In Bangalore my friend Asha took me to the huge, new Krishna temple. It's not a place I would have gone on my own, but still it turned out to be quite interesting in an unexpected way.

We left our shoes and my camera at the entrance and were then handed a laminated card with Hare Krishna chant. Next, we were ushered into a long series of switchbacks, defined by chrome guardrails - the kind of space used for crowd control. The floor was lined with square paving stones about one inch high and just large enough for a single person to stand on. They effectively prevented crowding. Above us speakers blared out the Hare Krishna chant and there were signs admonishing us to chant along. At the end of each chant we were permitted to advance one stone.

Being impatient it seemed like we were in line for hours, but it was probably no more that 15 minutes before we reached the base of a wide, marble stairway. At the top was a large, domed rotunda made of polished marble and stained glass. Supplicants sat in the middle facing statues of the various aspects of Lord Krishna.

We walked around a bit and then headed for the exit - I had already seen enough temples during my week in the south. Here we entered another maze - this one more of a commercial nature. At each turn we were confronted by stalls selling incenses, stickers, buttons, medallions, key-chains, statues, pamphlets and books - all somehow related to Krishna. Further along we were invited into a room where we were asked to make a donation. We declined - they didn't seem to need any additional financial help.

Next, came several turns of food stalls and finally the stairs down to where we had left our belongings. I was relieved to get out and on the way told Asha about my only other encounter with the Hare Krishna folks.

In the 70's they used to waylay unsuspecting passengers at US airports by pinning a flower on them and then demanding a donation. They were quite persistent and earned a reputation for being obnoxious and subsequently were banned from most airports. Now I could see where they learned it.

Bangalore, Wednesday, January 28
It was just getting light as I left for the Chennai airport - I was on my way to Bangalore. At the terminal I had breakfast and then sent some email. After a long wait my flight was finally called.

India airport security is very thorough: my bag and I were checked three times. First, when I entered the terminal, then again entering the departure lounge and finally a hand search was conducted on the way to the plane.

The flight was quick and in Bangalore I got a prepaid taxi to my hotel, the Ballal Residence. It was a large, comfortable, but a pretty soulless place just around the corner from Brigade Road, an upscale shopping street. I walked over for a look and to have lunch at one of the fast food places. Branches of all the major western clothing stores lined the street. It’s the place where upper class India kids shop and hang out. To me it looked like a slice of America transplanted in India.

Afterwards I called my friend Asha and made arrangement to visit her. She told me she would meet me in front of a well-known theater near her house. I was worried about getting the directions wrong - Bangalore is a huge city of more than 5 million – so I had the hotel desk call her back and get them again. Then, just to be safe, I had the desk clerk repeat them to the autorickshaw driver.

It took about 30 minutes to cross Bangalore through thick, smoky traffic. As I always do I tried to follow our progress on my map, but I was hopelessly lost. Finally, we pulled over to the curb and I looked up - there was Asha.

"You took an auto," she said in surprise. I guess she figured all westerners travel by taxi. We walked several blocks to her three-story house. She lived on the second floor of a modest, but very pleasant building. She rented out the upper and lower floors. She made tea for me and we sat talking in her living room. It was a little cooler in Bangalore, but quite pleasant - she had her windows and doors open.

After showing me the rest of her home, we walked over to the local market. We looked at the vegetables first: she showed me all the different kinds of eggplant that are available in India. Then we looked at the flowers and and tried to see how many we could identify.

Finally, we took an autorickshaw to the giant, new Krishna temple. After that we visited a temple dedicated to Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god. There was a large stature of him in the sanctuary. After looking at it we walked around and sat in the garden behind the temple. Asha reminisced about bringing her children there when they were young and as the sun went down she told me about the work she now does with orphans.

Finally, she put me in an autorickshaw back to my hotel. I stopped at Brigade Road for a quick dinner and then sent some email. I ended the evening having a beer at a Chinese restaurant. The room was stuffy, horns honked in the street and loud rap music played from speakers over my head as I worked on my journal. At least the beer was cold.

Bangalore, Thursday, January 29
As I set off for the city market in the morning I was surprised how cool it was - Bangalore is at a higher elevation than the places I had been visiting. At the market some vendors were wrapped in shawls and others had heavy jackets on. I wished I had worn my shoes instead of sandals.

First, I walked by the flowers: there were lines of vendors offering roses, gladiolus and lilies. Some had piles of marigolds that they were sewing into long garlands. They occupied the sidewalk and cars and motorbikes pulled up either to deliver or pick up flowers.

Around the corner were vegetable vendors selling tomatoes, onions and potatoes. I was repeatedly stopped by people wanting their picture taken, even after I told them they weren't going to get a print. One porter followed me around pointing out people he thought I should photograph. I finally got rid of him when I snapped him and his wife.

Most of the market was in a large, disheveled area bounded by run-down buildings. I walked around until I had satisfied myself and then I went looking for an autorickshaw. I hadn't planned to visit Asha again, but I had left some important papers at her house.

I found an autorickshaw and, with the help of some fellow I stopped, explained to the driver where I wanted to go. When I was convinced he knew, I got in and hoped for the best. We drove for a while, going down wide, busy streets and through business districts - I didn't have the slight notion where I was now - and finally we pulled over in front of the correct theater.

From there I tried to remember exactly how we had walked to her house. I was sorry now I hadn't paid better attention - I usually do. I walked around a little and then gave up. I got her address out and asked directions. It turned out I was only one street away - but they all looked the same to me.

"You found me," Asha exclaimed when I arrived. I guess she didn't have much confidence in me. We sat and had another pleasant conversation. As she had an appointment, I got my papers and took an autorickshaw back to Brigade Road and did some more shopping.

In the afternoon I visited Commercial Street, a place a friend thought I might find interesting to visit. It turned out to be the place where ordinary Indians shop for clothing.

I had decided to buy a kirta, that long, formal shirt that many Indian men wear. I found several shops on Commercial Street that sold them in silk. While there were lovely and perfect for warm weather, I thought I would be better off with something a little heavier for Michigan.

Around the corner I found a shop that had them in cotton. I got a black one with white embroidery and silver-studded buttons. I thought, "This'll wow 'em at home." (Now every time I show my India photos I wear it.)

Back on Brigade Road I ran into Jude, a young British woman I had met in Mamallapuram. We decided to have lunch and picked a pizza place. There was a birthday party going on and just about the time we were done eating the birthday girl - dressed in a striking green sari - brought us a piece of her cake. Does that ever happen in a US pizza parlor? Ah, India.

Mysore, Friday, January 30
I left the hotel very early - it was completely dark. I walked past the autorickshaw driver stationed in front of the hotel - he had tried to cheat me the previous day. On Brigade Road I flagged down a driver, but he refused to use his meter and insisted instead, "70 Rupees, Babu." I worry when an Indian calls me Babu - that usually means I'm going to be cheated. But what could I do? I needed to get to the train station, so I got in and we took off through the empty streets.

At the station I was very confused about where I should go. After asking several times I was directed to a walkway over the tracks. On the other side I walked to the end of the platform and then around a corner. I finally found the correct car, got on and then found my berth.

On either side of the center aisle of the car there were sets of compartments: four-beds berths on one side and two-bed berths on the other. A curtain provided a little privacy. I was sharing a four-bed berth compartment with a well-dressed Indian man who told me he worked for the railroad. I guess that explained why we had the space to our selves.

My bed was supplied with a pillow and two sheets. My berth-mate already had his bed made and suggested I put a sheet on mine. After a little polite conversation the train pulled out. He promptly lay down, covered his head and went to sleep. There was nothing else for me to do, so I took a nap, too.

When I woke I looked out the window, but it was so dirty I couldn't tell for sure if it was sunny or cloudy. Since I couldn't watch the scenery, I got out my MP3 player and listened to country music as we rocked slowly along.

A little over 3 hour later we arrived in Mysore - a tourist town know for silk and sandalwood. As we pulled in baggage-wallas jumped on the still moving train trying to be first to find people who needed help with their luggage.

The platform swarmed with touts and autorickshaw drivers offering their services. I walked past them and out to the main road where I flagged down an autorickshaw. The driver was completely clueless as to where my hotel was, but he was willing to use his meter, so I got in. He stopped several time to ask directions and finally delivered me without incident to my hotel, The Viceroy. The lobby and restaurant seemed to promise a level of luxury, but my room turned out to be a kind of shabby. It was in the back and there was a lot of street noise.

I had a late breakfast and then headed to the main market. There was a large parking lot in front full of vendors selling bananas, grapes and melons. Inside were clean concrete walkways lined with neat stalls. Fruit and vegetables were at one end and clothing and toys at the other. There were also many shops in the surrounding area and I wandered around for several hours.

Finally, I went looking for an Internet place that had Windows 2000 - I needed that operating system to upload and send more photos. The first place I visited didn't have it and suggested another further down the street - and thus began a several hour search that took me halfway across the city. As I started to tire and grow hungry, I also became more obsessed. Finally, I found a place and managed to send some photos back home.

Back at the hotel I realized I had overdone it and had fallen into bitch mode. Everything bothered me: the noise in my room, the hassles with the autorickshaw drivers, the kids tugging on my sleeve asking for pens, the constant question, "What's your country?" - all the ordinary India stuff was driving me nuts.

I knew that meant it was time to eat, so I headed to the hotel's rooftop restaurant. After dinner and a few beers things mellowed out: there was a nice breeze, a lovely sunset and the day’s hassles seemed far, far away.

Mysore, Saturday, January 31
I thought it would be good to get out of the city for the morning, so I talked to the travel agent in the hotel lobby. I explained I wanted to visit the temple on Chamundi Hill near Mysore. This would give me a chance to take a little walk in the countryside, too. I also wanted to visit the government silk and sandalwood factories on the way back.

At 8:00 the driver and I left for the short ride up Chamundi Hill. The temple is a popular destination and Indian school kids were lined up outside. Being a foreigner I was immediately ushered into the temple and up to the shrine. When I got there the priest gave me a surprised look and walked away. Before I had time to worry about his reaction he returned and handed me a flower. I guess he was concerned that I had come into the temple empty-handed. He then dabbed my forehead with some colored paste and pushed a collection plate at me. They never miss a chance to go after money.

Outside I started down the path back to Mysore. I had told the driver to meet me at the bottom. The day was a hazy, but there was still a nice view over the city. There were a few small temples along the way and every now and then I would pass someone walking up toward the temple.

At about the halfway mark there was a large statue of a bull and I stopped to take a few pictures. The priest came to see what I was doing, so I showed him the pictures. He smiled and sat down to pose for me. These photos I showed him, too. As I was leaving he asked me for money.

A little farther the path crossed a road. As I got there I heard a horn honk - it was my driver. I guess he thought I only wanted to walk part way down - or more likely he was in a hurry to get me to our next stop.

I got in and he said something about a silk shop - I really wasn't listening very well. I assumed, wrongly perhaps, that the travel agent had explained where I wanted to go. I should have known better.

I wanted to stop at the Government Silk Factory where I had read that you could watch the weaving. Instead he took me to a giant silk shop. "What's this?" I asked impatiently, "I want to go to the Government Silk Factory."

"Sorry sir, the Government Factory is closed today." Reluctantly I got out, looked around a little and then returned to the car empty-handed.

"You didn't like anything?" he asked. I'm sure he was disappointed there wasn't going to be a commission for him.

"No, I want to go the Government Silk Factory. My travel guide says it is open on Saturday. I want to go there," I said strongly. The driver looked a little embarrassed and we took off again.

Another 5 minutes down the road he pulled over on the dusty shoulder in front of the Government Silk Factory. It was open. I got out and looked around the showroom a bit. The collection was pretty sad when compared to the emporium we had just visited, but I wasn't here to shop. I wanted to see the weaving.

Behind the showroom was the entrance to the factory. At the office I had to sign in, get a pass and leave my camera. From there I was able to walk anywhere I wanted. It wasn't exactly clear where to go - there were no signs - but workers often pointed the way.

My first stop was a room where machines were winding large bobbins from "wheels" of silk thread. I later saw these bobbins "feeding" the looms. The "wheels" I saw in the next building where silk was drying after being dyed.

Finally, I found a large, dimly lit room that was full of looms. The sound was deafening. The whorl of the bobbins, the clickety-clack of the cards that controlled the pattern and the clack-clack, clack-clack of the shuttle being driven back and forth across the loom. I was spell bound by these ancient machines: threads feeding in one end and beautiful silk fabric rolling out the other.

Back at the car we made on more stop at the Government Sandalwood Oil Factory, but it was closed - there was a sign on the gate that said, "Holiday." I felt a little tinge of guilt: if this factory was closed perhaps the driver had good reason to think that the silk factory was closed, too. I placated my conscious by tipping him when we got back to the hotel.

Later, I make a trip to Cauvery, the biggest souvenir shop in Mysore. I had been there several times to check out what was available. Near the entrance a vendor had set up a little stand on the sidewalk. When anyone would enter the shop he would call out, "What are you looking for?"

One time I replied, "I'm not looking for anything, I have everything I need, I'm a happy man." I was just teasing him a little. After that every time he saw me he would call out, "Hey, Happy Man, come look at what I have."

I took it easy after that and finished the day at the rooftop restaurant.

Mysore, Sunday, February 1
Today I started my trip home. I still had 5 days and several stops to make, but I was nearing the end of my trip. After breakfast I packed up. Then I decided to make one more trip to Cauvery - I figured I would be sorry later if I didn't buy some sandalwood oil while in Mysore.

I approached one of the autorickshaw drivers that hung out in front of the hotel. I told him where I wanted to go and agreed on 20 Rupees, round trip. Within minutes I realized the driver was heading the wrong way. "Where are you going?" I shouted over the street noise. "I told you: I want to go to Cauvery - the shop across from the main market."

"Sorry," the driver replied as he turned the autorickshaw around, "I thought you wanted to go to the small Cauvery."

He was then headed in approximately the correct direction, but he certainly wasn't going the most direct route, so I was still wary. In a few minutes he pulled up to a tiny tourist shop. The sign said Cauvery all right, but it wasn't the one I wanted.

This is a common ploy in India - small shops commandeer the name of better known ones. That said I'm sure the driver knew where I wanted to go. He just hoped to get me into a shop where he could get a commission.

I bolted from the autorickshaw, flinging oaths and cures at the driver. I dropped 10 Rupees on the front seat - half the agreed round trip fare - and marched off. I didn't look back, but I could hear him shouting at me.

Luckily I knew where I was. After about a 10-minute walk I found Cauvery, bought a small bottle of sandalwood oil and left.

Back at the hotel I had lunch, checked out and took an autorickshaw to the train station. I quickly found my car and seat. It was a first class coach, but not too grand - the seats were plastic and the windows so dark that it would be impossible to enjoy the scenery.

At 2:00 sharp we pulled out, but the car was only about 1/4 full. As we were due to stop in Bangalore, I figured we would fill up then. As soon as we got going a steward gave me a pillow. Next he brought the start of what turned out to be almost continual food service.

The first tray contained a samosa - fried vegetables in a pastry shell. The paper wrapper said that it was "Safe Food." At first I thought this was a statement of fact, but as I was eating it I realized it was simply a clever brand name. Anyway, it was delicious.

As expected the train filled up in Bangalore. From there I amused myself by listing to country music and writing in my journal. The time passed fairly quickly and about 10:00 P.M. we pulled into Chennai's central terminal. Outside at one end of a huge parking lot I found the prepaid taxi stand and got a ride to my hotel, the Residence.

It was a pleasant, multi-story place where several noisy weddings going on. I got a quiet room near the top with great views in two directions. Since it was late I went directly to bed.

Chennai, Monday, February 2
During the previous day's 7-hour ride I had had ample time to concoct elaborate plans for my last day in India. When I woke I decided it would be better to just take it easy.

After breakfast I visited the Kapaleeshwarar temple, which was covered with scaffolding and looked pretty sad when compared to the ones I had seen in the south. I decided to skip it and instead visited the shops nearby that sell religious items. I bought some stickers and a few small statues as gifts.

Then I took an autorickshaw to a large government fix-priced gift shop and did some more shopping. I spent the rest of the day shopping and after a late lunch took a long nap.

About 10:00 P.M. I checked out. The hotel used the 24-hour checkout rule, which meant since I had checked in late and had stayed less than 24 hours, I was only charged for one day. Then I took a taxi to the airport and caught a midnight flight back to Bangkok where I would be staying for the next few days. I would actually fly home on Thursday.

It had been a really great trip. The simple truth is I love India: the frantic activity, the colorful sights and the extremely friendly, helpful people. That said, India can be a hard place to travel - it's certainly not for everyone. One of the real joys of this trip was to see how easily I could manage the Indian chaos. Despite my occasional bitching, I can't wait to return.

Ann Arbor, Michigan
May 2004

Part One: Madurai and Trichyi
Part Two: Pondicherry and Mamallapuram

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