Amidst Ancient Ruins in Hampi (Karnataka, January 2-7, 2009)

I arrive in Hampi in the early evening. Uncle Mike sent me an email telling me to cross the small Tungabhadra River from the Hampi Bazaar to Virupapur Gaddi. The latter is more laid-back and quiet, and supposedly lodging is less expensive. Unfortunately, I arrive after the last boat shuttle departure at about 6pm. Almost all of Hampi's rooms are full, making bargaining almost impossible. I am at a loss for where to stay.

Finally, one hotel owner suggests I stay at the restaurant above his hotel--a roof restaurant. There is covering, and the weather is warm, so I don't technically need a room. I won't have a shower, and I'll have to wait until the patrons leave for the evening to fall asleep, and wake in the morning when the noise of the street starts. I am disappointed, but it seems like my only choice, and the restaurant owner agrees to let me stay for a fee. It is illegal, and I have a feeling I won't sleep well being so exposed. I decide to leave my bag at the restaurant and take a walk around to make sure this is the only place I can find. Without my heavy bag, I'll be able to do a more thorough investigation.

Finally, I come across a grim option--I think it's called the Krishna Guesthouse. I cannot recall exactly, but it is something like an above-ground cellar, with concrete walls that are painted a bright blue-green, and a series of small cells with bars across the windows. I can't bargain, but it's reasonable, so I go back to the restaurant, pick up my bag, and move in. At least there is a mosquito net over the bed.

The next morning, I am anxious to get across the river and find a place in Virupapur Gaddi. If Hampi Bazaar is so full, I figure I'll have to get there early to find a good room at a good price. While I'm waiting for the boat to arrive, I find a great photo opportunity of some Indian girls doing their ritual bathing and grooming in the river.

The river is quite narrow; I can easily see on the other side the small motor boat that is to shuttle the crowd slowly gathering around. It touches either side about every thirty minutes. Finally, it arrives. I climb in, being careful to balance with my pack on. In addition to the young man operating the motor, a young boy works to collect Rs 10 (and a little more for luggage) from each passenger.

We arrive at the other side and disembark. Up a short hill of dry mud, and I begin to see the first signs of tourist hostels and restaurants. It seems Hampi exists purely because of tourism, and I can't help but be disappointed. This trip has taught me that although Uncle Mike and I have been to many of the same places, we seem to be drawn to and satisfied by different facets of these places. It is clear that Hampi is a climber's paradise--it is a tourist town surrounded by boulders and ancient ruins carved out of and into rock. After a day of climbing, the climber can return to his comfortable, cheap hostel, order all types of cuisine at little expense, or buy hashish easily from one of the many dealers whispering in ears trying to make a sale. But this scene is not for me.

Nonetheless, I am still a bit ill with my lung infection contracted while at the ashram, and I reckon this will be an easy place to get some rest. The pace is relaxed, I'm surrounded by more tourists than Indians, and there's not too much to see, so I don't feel like I'm missing out. Plus, rooming here is very cheap, as most of the rooms are thatched-roof bungalows or huts.

I walk down a long dirt road lined with places to stay and eat. I try to find a place to stay, but many are full. Finally, near the end of the road, I take a right onto a side road, and find a small cluster of thatched-roof bungalows. All but one are vacant, and I stay here. It is one of the cheapest places I've stayed, so I feel good about using Hampi as a resting location.

The only other person staying at this same place is a man who has been coming here since before Hampi was on the tourist trail. I think he's German, if I remember correctly. He is a rock climber and, apparently, an old hippie. He's very angry that Hampi has sold out, and is preparing to go into nature for a while, away from the impurity that Hampi has become. I don't like his energy, but he's the only person I have to talk with. The man running the hotel (who takes my money, sweeps the bungalow with a broom of straw, and makes sure I have a mosquito net) seems to indicate his wife is sick. Something with her lungs. I wonder if we have the same thing. The angry climber said she used to make wonderful meals, but she can't this time around.