Down to Mysore - Bangladesh + India x 2 - CycleBlaze

December 15, 2010

Down to Mysore

a short ride

As with last night's dinner accompanied with a bottle of Kingfisher premium, room service brings me my breakfast - it's jam on toast with a cup of tea. I could soon get used to this. 

It's grey out and looks like it rained while I was in the land of nod, but it's gone now at almost nine o'clock and time to hit the road.

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Back up the main drag for about a kilometre to the turnoff that leads to what Srirangapatnam is famous for: an old fort (Darla Daulat Bagh) and a Gumbaz, which is a type of mausoleum - in my opinion.

Entrance is one hundred rupees for me; just five rupees for the locals, and there are hoards of them entering, ninety-nine percent school children all bused in to have a quick march around the buildings. Each boy wants to shake my hand and ask which country I'm from.

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A notice at the entrance states photography is allowed, yet lo and behold once I walk through the garden and step into the old fort, which looks more like a palace of sorts, it transpires that it's actually prohibited -- snaps can to be taken only in the garden. So, I set my tripod up on the steps outside the doorway and shoot at the interior walls. The children waltz around fingering the decorated walls.

After riding a little further along this side road, I make a right down a lane thinking it's the right path for some reason (I'm not as it turns out) and soon find a ruined temple structure. It's right on the grassy verge of this narrow winding lane and my guess is it's probably over 100 years old, but it's now used as a barn for a few cows, which are sat among their fresh dung. There's no one around, but the dusty courtyard has been swept -- there are tell-tale marks from a broom.

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I take some photos and then go inside a stone doorway into a dark chamber that likely housed the shrine. 

It's bare and wrecked and makes me feel like Indian Jones. It's just possible to make out some carvings on the wall of the main room, so I get my tripod set up and snap a few two-second shots which reveal the stone artwork. This feels better than the fort, as it's quiet and peaceful and there's a vibe of discovery as sunlight never penetrates this area -lichen and moss creep over the walls.

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A man of around 50 appears who's passive and mute. I take his portrait.

 Just across the lane is another building, even more derelict and much much smaller and getting overgrown with shrubs. It has a bike sheltered under it's square roof. 

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I follow this lane and find it ends at a river after about five minutes -  a broad and flowing expanse of water that has a temple complex looking across it. This spot is active with worshipers, some of whom are cleansing themselves at the wide stone Ghats, while inside the few white-painted buildings are orange-robed men sat contemplating. 

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In one, a prayer meeting is taking place and brightly coloured powder is intricately arranged on the floor in what could well be tartaric designs. I'm no religious expert. It just looks great.

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One man is reading aloud from a holy book; another is seated with a basket of purple flower heads on his lap and is tossing them gently one at a time onto the powdered layout. The colours are vibrant and the atmosphere reverential. A woman is chanting and one of the men says it's okay for me to enter and take photos, so I take one of his hairy chest and beads. He must think I'm a nutcase.

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After doubling back and returning to the right road, my wheels continue turning towards the Islamic tomb (Gumbaz, as it's known). This turns out to be is a wonderful piece of architecture that dates back to 1700s and was originally built by Tipu Sultan to house his father's remains. That's what it says on a plaque. It's huge.

Three-metre-tall jet black columns of polished granite stand around its perimeter, each octagonal in shape with slightly fancy bases and so smooth they look like it's been given a fresh coat of high-gloss paint by a pro decorator. 

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I wander barefoot past, step down into a lawned area where there are no other visitors and from here, the adjacent mosque with its towering minarets looks majestic too, and both buildings are framed in the arches of this verandah. Most visitors seem to see what they want in about two minutes, yet I spend 30 or so lingering around.

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There doesn't seem to be any alternative to the main road to Mysore, but as it's only half-an-hour away, I press on and reach the city and head straight for the palace. 

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Just as I go to enter the grounds of the palace, a British couple strike up a chat. They've just arrived with their bikes for a three-week tour, but are on foot and tell me that at their hotel is another British cyclist, so I make a note and once I've seen what I want in the sprawling gardens, pedal there and get a room. 

It's a place in the LP book and is only 350 rupees for a room, one which is neat, clean and simple. I could stay here 10 nights for the price I paid in Bangalore, but reckon one night will be enough.

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Today's ride: 20 km (12 miles)
Total: 1,738 km (1,079 miles)

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