The best way to summarize our weekend in Hampi (in the northern part of the state of Karnataka) in ten words or less would be to say it’s the greatest range of experiences I’ve ever had in one weekend.
As a result of some last minute planning (we only booked our tickets two weeks in advance), we weren’t armed with actual train tickets to Hampi—we were waitlisted but determined to get as far as we could. We had been informed of the variety of consequences we could encounter: anywhere from a fine to a night in an Indian prison. Our house manager had said that if worse came to worse though, we’d be bumped to general class, where other international students had been rumored to have had to literally fight for their sleeping space. Good news and bad news: The bad—we were bumped to general and ended up spending 12 hours on a metal luggage rack with most of the rungs missing (probably why there wasn’t any luggage up there). The good news—we were thanking our lucky stars we had been transferred early enough to claim those luggage racks, and avoid the mess of forty Indian men piled up beneath us. We were also extremely thankful no one had gotten sick from the sketchy biryani we shoveled down in third class before the move. But eventually the five minutes of sleep, backs full of bruises and the "free" train ride (as our waitlisted tickets were automatically refunded) landed us in Hampi at 6am on Friday. And as we sat in a local café watching the sun rise over the Virupaksha temple, I, for one, instantly forgot about the hell it took to get there.
After breakfast and successfully locating our guesthouse, everyone collapsed for a couple hours. Unable to sleep (and eager to make alternative travel arrangements for our trip home), Hakon and I set out to start exploring.
Hampi is a walk-able city surrounded by snaking lakes/rivers, shiny weathered boulders, crumbling and faded temples, palm trees and glimmering rice patty fields. It is without a doubt the most beautiful place I have ever been. It’s built within the remains of the ancient city of Vijayanagara and is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I kept expecting to see a triceratops step out from behind a boulder; picture Land Before Time or that old TV show, Land of the Lost, then litter it with hippies and local Indian artisans and you’ll get the start of an idea.
Hampi is halved by the Tungabhadra River, with a sole “ferry boat” driver making a fortune by charging 10 rupees per cross (roughly 20 cents). Locals are out bathing and washing their colorful clothing every day, draping it to dry on the steps to the river. And just like at the university, farmers herd their cows and goats through the streets and monkeys follow you around trying to snitch your water bottles so they can pour them out onto the dirt.
Everywhere you look, from the jewelry vendors shouting out deals to the children selling postcards to begging women holding their babies and blessing your knees as you pause to get out your water bottle, there is life and it wants your attention. The guides, the beggars, the smells, the colors and the sounds—everything is constant and constantly changing. I saw my first snake charmer with his dancing cobras as well.
Our guesthouse, Shanthi, (for $6 per person per night) was on the north side of the river, and consisted of a community of thatched roof cottages overlooking a field of rice patties and palm trees. They had an incredible menu of fresh fruits and tropical dishes alongside the standard Indian fare, so we took all our breakfasts and suppers (the last ferry boat ran at 18:30) on cushions under a canopy.
The “hippie” influence in Hampi is unmistakable; it’s as if each one had come to visit and decided to stay. As a result, most of the clothing stalls house a hybrid of styles—think traditional Indian after a bowl of marijuana.
The temples and history in Hampi are untouched though. After Hakon and I met back up with the group, the seven of us spent the entire first day wandering around the outskirts of Hampi, through clusters of massive city centers and ornate worshipping temples. It’s difficult to find a map in Hampi—the only good maps belong to the sea of guides calling out things like “monkey temple, very cheap” and “lotus pond, nice swim in lake”. The free maps that info centers give out are so confusing they make you wonder if the guides drew them out free hand specifically to lead you back to their rickshaws.
But you can’t take a wrong turn in Hampi. After hours of climbing around boulders, up and down mountains and through different sites, we wandered upon a river where a boy convinced us to take a tour in his hand-woven boat, back to the main temple. Magically back where we had started, we then took off for this particular temple on the top of a mountain—the highest point over-looking all of Hampi and surrounding villages. We literally ran up the mountain, collapsing at the top just in time to see the sunset the temple was famous for. I can't really describe it. Moments like that—with your endorphins pumping as you watch a blood-orange sun sink beneath the black and smooth mountain tops while a group of monkeys sits at the edge of the cliff in front of you—moments like that make you feel as if you’ve cheated the world to get to witness something so beautiful.
...I think the majority of the communication that took place among us that weekend consisted of catching eyes and shaking heads in disbelief.
And the next day was better. We rented scooters and covered the local roads, making our way to several different sites of ruins. Once you leave the city, you’re on stretching tar roads lined with palm trees and can open it up full throttle, keeping an eye out for cattle drawn carts and rickshaws, of course. As soon as you stop in a village to ask for directions, you’re swarmed by children asking for chocolate and school pens. In fact, we were pretty much swarmed everywhere we went, once again. Hampi must be a popular destination for school field trips, because long lines of children were everywhere, and as soon as they saw our (burned) white skin emerge from the darkened rooms in the temples, they would begin a chorus of “Hello! What is your name? Hi! What is your country?” while their teachers tried to organize them for pictures with us.
Because we had to reorder tickets (a bus, this time) for our return trip, three of us had to stay behind (quite begrudgingly, as you can imagine) for an extra day. Hakon, Michelle and I were the lucky three and rented scooters for a second day because Michelle had opted for yoga and an Ayurvedic massage the day before. We had apparently gotten a bit too bold from our scooter-ing adventures, though, and managed to run one of the scooters out of gas in the middle of nowhere while searching for more temples. But in India, I’ve learned that everything always works out; Michelle managed to make it to a village and convey our dilemma so she could buy some gas.
My immune system must have decided it was my turn to go, however, because as soon as we got off the scooters, something hit me and I was down for the rest of the day. I had a fever and some pretty nasty nausea the entire bus-ride back (which ended up being only slightly more luxurious than the luggage rack) and was extremely excited to crawl into my board/bed.
I’m writing this after a second trip (which I’ll blog about tomorrow) and therefore can say with even stronger resolution: India takes so much energy. Nothing is predictable or comfortable or clean or quiet. You are always hot and sweaty and navigating your way through masses of bodies. I am so thrilled to have made friends with a group of like-minded adventurers—people who can spend 12 hours in the smelly chaos of the general section of a train and still smile at each other in the morning and laugh hysterically about it the next day while counting bug bites—I definitely got lucky.
More tomorrow on Pondicherry and the courses I’m finally starting!
Thank you dad—I’ve picked up every one of your penny-pinching tendencies and resumed the role of secretary in our traveling group. This is me fanatically figuring out the scribble-y supper bill as everyone else breathes peacefully…Jens looks ready to double check it though...
Good morning cows! That's the School of Social Sciences in the background. It's nice to have some comforts of home...heheh.
Our meals at the guesthouse are excellent, even if they do leave out half of the standard South Indian chili peppers. This was a meal (Jens's meal) we were served on a holiday—a banana leaf with different curries, chutneys, rice and roti for eating with. Silverware—ha. Completely unnecessary.
