Bangalore

I arrived in Bangalore airport just after 9am. The weather wasn’t as warm as I expected and then I remembered that I was 900m above sea level. After ignoring countless taxi-wallahs, I got on a bus that took me into the city center. I had a vague idea where I wanted to go so I asked the conductor to drop me off near Mahatma Gandhi Rd. He dropped me on a road adjacent to it. It took me the next two hours to find my hotel after asking numerous locals for directions, all of which were wrong. I eventually acquiesced by asking an auto driver to take me to the hotel. The weight of my bags was becoming too much in the midday sun. The temperature read 28 degrees Celsius but the breeze kept me cool. I spent the first day getting my bearings and looking for a place to eat that wasn’t vegetarian. I found a small restaurant that served pepper steak and bottles of imported Belgian beer. It was my little discovery that no travel guide could bring me to. The following day, I had lunch in a café that served me soup inside a round bread roll with the center hollowed out. It was delicious. Afterwards, I got an auto to the Visvesvaraya Industrial & Technical Museum. I found it fascinating. The mini tornado was very cool. The electronics section was incomprehensible and the science area was being decorated with gaseous paint so I left quickly. I spent my last day in the city wandering through the Lalbagh Botanical Gardens. It was peaceful and I got a great view of the city from a peninsular gneiss reputed to be over three billion years old. For some reason, the locals have begun approaching me and asking me to pose in their photos. I’m slightly flattered but I only hope I don’t end up online as that grinning Irishman surrounded by Indians.


After a strange dinner of minced lamb lathered in pepper sauce, I got an auto to the train station. I don’t remember telling the driver I was in a hurry but he drove that three-wheeled motor as if his life depended on it. I arrived at the station, quivering slightly. I found my train with little difficulty and settled down for a ride that would have me in Coimbatore at 5.30am. I had no accommodation booked for a city that’s described as being the Manchester of India because of its textile industry. I emerged from the station and blinked stupidly at my watch, wondering what all the commotion was about. There were people everywhere. There was also a power cut, which meant I was slightly spooked by the darkness and throngs of swarthy locals. I found the hotel I was looking for, discovered it was booked out and tried my luck at a plush-looking place called the Legend’s Inn. I never got to find out just how legendary that was because it was full as well. At that point, I decided that Coimbatore was a toilet and got out of there as quickly as possible. I got on a bus to Mettupalayam, where I wanted to take a train that I’ve been raving about for ages. It’s a rack railway that ascends the Nilgiris in the Western Ghats to a height of over 2,200m. And it was cancelled. When I asked why, I was told it was due to a landslide caused by heavy rain. At that point, I had already paid for a room across from the bus stands, thinking I’d be able to leave the next morning after 7am. I should’ve stayed on the bus that would’ve eventually brought me to Ooty. But I didn’t.