We awoke on the Hampi Express amidst a completely different terrain than the day before. Gone was the city and instead we were surrounded by hills, brush, and boulders.
We had arranged for a rickshaw to meet us at the train, which turned out to be a very good idea since the small station seemed overrun with people. Hampi is the site of ancient temples scattered among a surreal bouldered landscape. It’s normally a quiet, easy going town, a place to relax and reflect while exploring the ruins. What we arrived into was a huge celebration for the 500th year anniversary of the crowning of an influential sultan. 200,000 people had descended on the sleepy town for the 5 day long festival transforming it into a hive of activity. People were camped everywhere and relaxation was not going to be an option.
Meg was still not feeling well, so she took refuge in our guesthouse room and decided to get some sleep. I decided to head out and have a look around the town. Hampi was an incredible place; it seemed to be disjointed from time. It was set among a fascinating landscape, and it was surrounded by countless crumbling but elaborate temples.
I wandered into a small temple which was dedicated to the monkey god.
Some of the temples were still in use; and the main ghat was full of people bathing and washing clothes.
While I was walking the path through the temple sites, a jovial group of young Indian guys struck up a conversation with me. They were curious about the usual: Where was I from? Where was I going in India? Do I have a wife and kids? They also really wanted me to take their picture.
Ever present in India are sacred cows. This one, which was wandering among the ruins, seemed particularly interested in me.
Back in town, merchants had swarmed the city as well, intending to capitalize on the mass of people. This picture is of some women haggling with a seller of powdered dye. The dye is used for clothing, painting and bindi dots.
With Meg not feeling well, and our surroundings not being conducive to rest, we decided to push on to Goa. We had a good hotel booked in Goa and would be stationary for 4 or 5 days. This would provide Meg a better place to recover, even though getting there was going to be tough. With only 3 trains running a week to Hampi, our only option was a humourously termed “sleeper bus”. When I bought our tickets, I had been shown photos of a new air conditioned volvo luxury tourist bus with smiling passengers. When the bus pulled up to the station, it was clearly not the bus from the pictures. It was open air, cramped, and infested with bed bugs. I should say though that compared to the local public bus option, this was luxury.
That bunk you see is supposed to be for two people; we managed to bribe the driver a few rupees to get an extra bunk. During the bumpy and dusty 16 hour ride, we were awoken a few times as our bodies were tossed airborne. The next morning we awoke to the driver calling out our stop. 30 frantic seconds later Meg and I were standing alone, bleary eyed, and a bit disoriented on the side of the road in beautiful tropical Goa.
We flagged down a rickshaw and were happy to find that our guesthouse was only a few kilometers away.