In a blaze of glory, as the bus kicked up a large dust storm signally the arrival of new visitors, "fresh meat", we arrived. Hampi is both a spiritual hub and also a tourist haven. Tour guides and tuk tuk drivers converged on us like hawks smelling fresh tourist blood - something we had been warned of.
We escaped the onslaught with firm NO's to all and made our way to the Shaanti Guest House. Apparently the better place to stay in town, it's jail-cell rooms and basic ammenities were modest at best. Nonetheless a welcome place to turn the ceiling fan on full and close ones eyes after the journey and rest.
New to us, we were required to check in at the police station -which was hidden in the ruins- and register our cameras! Not the best way to get happy safe feelings about visiting a new town.
[Pictures start here: Hampi]
It was suggested by the Proprietor in Bangalore that a guy, Nagaraj, take us on a big tour of Hampi. Nagaraj had kindly handed our India phone number to his friend who constantly rang offering his tuk tuk services! Perservence seems to be the way to making money here. It was not until later in the day did Sarah and I feel like venturing out
anyway.
We did in fact do a tour - an abridged afternoon tour. Our guide was another of Nagaraj's friends Prakesh, with the Tuk Tuk driver being none other than the guy who kept pestering us via phone. Both were lovely chaps. Prakesh was a softly spoken young man with a slight lisp, who for all we know could explain the history of the area very
well. But in the end his imparted knowledge probably needed to be cross-checked for validity! Tourists will nod at anything afterall!
Hampi is the site of ancient ruins once ruled by a number of dynasties of sultans (insert history here!!). It's location is a little odd as it is in the middle of no where. It was a trade hub primarily for the gold and precious stones mined in the area, as well as wheat, horses and other goods. In fact there were seven markets, for each day of the week that traded goods. The ancient area is guarded by a large natural stone wall-like hill line. Parallel to this wall ran a substantial river which now splits the current day city into two. Hampi is recognised as a World Heritage site and although we saw no restoration activity while there many of the ruins have been restored for religious and touristic use.
We were shown a number of temples, market places, statues, gateways, stone walls and water tanks. Each had a story to tell often related to religion or the everyday workings of the city. Impressive were the Elephant Stables, where eleven elephants are kept during festival time - with neighbouring elephant keeper quarters. The naturally air conditioned Lotus Mahal temple where servants would pour 60-70 buckets of water into a reservoir in the roof an hour before the queen wanted to reside there was also a beautifully designed and built building. Most impressive were the colours in the fading afternoon light.
Getting weary from the heat and sight-seeing we ended the afternoon sitting on a hilltop over looking the villages around Hampi waiting for the suin to set. Monkeys came to join. Actually access to this temple area was locked for the evening but our ever cheeky tour guide, with a glint in his eye took us around the corner and found a hole in the fence and further up the hill convinced th guard to let us through. Whether staged or not, we felt it was a great end to the evening. With the air considerably cooler we walked down the other side of the hill into the main street of Hampi and then along the river to the somewhat famous Mango Tree restaurant. It is beautifully set inside a banana plantation high on the river bank. We were both ravenous so tucked into two solid curries, naan and rice; with some thick fruit juice and sweet lassi's to wash it down.
We spent the last of the evening chatting with fellow travellers, a nomadic couple from Ireland looking to set up a Spanish Tapas restaurant in India and another two (sisters from Canada, one of which had worked in Mumbai for three years at an NGO focused on Education, her sister had come to visit but was struck with diahorea). Like so many times on this trip there was a jovial look into each others' lives and a fascination that no matter where you came from or were going we shared time together at that moment, just for the moment.
Up early on our second and last day in Hampi, we headed to the river as we had been told that the one elephant of the village was getting bathed. This was the case - but of more interest was watching the families wash in the river, wash their clothes and let them dry laid out of the river banks in the escalating morning heat. The women had a separate section in the distance away from us while those nearer were a mix of men (in their underwear) and women (skin fully covered of course). We had a bite to eat on a rooftop restaurant on our way home - the onion and tomato omelette was delicious! I actually wanted something more local but upon asking our host what she had for breakfast and if I could have some I got a blush and told to go to another place where she had eaten this morning and that I could buy the small bites there.
The grand plan of the day was to join the irish and canadians out to "the underground waterfalls" just a short tuk tuk ride out of town. We headed off first and at the end of the road were shown a small path through the banana trees. The driver bade us farewell saying he'd be there in 3 hours to pick us up. Thinking we could simply follow a path out there was a little naïve but e headed off anyway. As we emerged on the otherside of the plantation and in the river bed we realised we had no idea where this place was - it certainly wasn't obvious. Behind us appeared a young farm boy in bare feet, ripped shirt and jeans and began to lead the way. Few words were spoken other than "this is my land where I work" and "waterfall this way". Our Canadian friend, Melon, was happy to follow but Sarah not so, questioning that this was a good idea. Faith in the local farmer prevailed and after trekking through tall reeds, mixed grasses, around fences, over small creeks and rock until the sound of water became louder and louder and til finally we saw a waterfall 'underground'!
We were surrounded by a dark granit/basalt rock pile between a valley of even larger rocks. It was as though a dump truck tipped out huge smashed rocks in the creek. There some large pools of water. These were joined by a flow of water that made its way through the gaps in the rock. Water + time = some beautiful shapes. Water and pebbles had gouged a path through and over the rocks to create some incredible formations mainly below where we were standing. The shapes were very organic in nature, very smooth lines, often repetitive. Dry rock pools some with fish skeletons in them- indicate that water is often higher than it was now. Our guide showed us a large pool where a local had committed suicide two years earlier after a drunken binge (suspected marriage related).
Our picnic spot was a little upstream where the water was deep and the river wide. On the rocks we parked our things before one by one we jumped into the perfect temperature - not hot, not cold water. Our ever present guide kept an eye on us (he only had one functioning eye) while splashed and giggled about. Being a boy is considerably easier than being a female in India when it comes to clothing and in this case bathing. While it's fine for me to be wearing short shorts, women are expected to be fully covered, making swimming cumbersome.
I went off like a good little boyscout exploring the rock formations. In some areas of the pool, the water was shallow over the rocks underneath. Sliding over the smooth slimey rocks enabled progress across to the next pool. I climbed around the rocks on the other side and ended up at the downstream end of the pool talking with a German family we had seen a number of times in Hampi. The mother was German, the father Indian. The nice part to the story was that they met while she was on a short spontaneous two week trip to India many years ago, the Father had been in Heidelberg for some years already and was back in India for a family visit. Meeting back in Germany and well "lived happily ever after". Her comment to us was - "you might only two weeks in India but it can still change your life". In the background the kids, speaking German, were splashing and having a grand time only their yearly trip to India.
The Irish joined with a swiss friend a little later and we all ate pineapple and watermelon back at our spot up stream. Further swimming, exploring and eating ensued, before we headed back to have a shower, have lunch on another rooftop restaurant in the breeze (note this meal for later) and also pack for the next leg.
The two of us and the two Canadians piled into Mr Paul's rickshaw bound for Hospete. Mr Paul was the brother of the manager of the guest house. his marketing was better than most with business cards and glossy pictures presenting his face in the hope of selling more tuk-tuk kilometres. I rode side-saddle on the front bench while the three girls plus packs were jammed on the back seat.
Back up the hill out of Hampi (pushing the tuk-tuk to the limit) and back through the villages we went to Paulo's bus stop. This was where we were to meet our sleeper bus to Gokarna and where the nightmare began.
We escaped the onslaught with firm NO's to all and made our way to the Shaanti Guest House. Apparently the better place to stay in town, it's jail-cell rooms and basic ammenities were modest at best. Nonetheless a welcome place to turn the ceiling fan on full and close ones eyes after the journey and rest.
New to us, we were required to check in at the police station -which was hidden in the ruins- and register our cameras! Not the best way to get happy safe feelings about visiting a new town.
[Pictures start here: Hampi]
It was suggested by the Proprietor in Bangalore that a guy, Nagaraj, take us on a big tour of Hampi. Nagaraj had kindly handed our India phone number to his friend who constantly rang offering his tuk tuk services! Perservence seems to be the way to making money here. It was not until later in the day did Sarah and I feel like venturing out
anyway.
We did in fact do a tour - an abridged afternoon tour. Our guide was another of Nagaraj's friends Prakesh, with the Tuk Tuk driver being none other than the guy who kept pestering us via phone. Both were lovely chaps. Prakesh was a softly spoken young man with a slight lisp, who for all we know could explain the history of the area very
well. But in the end his imparted knowledge probably needed to be cross-checked for validity! Tourists will nod at anything afterall!
Hampi is the site of ancient ruins once ruled by a number of dynasties of sultans (insert history here!!). It's location is a little odd as it is in the middle of no where. It was a trade hub primarily for the gold and precious stones mined in the area, as well as wheat, horses and other goods. In fact there were seven markets, for each day of the week that traded goods. The ancient area is guarded by a large natural stone wall-like hill line. Parallel to this wall ran a substantial river which now splits the current day city into two. Hampi is recognised as a World Heritage site and although we saw no restoration activity while there many of the ruins have been restored for religious and touristic use.
We were shown a number of temples, market places, statues, gateways, stone walls and water tanks. Each had a story to tell often related to religion or the everyday workings of the city. Impressive were the Elephant Stables, where eleven elephants are kept during festival time - with neighbouring elephant keeper quarters. The naturally air conditioned Lotus Mahal temple where servants would pour 60-70 buckets of water into a reservoir in the roof an hour before the queen wanted to reside there was also a beautifully designed and built building. Most impressive were the colours in the fading afternoon light.
Getting weary from the heat and sight-seeing we ended the afternoon sitting on a hilltop over looking the villages around Hampi waiting for the suin to set. Monkeys came to join. Actually access to this temple area was locked for the evening but our ever cheeky tour guide, with a glint in his eye took us around the corner and found a hole in the fence and further up the hill convinced th guard to let us through. Whether staged or not, we felt it was a great end to the evening. With the air considerably cooler we walked down the other side of the hill into the main street of Hampi and then along the river to the somewhat famous Mango Tree restaurant. It is beautifully set inside a banana plantation high on the river bank. We were both ravenous so tucked into two solid curries, naan and rice; with some thick fruit juice and sweet lassi's to wash it down.
We spent the last of the evening chatting with fellow travellers, a nomadic couple from Ireland looking to set up a Spanish Tapas restaurant in India and another two (sisters from Canada, one of which had worked in Mumbai for three years at an NGO focused on Education, her sister had come to visit but was struck with diahorea). Like so many times on this trip there was a jovial look into each others' lives and a fascination that no matter where you came from or were going we shared time together at that moment, just for the moment.
Up early on our second and last day in Hampi, we headed to the river as we had been told that the one elephant of the village was getting bathed. This was the case - but of more interest was watching the families wash in the river, wash their clothes and let them dry laid out of the river banks in the escalating morning heat. The women had a separate section in the distance away from us while those nearer were a mix of men (in their underwear) and women (skin fully covered of course). We had a bite to eat on a rooftop restaurant on our way home - the onion and tomato omelette was delicious! I actually wanted something more local but upon asking our host what she had for breakfast and if I could have some I got a blush and told to go to another place where she had eaten this morning and that I could buy the small bites there.
The grand plan of the day was to join the irish and canadians out to "the underground waterfalls" just a short tuk tuk ride out of town. We headed off first and at the end of the road were shown a small path through the banana trees. The driver bade us farewell saying he'd be there in 3 hours to pick us up. Thinking we could simply follow a path out there was a little naïve but e headed off anyway. As we emerged on the otherside of the plantation and in the river bed we realised we had no idea where this place was - it certainly wasn't obvious. Behind us appeared a young farm boy in bare feet, ripped shirt and jeans and began to lead the way. Few words were spoken other than "this is my land where I work" and "waterfall this way". Our Canadian friend, Melon, was happy to follow but Sarah not so, questioning that this was a good idea. Faith in the local farmer prevailed and after trekking through tall reeds, mixed grasses, around fences, over small creeks and rock until the sound of water became louder and louder and til finally we saw a waterfall 'underground'!
We were surrounded by a dark granit/basalt rock pile between a valley of even larger rocks. It was as though a dump truck tipped out huge smashed rocks in the creek. There some large pools of water. These were joined by a flow of water that made its way through the gaps in the rock. Water + time = some beautiful shapes. Water and pebbles had gouged a path through and over the rocks to create some incredible formations mainly below where we were standing. The shapes were very organic in nature, very smooth lines, often repetitive. Dry rock pools some with fish skeletons in them- indicate that water is often higher than it was now. Our guide showed us a large pool where a local had committed suicide two years earlier after a drunken binge (suspected marriage related).
Our picnic spot was a little upstream where the water was deep and the river wide. On the rocks we parked our things before one by one we jumped into the perfect temperature - not hot, not cold water. Our ever present guide kept an eye on us (he only had one functioning eye) while splashed and giggled about. Being a boy is considerably easier than being a female in India when it comes to clothing and in this case bathing. While it's fine for me to be wearing short shorts, women are expected to be fully covered, making swimming cumbersome.
I went off like a good little boyscout exploring the rock formations. In some areas of the pool, the water was shallow over the rocks underneath. Sliding over the smooth slimey rocks enabled progress across to the next pool. I climbed around the rocks on the other side and ended up at the downstream end of the pool talking with a German family we had seen a number of times in Hampi. The mother was German, the father Indian. The nice part to the story was that they met while she was on a short spontaneous two week trip to India many years ago, the Father had been in Heidelberg for some years already and was back in India for a family visit. Meeting back in Germany and well "lived happily ever after". Her comment to us was - "you might only two weeks in India but it can still change your life". In the background the kids, speaking German, were splashing and having a grand time only their yearly trip to India.
The Irish joined with a swiss friend a little later and we all ate pineapple and watermelon back at our spot up stream. Further swimming, exploring and eating ensued, before we headed back to have a shower, have lunch on another rooftop restaurant in the breeze (note this meal for later) and also pack for the next leg.
The two of us and the two Canadians piled into Mr Paul's rickshaw bound for Hospete. Mr Paul was the brother of the manager of the guest house. his marketing was better than most with business cards and glossy pictures presenting his face in the hope of selling more tuk-tuk kilometres. I rode side-saddle on the front bench while the three girls plus packs were jammed on the back seat.
Back up the hill out of Hampi (pushing the tuk-tuk to the limit) and back through the villages we went to Paulo's bus stop. This was where we were to meet our sleeper bus to Gokarna and where the nightmare began.
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