Travelogue of Mysore—A Week in and Around the Historical City
After checking out of a tiny room in a peculiar highway hotel outside Mysore, my partner Sagar and I both took deep breaths.
“I’m so relaxed after getting out of that place. We shouldn’t have stayed there for three nights,” I said.
He replied, “Yeah, like a weight is lifted off my head.”
Our relief could be accounted to the sleepy staff who upon seeing us return from lunch and standing outside the hotel door they had locked exclaimed, “You’re not going sightseeing?” Sagar and I waited on two tiny iron chairs in the airless lobby while the housekeeping woman haphazardly cleaned our room, leaving the garbage as is, the bed unmade, and damp towels lying in a coil. Then I squeezed onto the tiny desk in the corner, and Sagar managed to work from the bed.
As we drove to a highly-praised dosa place in Mysore downtown, watching the city go by us, the hotel room was already a thing of the past. We discussed our options. Either we could look for a good hotel in the city centre near the historical places—the city being the the capital of the Kingdom of Mysore from 1399 to 1947 or drive further on. Our eyes were on Kerala. I had traveled to Mysore with my parents thirteen years ago and seen its major attractions: the Mysore Palace, the city zoo, gardens et cetera. My partner also didn’t care much about exploring every nook and corner of Mysore. We had been to Rangnathittu Bird Sanctuary twice on two different times and a day earlier strolled around an unmarked dam and lake, spotting hundreds of migratory birds.
“Let’s see how we feel after breakfast,” we said to each other.
The masala dosa was a bit limp, not like the super crispy Karnataka dosa I was expecting. The place was, sadly, overhyped.
After tea, on the dusty road, under a tree, we sat talking, planning our day. My partner had taken the day off, given how impromptu we were being.
“Do you want to drive to Bandipur or Nagarhole today?” He asked, as we had been asking each other since morning.
“No. I’m so tired I don’t think I can drive today. It’s a long drive. And I don’t think even you’re up for driving for long hours.” I rubbed my eyes which had suddenly become heavy, as if wanting to close.
“No I’m not.” He replied, with a tired look in his eyes.
“Let’s look for a hotel and stay.” After the dosa, my body had slowed down, screaming for rest and sleep. Imagining myself lying down on a bed was bringing immense relief.
We both started browsing Google Maps for accommodations in Mysore. He was looking at booking websites.
Finding guest homes and family stays in India for three years, we are both wary of accommodations. Some don’t clean, many don’t provide drinking water, others are noisy or intruding, and so on. Somewhere staff don’t care, other places don’t have parking, and sometimes the toilet doesn’t flush. I can filter out well-reviewed properties just by a few red flags that I know would be too glaring in physical reality.
I found Mannar, a hotel with a 4-star rating after hundreds of reviews. None of its reviews said dirty, uncaring staff, noise et cetera. One or two poor reviews when the experience might have been spoiled due to a one-off reason didn’t worry me. Parking was mentioned.
We didn’t call. Fifteen minutes later, we squeezed into a narrow, busy street and parked outside the hotel across from a dung-smeared cow munching grass from a round stone trough.
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