then we were following him to a spice market and then we were in his aromatherapy shop leaning how to make inscents and discovering all the healing properties of different smells.
He massaged our arms with the oils and was able to tell us specific things about our health based on the arm massage. He pointed to my IT band on my right leg and said it gets sore when I walk for a long time. True. Needless to say this left us in awe. Then he started trying to sell us the aromatherapy oils and I couldn’t help but feel like I’d fallen into a trap. It was all so interesting leading up to this point that I’d let down my usual guard against getting myself in these situations.
I gave in and bought some lotus oil, which I’m happy to have. PZ told Mags that he was being pushy, which resulted in her being stone-walled, which wasn’t at all tense or awkward at all. Later that night someone told us that all the oils are fakes, but I still believe that mine is real. It must be real!
The rest of our time in Mysore was much more predictable though still entertaining. We stopped by a market that was mentioned in the Lonely Planet, where we saw the brilliant colors of powder dyes, flowers and produce.
We also made our way to the main attraction in Mysore, the Maharajah’s Palace. Before entering the palace we passed several fruit and street food stands. Up until this point we’d avoided the stands, but in front of the palace we saw a foreigner eating papaya and I lost all sense of social awkwardness and approached her and said something along the lines of “You’re eating the fruit? Have you had explosive diarreah yet? Can I eat the fruit? I want the fruit! I want the fruit!” Nope, not socially awkward at all.
Turns out Papaya Girl had just been working in Thailand for three months and she became our new BFF for the next hour. She said she got sick off of street food in Thailand more so than in India. CHACHING! Turns out our iron stomachs make us Indian street cart eating approved. We tested this by eating some fruit. And if you really most know, there have been no compromising bathroom situations yet.
Back to the palace. It was huge and opulent and beautiful. I’m glad we coughed up the 200 rupees to go in, but we both came out feeling like we’d gotten our palace fix for India. The experience of meeting Papaya Girl and eating our first fruit was much more exciting.