My Sore A** In Mysore

Dear reader,

My arrival to Mysore, India was a pivotal moment in my backpacking journey. This was the moment I reached real backpacker status. You know, the backpacker who just shows up in a new town after taking some form of overnight public transportation with no place to stay. 

A real backpacker arrives with no plans, walks into a bar and asks the bartender where they can stay the night.

But I was in Mysore, India. So I walked into a vegetarian cafe and asked the nice young man;

“Do you know of any guest houses around here with a room for a few nights?”

Masala Dosa

He nodded and asked me to wait. I sat in the corner, ordered two chais and read a quarter of a self-help book. An hour later, nice cafe kid and a really cute Punjabi guy make their way to me. His name was  Sam, the cute Punjabi guy. Sam told me he had a friend with a guesthouse and a room.

“Is it walking distance to the center of town and how much?” 

“Yes and it’s 600 rupees a night.”

Now THAT is music to a broke backpackers ears.

Sweet, harmless Sam :)

Was I scared? Not at all. There comes a time in a solo-backpackers journey where your guts become your bestie. None of this fear and questioning. You know right away if he/she/it is safe or dangerous. Red flags don’t take days or months to notice. They’re waved immediately. 

Sam had no red flags. Neither did nice cafe boy. Like most of the Indians I met, they had big hearts and a genuine desire to help. I hopped on the back of Sam’s bike with my backpack in tow and was off.

Five minutes later I arrived at a Guinness World Records home.

I’m not kidding. This man’s home really did hold a Guinness World Record. He showed me the certificate.

For what? You may ask.

For the house with the most houseplants.

I am ashamed to say I do not have one picture of the house : (. My phone was broken at the time, it was towards the end of my journey, and I just didn’t care (lol).

I wish I was joking. But I was about to spend the next week sleeping amongst not hundreds, but THOUSANDS of houseplants. All sorts of wild houseplants. The entire front of the three-story house was covered in ferns, spider plants, figs and all sorts of green. Every shade of green dripped onto the sidewalk, you couldn’t spot an inch of the white wall from across the street.

The six makeshift rooms were all located on the roof of the home. I use the word “rooms” very loosely, because they were more like four plastic walls pieced together like legos with no ceiling and a tiny twin bed. You couldn’t talk on the phone without disrupting your neighbor and had just enough space to get in and out of bed. It wasn’t comfortable. It was $8 a night.

At first I found the house kinda cool and strangely sweet. All of this green beauty embracing me! But then I started to sneeze. And couldn’t stop. 

Quite possibly every single variety of the banana!

Then I noticed the bees. They were practically fellow roommates. Alive or dead, they were EVERYWHERE. In every nook and cranny. In the crevices of the mattress.

And Of COURSE they were everywhere. I was sleeping in a living, breathing plant for God’s sake. 

I’m not scared of bees. I know that if you don’t mess with them, they won’t mess with you. So I just minded my business and tried not to get in their way.

One night after dinner and Punjabi dance lessons with Sam, I returned to my plant home. I didn’t want to turn on the lights and wake up the other girls, so I scrambled through my backpack feeling for my pajamas and toothbrush. I sat on the bed to make things easier. After a few seconds, I felt a little itch on my butt. Within milliseconds the itch became the most excruciating shot of pain. I jumped up and turned my phone’s flashlight on. WTF did I sit on?!

You guessed it. A bee. A living bee which is now dead because my ass was attacking it.

Mysore Market

I’d never gotten stung by a bee. This was an unfamiliar sensation of pain and I was on the verge of panicking. I wanted to call my mom, but WTF is she gonna do 8,000 miles away. So I turned to the second best option. Google. 

“What to do when you get stung by a bee?!?!?!”

“Quickly remove the stinger, wash the sting site with soap and water, apply ice and seek medical attention if you show signs of anaphylaxis.”

WTF IS ANAPHY-WHAT!?!

I didn’t have time to go down the google rabbit hole of panic. I grabbed my tweezers and ran over to the rooftop bathroom. How I managed to contort my body in such a way to remove a stinger from my ass in the middle of the night on a rooftop bathroom in my $8 a night Guinness World Record home for the most house plants is truly beyond me. This was all God’s work. Because She needs a good laugh every now and then too.

I wanted to cry and feel bad for myself. But I just couldn’t. I joined God and we were both in tears. Like one of those deep, belly laughs that leaves you without air and a new take on life.

The next morning I packed my bags. Not before shaking off every piece of clothing to make sure I wasn’t bringing a friend along. I called Sam and asked him to take me to the train station. I was ready to leave. I had enough plants, enough sneezes, and enough bees. 

I’m still not scared of them. After all, the poor thing was just defending itself from the predator...my ass. Next time, I’ll just have to make sure to ask;

“Is it walking distance from town, how much, and how many houseplants?”