Hampi is north of Mysore, but still inland. The most distinctive natural features are the granite boulders littering the landscape, some resting in impossible positions atop one another. The boulders clump in places to form mountains and from a distance they look like piles made with pebbles. There is a brown river, the Tungabhadra, that runs through the centre of town, and a single ‘ferry’ (tinny) that moves between the two banks when required. The Government tried to build a stone bridge over the river some years ago, but only got halfway before interests intervened. Unfinished, the stone bridge remains above the river like an ancient ruin. Down the slopes of the granite piles and on the banks of the river are banana plantations and rice paddies. The colours in Hampi are sharp – the green of the plantations the ochre of the boulders and the brown of the river.
During our stay we were situated on the north side of the river. Most of the atrractions are on the south bank. The tinny was the only way across. It packed 15 people for 15 Rs each into its leaking hull (it had to be bailed out at the end of each journey) and trundled across the river. We would share the boat with French and Isareli travellers on most trips, and on one occasion a stoned Hindi grandfather making wings with his doti (wrap skirt) just back from a session at the monkey (Hanuman) temple.
Our room was a small round hut with a thatched roof of palm fronds and straw. There was a small porch out the front and a swinging bed hanging from the rafters from where we watched the farmer churn a spent rice field in his tractor with some very impressive burn-outs and skids. From time to time, women came with their goats and scythes and bundled the dry and harvested rice into mounds of straw only metres from our porch. It was very quiet, except for a family of sparrows that had made a nest in our roof and the croaking geckos.
We could have spent the next two days in the swing but the schedule was tight and the idea that you might “miss out” on a sight or activity has dictated no ruin, fort, palace or temple will go un-seen.
The room and the view and the quiet were all a welcome surprise after another overnight train. We had only two nights, but I would come back to Hampi and wish we stayed here longer. On the morning we arrived, Kate took the ferry into town to have a dress made, and I updated the last blog post before this one.
In the afternoon we planned to swim in the nearby lake. The swollen lake is positioned above the town and fields, contained only by a stout, leaking wall. The lake is ‘let down’ into the town when it gets too high with a minimum 5 hours notice. Despite a sign suggesting otherwise, we were assured there were no crocodiles. The lake was among the granite piles and the water came right to the rocks without a beach. Some old and young men from Bangalore joined our group down to the waterside to watch the girls swim, which meant that they did not swim. One was quite open about the fact that they were ‘not swimming, just looking’ (and he promptly threw his cigarette butt into the lake). Some other local men shooed them off and went swimming. Me and a couple of the other guys in the group did go swimming (in a fenced off area, don’t worry mum). It was a freshwater lake and water was cool, but not cold. Aside from the occasional cigarette butt bobbing in the water, it was clean.
From the lake we travelled 15 minutes or so to the Hanuman (monkey king) Temple . The whitewashed temple was unassuming and on top of one of the granite mountains. The impending storm added an exciting backdrop to our climb to the top along a set of stairs, past rows of staring, black-faced monkeys on the handrails and some giant millipedes. From the top, we had a panoramic view of the river twisting between the boulders and plantations. Nestled into the boulders and just peeking from the plantation canopies were the ruins of a 15th century South Indian empire. From this view, one feels as though very little has changed. Apart from the tuk-tuks and trucks, there is little sign of modern civilisation. At the foot of the hill a family was tending goats from their thatched roof hut and the dominant man-made structure is a yellowing temple-obelisk in the distance. It is like looking out over the realm as you might have done 400 years ago.
We watched the sunset from our swinging chair and remarked how we would not change a thing about where we were.
We left at 9 the next morning for the ruins we had seen the previous evening. Hampi is basically a 16th century capital city that has been preserved, with a few shops and hotels. The Vijayanagar Empire was one of the largest in India, and the population of Hampi stood at 500,000 – 1 million at one point.
The tour began at the yellow, obelisk temple we had seen from the hill the previous evening. It was actually 50-60 feet high and, as is normal, covered in sculptures of Hindu gods, mostly Shiva in this case. Out the front of the temple, a cow tried to steal my bananas and followed me all the way up a hill licking my elbow and contorting its tongue into my pocket. From the temple we made our way to a massive, bulging statue of Ganesh (the elephant god) whose belly had been amputated by Mughal raiders on the chance that precious gems were stored there.
Hampi was a centre for trade in diamonds and other stones. After Ganesh we walked up a hill, through some ashrams, balancing boulders and coral-like cactus, to the central bazzar, where these gems were traded. The bazzars are two lanes of stone pillars with stone roofs, separated into hundreds of little stalls, on either side of a central plaza. Some of the pillars had been excavated and re-constructed. Most of the central plaza had been excavated, revealing the paved floor. Up a set of stairs there was a much larger hall, looking out over the bazzar. I presume the king used to sit there.
Historical Hampi is divided into two parts – the sacred sites and the royal quarters. We had just visited the sacred areas (there are many temples with idols of bulls and multithreaded gods in various states of decay and dominance by the overgrowth) and it was either 12km drive to the royal quarters or a 1km ride down the river on a boat that looked like a belly-up, overgrown coconut shell.
The canoe ride took us down the river, between the giant boulders and some more temples carved into them, to the royal quarters. The first stop was the royal temple, with frangipanis in the courtyard, and five, delicately carved granite halls, some with the musical pillars. From there we visited the queen’s bath (which was really swimming pool), the kings bath (which was bigger than an Olympic swimming pool), the Lotus Mahal (complete with an ancient air-conditioning system) and the elephant stables. The latter two monuments were extremely well maintained with pristine gardens and surrounds that allowed you to immerse yourself in the scene. In Hampi you truly are walking around the ruins of an old city. For every one of the sites we visited, there are hundreds of houses, or palaces, aqueducts and temples that we did not visit.
We ate lunch/dinner at a restaurant called mango-tree, where to enter you have to walk under the canopy of a banana plantation and they serve all the meals on banana leaves. On the way out, I bought something for my secret Santa from a young entrepreneur on the street.
By the time we arrived back to the room, it was raining and the frogs and mozzies were out. The ‘bushman’s’, 80% deet mozzie repellent is working, although at the expense of a few layers of skin each application.
Kate had been looking for these bonds-like tops that construction workers and rickshaw drivers wear. She had seen them nowhere in India, but a tiny stall on the way back to our hotel sold them. She bought eight for around $2 each.
Hospet is the nearest train station, and we woke at 4:30am the next morning to catch the train to Goa. Hospet was about an hour-and a half away. Theoretically, the road has two lanes, but in practice the potholes and cows make it a single-lane obstacle course. The logic behind the placement of speedbumps (or ‘rumbles’ as they are labelled)also escaped me. We were both tired, and felt for the women who were, out in the dark, on the roadside sweeping the front of their houses. The train was running late (not surprising, it had come all the way from Kolkata) and we used the time to try and buy some breakfast. Unfortunately some cheeky kids tried to steal my, and another guy’s, wallet, to no avail. Nevertheless, as the train came closer to arriving, the platform flooded with chai and coffee vendors which satisfied for breakfast. A dog with a prolapsed rectum also strolled past, apparently oblivious to its predicament.
The train journey was long and sweaty. We played many games of Uno and talked, occasionally to someone on the way to or from the toilet about the cricket. Australia had just won the ODI series here, and everyone was keen to talk about it, although they were sad that Brett Lee was not playing – he is number 2 to Sachin Tendulkar. I ate just about anything that came past, including somosas, pooris in curry dahl, and a combo meal of a bread-roll, small bread dumplings and fried, salted green chillis.
As we approached Goa from the west, we travelled through the western Ghats, a long mountain range in Southern India. Some of the tunnels opened to gorges and waterfalls cascading into the jungle. In Goa itself, the train travelled along the coastline for a bit, which kept us entertained.
We were staying at Calangute beach, which is another 2 hour bus ride from Vasco-de-Gama railway station. We were sweaty and tired, and anticipating a sojourn to the beach, although entertained on the bus journey by the passing billboards advertising performances by ‘Kyle Minouge’, ‘Dustin Timberlake’ and ‘Jimmy Henriques’.
Calangute beach is the neon, heavy drinking part of town. Stores advertising 'genuine fakes' and 'original replicas' are as common as the many restuarants and bars. Kate and I walked to the beach, only 2 minutes from the hotel to find it crammed with people – local men swimming in their y-fronts, leaving little to the imagination, and local women swimming fully dressed, trying to leave as much as possible to it. There were tourists everywhere – the abundant eurotogs betray the origin of the majority. Jetskis roared only meters from the shore and the swimmers and vendors proliferated selling coca-cola and glow in the dark whirly whirlys.
Among the chaos there was a serene sunset and Kate took some great photos. I went for a swim, but it was only brief.
Dinner that night was at a restaurant on Calangute beach, but cordoned off from the whirly-whirly vendors that would send their neon helicopters into the air from time to time for the trepid shopper. I ventured the seafood platter (for $15) and survived. Aside from the coating of garlic (at first I wondered what the coating was intended to cover) the crab, fish, prawns (including an enormous one), oysters (I was not brave enough to have them raw, and the cooked ones had nothing on your lime and chilli ones kel) and calamari, were tasty and I survived to tell the tale.
The theory thus far has been to stock up on breakfast, have little or no lunch and a big dinner. So the next morning we had another substantial breakfast of museli, eggs, fruit and coffee at a local joint alongside two English couples starting the morning with hearty, large, kingfisher beer.
Kate and I were keen for a day at the beach, but not at Calangute. So we took a taxi down the same stretch of sand to a place called Candolin and hired one of the banana beds with an umbrella for the day. It was hot and the wind was warm and offshore. There were a few little waves that might have been rideable. Somehow I left my boardshorts at home and, before swimming, had to walk back into town and purchase a pair of ‘billabong’ shorts. Really they were a tailored plastic tablecloth, but they did they job.
For most of the day we swam, or were entertained by the passing parade – quite literally. At first it was just the crisping, speedo-clad Russians either side of us (there are Russians everywhere in Goa, some restaurants even advertise in Russian) and the women selling colourful fabrics, t-shirts, hats and dolphin tours. But then a mother and her two children set up a frame on the sand in front of us and attached a tightrope to it. The young daughter then tip-toed along the rope with a pile of bowls on her head and a salad bowl on one of her feet. Sometime later two brothers set up in front of us – one clanging a pan as a drum and the other donning a head-to-toe brown feather costume and dancing.
We both got our fair share of the sun. Dinner was again at a beachside restaurant, and, again, I ventured the seafood platter. This one was half the price and probably half as good. Kate ordered a kingfish fillet and salad, which she enjoyed. It was our last night with the group, so we said our goodbyes to a couple of people leaving early the next morning after walking home along the beachfront.
We said goodbye to most other people at breakfast the next morning. A couple of girls were heading south to Paolem beach, not far from where we are. We shared a taxi at around midday.
The south of Goa is more what you associate with he word ‘Goa’. Greenery everywhere, rushing rivers, hills covered in jungle and the all-important palm-lined beaches. It is much quieter down here. Patnem, the beachside town nearest to us, is little more than a single street with a laundry, a restaurant and some shops selling ‘Goa’ t-shits and silverware. On the beach, there are more sunbaking cows than people.
We checked in at the Intercontinental at around 2pm. Our room is enormous with a flatsceen TV, a complimentary bottle of port, and a phone beside the toilet. We are the only non-Russian guests, and many of the signs, including pool safety signs are in russian. The resort is a massive, gated complex with at least five different, connected pools (one with a bridge), a golf course, tennis courts, squash courts, ping-pong and a beach right out the front. It is obseen (and, to be honest, realxing), and its the place to go in India if you don't want to be in India... sort of.
You can bring the resort to India, but you can’t keep India out of the resort. On our first night, Bridgestone was holding a corporate party. The 6th hole fo the golf course hosted a red stage with a dragon on it pumping out techno and hindi chartbusters through the evening. Down on the beach was a cricket game, complete with a boundary, a commentator, dancing girls, and triumphant music ('Singh is King!')every time a wicket was taken or a six was hit by the big Indian corporates waddling around. All the while their wives hung around the pool in full Saris. Very strange.
In the afternoon we went for a walk along the beach to Patnem, which is a tiny beach with some canoes and plam trees bending towards the sea, fishing nets, nonplussed cows, territorial dogs, and a Russian restaurant. We were going to continue walking into Paolem for supplies (everything is very expensive in-house, as you would expect) but met the girls we shared taxi with on the way. They were in a tuk-tuk getting a tour of the beaches, and we tagged along into Paolem where we bought some water, chocolate and drinks. That evening we returned to Paoelm for dinner at a restaurant called ‘Cuba’, and caught up with Kristine, a friend we met on our trip into the mountains.
We did very little the next day. The weather has been overcast with some periods of very heavy rain. There was cyclone that made landfall this morning much further north, but the system has been hanging around Goa for the past few days. We watched some poor movies on cable TV and ate breakfast at the hotel (which wasn’t bad value really, it suffices for breakfast and lunch). We played volleyball in the pool and a game of chess on one of those oversized boards, before retiring with a beef burger for dinner.
The following day we went back into Paolem for breakfast with Kristine. The idea was to walk to Patnem, put our laundry in, then hire a bike and cycle to Paloem (which is about 4km away). Unfortunately I got us lost and we sweated the 4km walk on foot. Breakfast was at a quaint organic restaurant near the beach. We checked out Kristine’s beachside shack, which was just one room and a bed behind some thatched palm fronds and a tarpulian. The beach was very messy and windy, although there were still plenty of tourists laying and drinking beer.
In the afternoon we played a game of squash (where we made up the rules) and had dinner in bed.
Today we have organised some photos and had a swim at the pool. It is much clearer today and quite hot.
We leave tomorrow evening for Mumbai on the overnight train.
Our love to you all.
Love Kate and Charles.
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