Waking up to our second day, we were somewhat refreshed after a real sleep on a flat bed under the cooling flow and hypnotic click-thump-click-thump of the ceiling fan.
After a slow breakfast and chat with the owner in the cool of the verandah of the hostel we made for the nearest autorick-shaw. Two lessons of india here: one, the tuk-tuk and two, bargaining.
The tuk-tuk is a three wheeled, four speed, 2 stroke mode of transport driven like a motor bike at the front. They all have a yellow top and
usually black or dark green bottom. In the back there are three seats but anywhere between 1 and 9 indians have been jammed in to get between A and B. In the city most have analog/digital meters and can be rented for roughly 10 rupees per km as a base daytime rate. They are very nimble machines and great for anywhere up to 10km journeys. On the bargaining side - we had been told that choosing a tuk tuk with an analog meter was better. This we didn't do on our first trip, but were surprised that the ancient looking meter did finally give us a fair fare. That being said, the driver insisted on 10ruppees extra for no reason to which we just walked away. There are tuk tuk stories a plenty!
We met the boys at Forum, a large mall opposite Avinash's office. We enjoyed lunch from the food hall - that looked like any other food hall worldwise with all the top fast food brands and everything you
could think of. We settled for a few Dosa's and some side dishes.
After this we were driven all of 500m to Praful's house and also ran some other errands including another hunt for Kurta's at Fabindia to wear at the wedding. He lived very close to the office but still chose to drive - somewhat standard it seems. Living above a blind person school in a very nice rooftop apartment along a tree-lined street was his life and place of rest. We may stay there with him on the second stay in Bangalore.
Later we bid them farewell as they returned to their desks and we made our way to the tuk tuk rank to hail another. This time - we were again able to smell that the deal being offered wasn't quite right. The man
at the tuk tuk rank wanted to charge a fixed rate a little above what we thought was reasonable. In the end we wandered up the street and got on another tuk tuk with a digital meter and we were then on our
way to Cubbon Park. As expected the fare was a lot less that the fixed price - another little win against the "tourist tax" man who keeps trying to swindle us for cash!
Cubbon Park is a large expanse of garden and lawn nearly in the centre of Bangalore. Actually a peaceful place away from the hustle and bustle. Within the park boundaries is the High Court of Karnataka, a kids play area, the British Library and so forth. Actually there were probably more dogs (no that many) resting on the grass under the trees than people when we were there. It led us to think that the average Bangalorean is not phased by the sheer madness of the city hence not seeking respite! We enjoyed it nonetheless.
We went back to Casa Piccolo and after a shower and something to eat and another chat with the proprietors were back in a rickshaw on the way to Majestic bus station. Jammed into what seemed like an old show area were thousands of buses. It was dusk and so difficult to take photos sadly of this organised chaos. A number of times we were asked whether we need trips booked or something done for us. A friendly passer-by warned us strongly about these people and told us to be careful on our onward journey.
This has been a common theme - that the everyday person in India is genuine, friendly, open and helpful. Sadly, like everywhere, it takes just a few who try to rip you off. Subsequently this fear instills a constant state of alertness which, in the end, is unnecessarily exhausting. In most cases gut-feel has prevailed and we've had no
problems (thus far!!) and only positive, friendly and welcomingly warm experiences.
After a Lassi to kill time we were on our bus. Like everywhere in bus stations no one is able to give accurate information as to where or when a bus is leaving. After a number of people and taking an average of the answers has proven prudent.
The bus with very reclined chairs was muggy and sticky. The fabric on the seats had probably never been cleaned. The dimmed cabin lights gave it a very seedy budois feel. That would be the least of our worries.
A set of whistle sounds are used by a conductor outside to direct a bus through the bottleneck of buses jammed in the station any which way. And soon we were on our way. Outside the city we passed the vast expanse of low-lying buildings and tents that stretched as far as the key could see. Bangalore is said have doubled in population over the past 5-10 years to around 10-11m people something that is hard to fathom when walking the leafy streets of the city however here it is clear to see the huge populations living conditions.
A highway took us out of tow for the first hour. A constant honking and beeping clattered on our side. Soon we were getting more rural and the roads became narrower and of lower quality. It didn't take long for the bouncing and sharp braking to begin, the key features of the rest of our trip. There is a tendency for speed humps to be put along the main roads, this on top of huge pot holes and swept away sections of the road and other rubbish made the travel slow and rough. Needless to say, the suspension on the bus was probably ruined from some tough miles anyway. The driver battled on - dodging, weaving, honking, braking sharply and crunching gears while we did our best to get some rest. The indians on the bus were asleep in no time and happily snoozed all through this performance. For us, used to the smoothness of the ICE and autobahn it was not so easy to get accustomed to. There was one short stop for Chai but otherwise we made it through to Hospete arriving at 7am, two hours after the scheduled arrival time.
Along the way to Hospete we did get a glimpse of an indian morning. Even before sunrise locals were out and about getting started with their daily activities. In the cooler breeze at 5am it's probably a good chance to get a few things prepared for the day. Communal eating in tents seemed to be the norm. Oxen were being attached to carts
while dirty diesel engines were coaxed into life. Women swept the streets, collected dung for cooking and began another day. We're told it is school holiday time meaning a large number of kids played in the streets along the way.
Now we were well and truly in rural India. Again another world away from Bangalore. The usual performance of asking for the bus to Hampi was replied with varying responses. In the end, I noticed who the main conductor at the station was - an older man in his khakis, with a manicured beard, barking orders to those around him. He had a big book with dusty ruled pages in which he kept records. The conductors of the buses would hand him a piece of scrunched paper and a bundle of rupee notes. From this guy (and equivalents at other stations) I got the best answer. Soon we were away on the local bus to Hampi - ricketty old thing with no suspension, tin coachwork that creaked and rattled and bench seats with dirty blue vinyl covering. This bus had an open cockpit where we could view the driver wrestle the big, presumably un-power-assisted steering wheel, grind the gears and use his most important street fighting weapon - the horn. This guy had a pretty big horn and wasn't afraid to use it; happily running poor cyclists off the streets and blasting locals' eardrums in the simple pursuit of reaching his goal in record time. Through a number of villages the bus carrier'd past colourful temples and farm plots and banana plantations til we arrived in a blaze of glory at the dust carpark cum bus stop in Hampi.
After a slow breakfast and chat with the owner in the cool of the verandah of the hostel we made for the nearest autorick-shaw. Two lessons of india here: one, the tuk-tuk and two, bargaining.
The tuk-tuk is a three wheeled, four speed, 2 stroke mode of transport driven like a motor bike at the front. They all have a yellow top and
usually black or dark green bottom. In the back there are three seats but anywhere between 1 and 9 indians have been jammed in to get between A and B. In the city most have analog/digital meters and can be rented for roughly 10 rupees per km as a base daytime rate. They are very nimble machines and great for anywhere up to 10km journeys. On the bargaining side - we had been told that choosing a tuk tuk with an analog meter was better. This we didn't do on our first trip, but were surprised that the ancient looking meter did finally give us a fair fare. That being said, the driver insisted on 10ruppees extra for no reason to which we just walked away. There are tuk tuk stories a plenty!
We met the boys at Forum, a large mall opposite Avinash's office. We enjoyed lunch from the food hall - that looked like any other food hall worldwise with all the top fast food brands and everything you
could think of. We settled for a few Dosa's and some side dishes.
After this we were driven all of 500m to Praful's house and also ran some other errands including another hunt for Kurta's at Fabindia to wear at the wedding. He lived very close to the office but still chose to drive - somewhat standard it seems. Living above a blind person school in a very nice rooftop apartment along a tree-lined street was his life and place of rest. We may stay there with him on the second stay in Bangalore.
Later we bid them farewell as they returned to their desks and we made our way to the tuk tuk rank to hail another. This time - we were again able to smell that the deal being offered wasn't quite right. The man
at the tuk tuk rank wanted to charge a fixed rate a little above what we thought was reasonable. In the end we wandered up the street and got on another tuk tuk with a digital meter and we were then on our
way to Cubbon Park. As expected the fare was a lot less that the fixed price - another little win against the "tourist tax" man who keeps trying to swindle us for cash!
Cubbon Park is a large expanse of garden and lawn nearly in the centre of Bangalore. Actually a peaceful place away from the hustle and bustle. Within the park boundaries is the High Court of Karnataka, a kids play area, the British Library and so forth. Actually there were probably more dogs (no that many) resting on the grass under the trees than people when we were there. It led us to think that the average Bangalorean is not phased by the sheer madness of the city hence not seeking respite! We enjoyed it nonetheless.
We went back to Casa Piccolo and after a shower and something to eat and another chat with the proprietors were back in a rickshaw on the way to Majestic bus station. Jammed into what seemed like an old show area were thousands of buses. It was dusk and so difficult to take photos sadly of this organised chaos. A number of times we were asked whether we need trips booked or something done for us. A friendly passer-by warned us strongly about these people and told us to be careful on our onward journey.
This has been a common theme - that the everyday person in India is genuine, friendly, open and helpful. Sadly, like everywhere, it takes just a few who try to rip you off. Subsequently this fear instills a constant state of alertness which, in the end, is unnecessarily exhausting. In most cases gut-feel has prevailed and we've had no
problems (thus far!!) and only positive, friendly and welcomingly warm experiences.
After a Lassi to kill time we were on our bus. Like everywhere in bus stations no one is able to give accurate information as to where or when a bus is leaving. After a number of people and taking an average of the answers has proven prudent.
The bus with very reclined chairs was muggy and sticky. The fabric on the seats had probably never been cleaned. The dimmed cabin lights gave it a very seedy budois feel. That would be the least of our worries.
A set of whistle sounds are used by a conductor outside to direct a bus through the bottleneck of buses jammed in the station any which way. And soon we were on our way. Outside the city we passed the vast expanse of low-lying buildings and tents that stretched as far as the key could see. Bangalore is said have doubled in population over the past 5-10 years to around 10-11m people something that is hard to fathom when walking the leafy streets of the city however here it is clear to see the huge populations living conditions.
A highway took us out of tow for the first hour. A constant honking and beeping clattered on our side. Soon we were getting more rural and the roads became narrower and of lower quality. It didn't take long for the bouncing and sharp braking to begin, the key features of the rest of our trip. There is a tendency for speed humps to be put along the main roads, this on top of huge pot holes and swept away sections of the road and other rubbish made the travel slow and rough. Needless to say, the suspension on the bus was probably ruined from some tough miles anyway. The driver battled on - dodging, weaving, honking, braking sharply and crunching gears while we did our best to get some rest. The indians on the bus were asleep in no time and happily snoozed all through this performance. For us, used to the smoothness of the ICE and autobahn it was not so easy to get accustomed to. There was one short stop for Chai but otherwise we made it through to Hospete arriving at 7am, two hours after the scheduled arrival time.
Along the way to Hospete we did get a glimpse of an indian morning. Even before sunrise locals were out and about getting started with their daily activities. In the cooler breeze at 5am it's probably a good chance to get a few things prepared for the day. Communal eating in tents seemed to be the norm. Oxen were being attached to carts
while dirty diesel engines were coaxed into life. Women swept the streets, collected dung for cooking and began another day. We're told it is school holiday time meaning a large number of kids played in the streets along the way.
Now we were well and truly in rural India. Again another world away from Bangalore. The usual performance of asking for the bus to Hampi was replied with varying responses. In the end, I noticed who the main conductor at the station was - an older man in his khakis, with a manicured beard, barking orders to those around him. He had a big book with dusty ruled pages in which he kept records. The conductors of the buses would hand him a piece of scrunched paper and a bundle of rupee notes. From this guy (and equivalents at other stations) I got the best answer. Soon we were away on the local bus to Hampi - ricketty old thing with no suspension, tin coachwork that creaked and rattled and bench seats with dirty blue vinyl covering. This bus had an open cockpit where we could view the driver wrestle the big, presumably un-power-assisted steering wheel, grind the gears and use his most important street fighting weapon - the horn. This guy had a pretty big horn and wasn't afraid to use it; happily running poor cyclists off the streets and blasting locals' eardrums in the simple pursuit of reaching his goal in record time. Through a number of villages the bus carrier'd past colourful temples and farm plots and banana plantations til we arrived in a blaze of glory at the dust carpark cum bus stop in Hampi.
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