… hampi, and bubbles of time
Hampi (as in ‘humpy’) is another of those pieces of India that are somehow in a bubble of time. Like nothing has changed there for a 1000 years, maybe an empire or two rise and fall, and leave their assorted bits and pieces lying around …
The scenery is lush piled on desolation. Granite pebbles are thrown across the countryside. Ruins of a 16th century empire are thrown about the cliffs almost as randomly as the boulders. Most date from this empire (Vijayanagar) and many predate it. Walls run through the middle of town. The main stretch of Hampi runs along the old bazaar. A river splits the town, with most of the town on one side, and a few hotels and restaurants on the other. A boat takes you across the river for 10Rs. Along the river rice fields, with patches of peanuts, banana plantations on this side. A green belt runs up to the local dam, but beyond this strip, the land is bare, harsh.
With boulders, cliffs, desolate plains, rich fields, it’s a perfect setting for a curry western … where’s the Indian Sergio Leone. I can hear the twangin epic guitar string mash as our hero rides across the country to do whatever it is that propels a meandering indian cowboy epic into it’s next song and dance number. Hoe down sari action. And then … lonesome sitar rolls over the silence as the story winds to it’s umpteenth minor climax … the bemustached bad guys, and their white accomplices, come down the main street on their stallions … or camels … our bemustached hero at the other end of the main street. Standing alone.And as the tabla builds tension and our sitar theme picks up pace … all the town villagers pour onto the street in their (matching) finest traditional outfits for a moment of uninhibitted joy. A trance beat comes in. Suddenly the hero in sunglasses, jeans and a stripey shirt is dancing with the heroine, a bastion of Indian virtue,with feathers in her hair and wearing an unrelated series of richly decorated saris. The villagers are behind them with synchronised dancing … hi speed yoga twists and pelvic thrusts. And … the music fades, the hero on one side of the town the white guys and bad Indian on the other. A flurry of desparately relaxed slow mo jumps, a couple of bombs a flurry of synchronised bullet shots and tabla breaks … the other guys are a mess, our hero has managed to change his shirt, and the heroine pops out with the rest of the villagers. A near miss kiss, some hot looks, chearing by the villagers, another quick dance number, and … end titles.
For a short while I am hanging out with Stewart, an English guy I met on the train from Bangalore. An IT guy, he has been travelling for over a year, mainly SE asia. We’re heading in roughly the s ame direction … it is a help having someone else around, watching bags etc, and at the same time it’s awkard fitting into someone else’s agenda, or any concocted compromises. I’ve gotten used to travelling alone.
So back to Hampi. It is an almost perfect location for rock climbing (low level/bouldering), with a climbing groups coming more frequently, scant information available from a few shops, a guide book promised in Indian time. There is a ban on new bolts placed, and very few old ones placed with any reliability. Several places look like there is the possibility of longer routes. The sun is unforgiving here and the rocks get hot. But there is chalk in many totally improbable places.
Being a tourist destination, there are a lot of touts and tourist services in town. Lots of autos. End of season, trade dries up. There are a lot of drivers for a small town. They are a bit of a nuisance. I find a hotel across the river, where it is supposed to be a bit quieter, and where there is more of a social scene. Nice room for 150Rs, with insect net, a view over ripening rice fields across the river valley … and a private loo. Handy. I have a wierd belly kicking in.
It is close to the end of season, and the parties are drying up. Still there are a lot of packpackers floating around, and one restaurant still open. Proper Indian food in short supply,with Israeli and Continental food more readily available. German bakers everywhere (in season!) … I eventually succumb to muesli and fruit salad. The swimming pool promised at one place is closed, and dry anyway, and can’t you see that the door is locked.
Second day is a walk to the monkey temple, another hill climb event, and a stunning view of the entire valley. Monkeys badger you along the climb to the temple. They know this is their place. Some very challenging rock climbs attempted here. Daunting. The temple itself is a newer building, but it houses an old old rock carved shrine of the monkey god. Amazing view that covers the hampi side, the area of world heritage temples, the scattering of hill temples, new and old, assorted walls and forts.
A walk to the other side, to prove that a boat ride was not necessary … though if the river were any higher my phone would have been in danger, and a great wander around the temples and shrines in the main part of town.
One of the interesting quirks of Hampi is that, outside of the world heritage area (fenced off and with a 5$ cover charge) there is no break between where town ends and protected monument begins. There is a large bull sculpture, and several pavilions with steps running down to the ancient bazaar. About halfway through this there are houses and walls build into the ancient bazaar rooves, several that are major two story structures, flowing into regular houses and shops.
The ancient siva temple is still in use, the temple elephant, Lakshmi, gives blessings, a pat on the head with her trunk, for a one rupee coin. An Indian that has caught up with inflation, and a temple worker who prefers coins to notes … amazing. Very gentle creature with a nice vibe about her … though if she sat on you there would be extremely messy. Some offerings made to the Laxmi, and to Siva. Interesting friezes on the gopuram which is quite a large on … Mostly priests and kings … with a few nice Indian girls doing things that nice Indian girls don’t do… at least my understanding of the friezes and the afterhours habits of nice Indian girls.
One interesting character met is Derek who has spent much of the last 30 years here. Elements of Shankaram, an Indian wife who died, a few years cooking in an ashram, family here, a brother who runs a child welfare/halfway house in AP … much travel throughout the whole of India … speaks several languages, including Kannada and Telugu. Survived Malaria and Cancer. Eventually find out that he has been busted for grass, and has a trial coming up. But very cheerful through it all.
The days slowly ease down to nothing. It helps to take the Bangalore edge off of the journey. Working on the raga again … a bit more constructively now that the computer is in operation again. But it feels like a bubble. The sort of place you could just stay another day and another … Real India and yet not real India. Much like Gokarna. It seems like it’s getting hard to leave. Bookings for train are awkward, I have no mobile access, and no internet. A few words with travel agents confuses the situation regarding trains on to Goa. The night bus is expensive and … a bus. Time to run …
Damn reservations, Stewart and I head onward local bus by local bus. To Hospet then Hubli, with a 6 hour wait for the last stint in to Panaji. A 12 hour hellride by bus. Thoroughly not reccomended, but doable, and better taken with a 6 hour break. Fortunately, some friends back in Australia are having a crisis with a web site, and yes, I have to fix it up … in the middle of a jumbled bus station in India.
