Incense, oils and foreigners

What first struck me about Mysore as we charged in by bus, was the amount of trees that lined its bustling streets. The towering walls of the Maharaja's palace and other regal looking buildings gave it a fairytale glow and I knew instantly I was going to like it here.

I found myself a dirtcheap - and regrettably dirty - hotel and set off to see the main attraction. The opulent palace was built for the Wodeyar Maharajas (kings of Mysore) and I understood the true size of it as I arrived at the wrong entrance and had to trace the outside wall to the very opposite side. Phew!

Becoming increasingly tightfisted with my Rupees, I was somewhat put out by having to pay TEN times as much as Indian people to get in, and then having to pay to put my camera in a locker and again to put my shoes on a wonky metal rack. A few deep breaths later and it was off to explore the impressive dwelling, with its intricate paintings, colourful glass ceilings and ornate carvings. I was instinctively aware of the many pairs of eyes on me as I tried to blend in with the crowd - I don't think they were fond of my leggings and the sunglasses perched on my head. Note to self: in future, try not to look like such a tragic tourist at big public attractions.

I was hit by a pang of loneliness when I wanted to share my amusement at the sign "joy rides" with a big arrow pointing towards 3 tired and gaunt camels tied to a fence. And the quickly forming queue of people wanting to have their photo with me.

That evening I had my first 'Thali' meal - a large round tray filled with small round pots full of many different dishes, served with chapati and rice. Due to table shortage, I ate with a family from Mysore who insisted I ate absolutely everything on my over-sized plate and then ordered me some refills. Who are these people that come back from India 2 stone lighter?!

I awoke early and foggy-eyed the next day to catch a bus to the summit of Chamundi Hill. At the top stands the majestic Sri Chamundeswari Temple, which was already being jostled by queues of early morning worshippers. I joined the queue and was kept entertained by monkeys playing in the trees overhead. Inside the temple, the morning puja (or pooja, depending on who you speak to) was being performed. In Hinduism, the act of puja is giving a gift or offering to a deity and many of the people in front of me were also symbolically bathing themselves in water and a flame from an oil lamp. The smell inside the temple was enough to keep me inside for some time, with incense burning and wafts of sweet Jasmine flower from the ladies' hair (a very common adornment for Indian women and children, sold everywhere in delicate garlands).

To shatter the scented serenity of the temple, I was once again asked to be in many photos. I joked with them that I charged 5 Rupees per photo, but I was beginning to think this wasn't such a bad idea.

I spent the afternoon drifting through the vibrant markets, where the exotic becomes the everyday. Mysore pumped out a different smell with every step I took. Amid the usual smells of spices drifting from restaurants, hot dust, sizzling street food, and some rather more disagreeable sniffs (fuel, urine, cow), there was also intense wafts of incense and oils such as Sandalwood and Waterlily. Mysore really is a feast for the senses.

I then went along to an incense factory, where small women sat on the floor rolling sticks to be sold around the world. Each woman methodically crafted 7,000 sticks of incense a day, working from 8am until 8pm, not once looking up from their small wooden table. I tried to ask about how much there were paid for their backbreaking work, but the guide had selective understanding of English, it seemed.

After a satisfying Masala dosa (a pancake made from rice and black lentils stuffed with spiced potatoes), it was time to head to the central bus station to catch an overnight bus to Hampi, further north in Karnataka.

Walking through that bus station surely took days off my life, with the buses spewing out thick exhaust fumes and queuing bumper to bumper, with raging honks and yells. I was more than relieved to meet two German girls also making their way to Hampi, and we became firm friends - a death defying bus experience will do that to you! To say I didn't sleep a wink would be untrue, but I was more than lucid for the white knuckle parts of the journey - rudely awoken when my whole body and bags were flung onto the hard metal side of the bus at speed.

As we arrived into Hampi the following morning, I vowed that I would never take a Government bus overnight again.