Hampi

We arrived in Hampi shattered after our sleepless night. The train station was full of tourists, touts, beggars and stray dogs and none of us had the energy to deal with it. Somehow a local kid had spotted a packet of biscuits in G's bag and kept loitering around us, saying repeatedly "biscuit?". G, V and I dragged our luggage over to two waiting tuk tuks. V climbed aboard one and G and I the other. G relinquished his packet of biscuits to the random kid and we headed off for our hotel.

V organised our accommodation for the Hampi trip and had decided to splurge on the best hotel in the area, KSTDC Hotel Ayura Bhuvaneshwari. This is a government run hotel and boasts the only legal bar in the area. V had booked G and me the presidential suite ($30US per night) after checking (of course) that it had, indeed, hosted dignitaries in the past and would do so in the future (the following week the Prime Minister would stay there, we were told). While the hotel is, apparently, the best in the area, that says more about its competition than the hotel itself. Our room was enormous and very comfortable, with TV and air conditioning. However, the system for locking the door left a bit to be desired involving, as it did, a fist-sized hole in the door, a chair propping up the door and a padlock. Probably secure, but not quite as aesthetically pleasing as the traditional lock and key method of locking a door.

Tired, hungry and grumpy, I think all three of us had our doubts about Hampi. However, as soon as we got out and started to explore, our doubts were erased.

Hampi was the site of a capital which began being built in 1336. In 1565 it was razed to the ground by a confederacy of Deccan sultanates. It now remains a city of ruins. The landscape itself, even aside from the ruins, is fascinating. Ancient volcanic activity has created a dramatic landscape of boulders and mountains. The ruins are set in this landscape. We would wander up and down hills, through seemingly uninhabitable terrain and stumble upon temples, built into the sheer sides of these mountains.

On the second day we hired bikes to explore the area. Sadly, G managed to injure himself early in the day which put a premature end to our biking. He injured his ankle not riding a bike, or climbing amongst the boulders, but not watching his feet when walking down some stairs. V and I kept exploring amongst the boulders, however, leaving G to befriend local policemen, children and various other people who would invariably sit down and chat to him. The three of us also went on a roundboat trip, to get a different perspective of the ruins.

Hampi was the one place we went to in India where foreign tourists outnumbered domestic tourists and even locals. This meant that V got to experience the joy of being constantly started at, something G and I were now used to. He was also continually mistaken for a hired tour guide. He resorted to wearing his cap emblazoned with his work logo and his shorts with Harvard written on them, but it didn't help. He was still subjected to people trying to convince him to get "his foreigners" to purchase some bit of tat being sold (with V being promised a cut of commission, of course). In the end I think he derived a bit of fun from the situation, and would occasionally throw seemingly racist insults towards us (all in good humour of course), shocking and surprising the locals, who thought of course that he was insulting his clients. Meanwhile, we probably didn't help the situation by loudly referring to him as our "guide" whenever we were in earshot of locals.

The other thing we discovered about foreigners outnumbering domestic tourists and locals is it seems to mean the foreigners think they can behave in a way I'm sure they never would in their own countries. We saw countless men walking around, shirtless, and women wearing little more than knickers. Their general behaviour was frequently as inappropriate as their clothing.

Aside from the badly behaved tourists (which, to be honest, was actually quite amusing), and some questionable meals at questionable restaurants, Hampi was terrific.

After two nights and days exploring, it was back to the train station, to catch an sleeper train to Bangalore. V's father had booked our return train tickets and had succeeded in obtaining two first class tickets and one second AC class ticket. V gallantly took the second AC class ticket, leaving G and I with the first class. Compared to our previous sleeper train trip, it was sheer luxury. G and I had a compartment all to ourselves. The toilets were no better but there were no snorers in earshot and I slept like a log.

Chennai - Hampi

The next morning, V took us on a quick tour of Chennai, his home town. The Lonely Planet had not given us high hopes for Chennai. This is what it has to say about V's home town:

"No matter how determined you are, you'd be pretty hard pressed to find much to
gush about when it comes to Chennai. The streets are clogged with traffic, the
weather oppressively hot, the air heavy with smog, and sites of any interest are
uncooperatively thin on the ground."

I think the Lonely Planet, once again, is wrong. I love Chennai. It's a really pretty city, built around water and with a beach. The Courthouse is beautiful (although poorly maintained) and the city generally has a great feel to it. It is far more relaxed than Delhi and feels a bit more affluent. There were far fewer beggars and impoverished looking people. That meant I could be a tourist without suffering the constant flashes of white middle-class guilt I felt in Delhi.

After our brief tour it was off to the train station. V, G and I were catching a train to Bangalore and then a sleeper train to Hampi.

The first leg of the journey we were in Second AC class. This was the best class available for that train. However, it was not comparable even to business class in English trains (which, as you know, has not impressed me). For example, as V put it in an email to us before we arrived, you can not take a crap on the train. This isn't due to lack of facilities. There are facilities in the form of both a European-style and squat toilet, which have a hole in the middle through which you can see the train below. Rather, the inability to take a crap in a train is more (as V delicately explained in his email) due to issues of comfort and hygiene. There were also a concerning number of cockroaches on the train. At least in V I found someone who is as terrified of the little beasts as I am, and much of the train journey was spent with V and me squealing and recoiling in horror as G squashed the cockroaches coming dangerously close to our chairs.

At least there is a ready supply of food on the trains. There was always someone walking up and down the isles shouting out "bread omelet" or "soup, tomato soup". G discovered a previously unknown skill in imitating the monotonous shouting of the food sellers, which provided an endless source of amusement for him and V for the rest of the trip (another example of the ability of men to repeat the same joke endlessly and still find it funny). G and I were rather tempted to sample the wares on offer, particularly given we had packed only rather soggy looking subway rolls for our dinner. But every time V caught us looking at the food going by he would simply shake his head and say "no, that will DEFINITELY kill you." So we avoided the certainty of an immediate death and stuck to our subway subs.

I can't even remember how long the first leg of the train journey was. I think it was somewhere between 4 - 7 hours, but it went pretty quickly thanks to having good company to keep me entertained.

After that train journey it was another train, this time a sleeper train. Again we were second AC class.

A second AC sleeper train carriage consists of small compartments containing four beds (two bunk beds). Each compartment is separated from the one next to it by a thin dividing wall. The compartments are open to the train corridor, with only a curtain for privacy.

G and I were in one compartment and V was down the corridor. My bed (on the upper bunk) was surprisingly comfortable. However, neither G nor I slept a wink. This was because we were surrounded by snorers. And not just snorers of the ordinary kind; this was high-volume snoring. Both the men in our compartment were snoring, as were the men in the opposite compartment and the two compartments on either side of us. It got to the point where, sleep deprived and delirious, I started imaging tunes comprised of the beats of the snoring. V fared a little better. Aside from some noisy German tourists, his part of the carriage was relatively quiet.

Finally, after our long and sleepless night, we arrived in Hampi.