Simple pleasures!

Date: June 17, 2009
Time: 10:00 p.m. Indian time
Location: In a quaint hotel in the central of Mysore, India
Accomplishments: We cycled 55 km or 33 miles from Madya to Mysore!

Traveling is so exciting because you really do not have any idea what will happen or what the next corner will look like. At 5:45 a.m. we started our adventure rolling out of bed and refueling our bodies with good old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. As an American girl, I was sure to hunt down peanut butter, my old stand-by, at a supermarket in Bangalore. Bikes and bodies are ready to pedal and roll by 6:45 a.m.

What is it like pedaling along in South India? A blur of sacred cows, hoking buses, zooming rickshaws, rice, palm trees, and men in motos waving hello. In just a couple of hours, traffic thickens.

Welcome to Maysore, a maze of winding alleys. The maze swallows us. Using our Lonely Planet Guidebook, an X marking the spot of our selected hotel, we untangle the confusion. The huge Mysore Palace is a clue. Since streets are never labeled, we use landmarks to orient ourselves. Fianlly after an hour of circling and roaming the maze of a city, we find it, Dasaprakashi hotel. Only to discover that there are no double beds available. A friendly man over hears our hotel dilemma and offers to show us another cheap but clean hotel only a block away. We follow him and are pleasantly surprised. We make Surya Vatri Nivas Hotel our little home for the next few days.

I love how everything just works out. Life really is like that old grandfather clock, ticking slowely, patiently, consistently and behind the solid face, each gear of the individual effects the other.

Before departing for our India cycling adventure, people asked me, "So where will you stay? What is your plan?"
"I am not exactly sure." I am only one small gear. I cannot see the great plan, but it is there. It is destiny and it will work itself out tick by tock, moment by moment.
We register our passport numbers and visa numbers at the front desk. We pay 400 rupees (less than $10) and the guard assures us that our bicycles will be safe in the lobby. Upon reaching our clean humble room, the first thing we do is fill up the large plastic bucket with water from the spicket. We use the smaller bucket to toss water onto our sticky sultry bodies. I feel like a child on the beach rinsing myself after making a huge sandcastle.

Refreshed and clean, I ask the man at the receptionist desk where we can find a vegetarian restaurant.
"Anywhere, you can find," he smiles, "To the right is a very good one."
Sure enough, two minutes walking from the hotel, we find the vegetarian restaurant. It is full of local people. They welcome us with a smile and beckon for us to sit down. A waiter comes to our table and says, "Bla, bla, bla, bla!"
Steve and I look at one another, clueless.
"Veg plate?" Steve attempts.
"Bla, bla, bla?" the man replies.
He waits. We wait. Words without meaning, as if he said, "moo," and we said, "meow!"
He smiles shyly. There is a moment of silence and awkwardness. Then the answer comes to me, "Chai tea!" I exclaim.
"Chai tea!" he reconfirms. The man smiles and his eyes sparkle with the accomplishment of understanding, "Yes!"
Whenever in doubt, chai tea is our password to understanding. It is the backbone to culture. It is the building block to breakfast, friendship, relaxation after a long day. Like America and apple pie, England and black tea, India and chai tea balance one another.
We don't give up our quest for food. Just a few blocks down, "Hotel RRR Veg Restaurant," catches our attention.
"Let's give it a try,"Steve suggests.
"It's in English!" I confirm.
We enter and immediatly all the local people stare at the two aliens from space that have mysteriously appeared in their normally lame restaurant. The waiter smiles gently and motions for us to sit down by a table.
"Veg meal," I say clearly and slowly. I stare at the waiter's face for a response and am super delighted when his eyes sparkle.
"Yes!" He confirms.
"Two veg meals," Steve adds.
The waiter returns shortly with two large banana leaves and places them in front of us. Next, he puts a monsterous glob of rice on each banana leaf. Then he globs on serval vegetable curry mixtures around the rice on the banana leaf. No plates, no utensils...We glance around at the local people eating. Their left hands stay on their laps (it is for your bathroom business). Side note: It is not custom to use toilet paper. Beside each toilet, there is a water bucket and a hose. The left hand is used to cleanse your bottom and it is NOT polite to greet people or to eat with the left hand. Everyone uses the right hand to grab the rice and mix it with the various vegetable/bean curries and bring them to your mouth. So in the bathroom, I was a child at play with the buckets. In the restaurant, I am a baby at play with the food. The banana lef is the tray on my high chair! I begin to love the simple culture! I enjoy every bit of my Indian lunch!