It's time to get off the beach and see some of India that isn't covered in sand and raining coconuts.
March 4th:
We book a sleeper coach to Hampi, nine hours inland in the Karnataka state, meant to to be a magnetically charming village built amongst the Vijayanagara Empire ruins. We board the bus and settle into the very back row that's one flat bed to sleep five, perfect. Sleep however, is not in the cards tonight, as I soon realize the condition of the roads will not get any better. Potholes plague the asphault and being in the back we catch the worst of it; playing musical chairs mid-air. On top of being notoriously bad roads, they're also continuously busy; during the night there are just as many, if not more, of the huge diesel "Goods Carrier" trucks that dominate the narrow, unlined roads, taking their half from the middle.
When the sun finally comes up I cautiously peer out the window, mindful not to sit up fully in case we hit one of the abyssal holes that'll send my head into the bunk above. On the outskirts of the towns there are tent villages; homes erected from any material found, tarps, palm fronds and cloth. It isn't hard to imagine how devastating a storm or the monsoon is to these makeshift dwellings.
We arrive late morning and immediately know we're in for a treat. The landscape is majestic; smooth round boulders form mountains that rise around the village built along a slowly winding river, amongst temples that date back to the 14th century. The town of Hampi is sometimes confused with the ruined city, seeing how they built it smack in the middle of the Vijayanagara ruins. Monkeys perched on roofs eye us suspiciously as we wander through the narrow stone streets. We find a guesthouse overlooking the river with two available rooms at 300 rupees each, sold. After ditching our gear, mine which has that magical power of appearing heavier and more full with ever repack, we head out to explore. Hampi is a holy city, no meat or alcohol is sold within the walls. Cows wander freely, as in all of India, and as we're about to walk around a fresh steaming pie, a woman in an immaculate sparkling beaded blue sari swoops in and scoops up a handful of the dung. A few seconds later after she'd turned to walk back down the street with her loot, someone mentions it and Renee says "Oh my God, I thought I'd just imagined that!" No, it was real, but with so many things in India, you just sort of accept it without it fully registering.
Later that afternoon Josh and I are waiting in a cafe for the others to finish up with their internet session (Court's better at keeping up than I) and are struggling to carry on our conversation over the sound of monkey feet scampering across the corrugated metal roof. That evening we watch the sun set behind the hills, silhouetting temples, from our perch on a boulder we'd hopped to in the middle of the river. Women are beating laundry against rocks and laying them on the flat boulders to dry, colorfully quilting the brown rock.
The following day we're up at 7:00 to do some sightseeing, trying to beat the heat that settles into the still afternoon. We head towards the river and a man offers to take us down in his boat. The five of us pile into the round vessel made of bamboo, tarp and tar; I can't help but think of the teacup ride in Disneyland, a whole other fantastical world away. He's paddling us slowly down the smooth water, pointing out temples along the rocky edges; the meditation temple whose steps are carved into a boulder breaking from the water, a carved cow, the "monkey" temple off in the distance, home to 100's of pesky monkeys. We stop and get out, climbing through and over fallen temples that during monsoon time are submerged; carved Hindu gods are scattered throughout the debris and holy men can be spotted sitting silently in temples. Soon we're drifting again through the once mighty empire, imagining the bustle that engulfed the river's shore, centuries ago.
That evening we set out in an autorickshaw for another grouping of ruins a little farther from the city. After a day of looking at rocky ruins we're getting a bit creative and eager to entertain ourselves; we make up a little game that entails us each claiming a space in arched doorways so that we can't see each other, however the person standing out with the camera has a clear shot of us all. On the count of three everyone strikes a pose, resulting in some pretty funny photos; maybe it was just the heat.
The following morning we set a team record and are up at 5 am; Josh proving to be quite the accurate alarm clock, a far cry from his party/sleeping all day phase in Goa. We head down the main street in the bazaar, careful not to step in any yet undisturbed cow pies that were laid in the night. My eyes adjust to the light and on either side of the road are people, asleep on mats beside their goats, cows and carts. We walk quietly, enjoying the peace at this time of day; perhaps India does sleep.
At the end of the road we cut up past the tiered ruins and head for the hills, climbing up and up. We arrive and monkeys are swarming the hilltop temple, eying us each for what they can possibly steal. We buy chai from the man who says he's been up here for every sunrise and set for the past few years, and keep them close, away from all the thieving fingers lurking around.
We take in the sprawling landscape all around and far below; the river is flat and still, a dark ribbon threaded around hills and temples, palm trees line the rice fields. A "babu," holy man, sits on a rock ledge 30 ft below, wearing only a small bit of white cloth around his waist, he's doing yoga and meditating in the earliest morning light, supposedly extra energizing. As the sun drifts above the horizon, the river now turns to fire and the dozens of monkeys suddenly calm down, turning their mischievousness to a more practical task, grooming. Young and old partake in this morning ritual, allowing their bodies to go limp while several others mill over them, head to toe, moving their arms and legs when they need to get a better angle to pick.
We finally tear ourselves away from the awe inspiring vista as the sun is now high in the sky. Heat getting the better of our sightseeing for the day, we opt for a day at the lake. We take a taxi boat to the other side of the river where we hire an autorickshaw to take us to the reservoir a few kilometers away. We're greeted by a sign reading "DANGER: CROCODILES IN WATER, DO NOT SWIM." They're just kidding I'm sure, so we head for a large boulder, strip down and make the 20 ft jump...I'm careful to keep in the middle of the pack just in case though. Time flies and before we know it we're racing back across the river, stuffing our bags, and weaving in and out of traffic to get to the bus station the next town over. We're heading back to Palolem for a day before catching the train down to Kerala. Court's counting modes of transportation we pass; buses, train, bikes, camel, hand peddled wheelchair, ox drawn cart, elephant. I think if I saw T-Rex stroll by I wouldn't even blink.
Before I even get on the bus for the night journey I'm feeling a bit queazy, and by the time we're finally moving I'm having a hard time keeping it in. I do manage to hold back until we're out of the center of town, into thinner traffic, but it's not going to last long. Josh, worried that I'll get a side mirror to the temple if I stick my head out the window, offers to keep watch from a few windows down. I won't go into too much detail, but Josh didn't last long out the window as I paint the bus green. I can't lie down, let alone sleep, so I pass the night with my head rested in the window frame, ready when the urge strikes. Luckily it's only coming out of one end, no toilet on the bus could have made for a very sticky situation.....Ahhhh Delhi Belly!
We arrive back in Palolem, I'm weak, tired and not feeling too much better, and now Court's feeling ill too; welcome to the sick ward. We rent a bungalow a stone's throw from the beach and I hit the pillow, able to hear the waves which I won't be enjoying today. After a full day in bed we're feeling much better, almost up for the 15 hr train journey tonight, yeehaw!
The five of us board the sleeper train, which has, in proper Indian fashion, arrived over an hour late, and can't believe our eyes. We're speechless and shuffle quiet glances at each other. We are standing in a car with dozens of people and the "beds" are flat steel slabs stacked three per wall, held up by chains on the ceiling and walls; windows are barred and years of filth has collected on the antique fans struggling to buzz overhead. This is what prison on wheels is like. Luckily for me, I'm so exhausted from my belly battle that I'm fast asleep shortly after we pull from the station, in for my best sleep in days.
I awake late morning gaging on thick hot air. Unable to sit up fully I remain lying down, from where I can just barely see out of the top of the window. It looks beautiful, much more lush than Goa, but honetly I only catch a glimpse from my cattle-car cell. In that kind of heat and discomfort the only thing to do is sleep; I pass in and out of conciousness, too weary to even care. My waking moments are defined by a series of beggars passing through the car. A man with crippled legs, unable to stand, sweeping the train floor with two pieces of newspaper, cleaning his way down the coach; he stops when he sees our white faces to ask for 10 rupees. A young girl moves into our car, clapping together two rocks, singing in an unneccesarily loud and out of tune voice; I give her 2 rupees just to leave. A woman in a black sari hands me a card that says, in very broken English, that's she's deaf and dumb, is a widow and can not support her children. It's difficult not to give them all money, but with over a billion people in this country, and77% of them living on less than 20 rupees per day (not even 50 cents), I'd go broke in a minute.
I don't know it then, but what's waiting in Kerala will make this hellish ride worth every sweaty second.
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