A typical conversation in Hampi times: "What did you do today?" "Oh me? I built some temples. You?" "Temples."

25 - 28 October

“Paradise” gets thrown around, and written about, way too easy.  Too many times in my travels, I have been told, “You need to go here”, or “This place is amazing”.

Hampi falls squarely onto the typical tourist trail and I was not expecting much from this place, but I had it on some good authority (from some of you kids back home) that it really is a place worth seeing, and the first-hand reviews from travelers having just been there seemed to confirm this.  So, with little expectation and it being (kinda – but not really) on my route down south, I made my way to the fabled town of monuments and ruins.

An overnight bus, filled with loud Israelis (are there really any other kind) was not a good omen, and this continued when we arrived at 5am, we could not get off the bus because of all the tuk tuk drivers vultures preying on the bus entrance, vying for our business.

Tuk tuk drivers are notoriously conniving, but I gave them the benefit of the doubt on this occasion (because I had few other options really), and asked a few where the buses where.  Obviously, because tuk tuk drivers are the worst, I was told over and over again that were no buses.  I knew though that they may not be the most objective or reliable source of information, when I saw two buses parked about 100m behind him, while they were lying to my face.

Bad mood fully set in, I figured what I should have known all along, that I would need to leave the tuk tuk area for some truth (#deepinsights).  I walked over to a tour agent who explained that I could get to where I needed to go, but it would take me over an hour and 3 buses to get there.  After verifying this information with a policeman nearby, I decided to take on the adventure, as a means to cool off.

After a little getting lost, and missing the first change over, I got to the village I was staying – Sanapur – indeed after about an hour and a half later, and 3 different buses.  The journey though was worth it, because it gave me the opportunity to get my bearings of the region, but more importantly, to see the beauty of what draws so many people to the area.

Waiting for my bus, some locals walked by.
Some crossroad near Sanapur

The bus was taking a while, and some other passed.
Just as helpful as the last.
Some crossroad near Sanapur

Some locals doing their washing.
Streets of Sanapur

The region is divided by a river into two main sections: the monument side, which falls into the town that is actually called Hampi, and “across the river”, which is filled by lots of far smaller little villages.  I was told by both travelers and my friends back home that across the river was better to stay: less noise and hustle, and more beautiful.  The reason for taking 3 buses was to get over the river and specifically to a backpacking hostel in Sanapur, which had been recommended by some French people I had met in Goa.  Normally getting to the other side of the river is a lot easier, but the large amount of rain that had fallen in the last few months meant the river was too high to cross by the small boats that normally ferry passengers to the other side, and therefore the only accessible route was an hour’s drive out of the way.

Why you stay across the river.
Sanapur

Legendary juice stand man.
Sanapur

Walking down the streets, across the river.
Sanapur

The great thing about Hampi (which from now on means both sides of the river) is that there are over 1,000 temples and ruins scattered across a massive area (over 40 km²), and in between these is very little development.  So you never feel crowded and even touring is a pleasure because there is just so much to see over such a large area.  If something is too crowded (which it never really was), you just move onto the next sight.  Even the main temples are relatively uncrowded and adjoined by vast areas of palm trees, rice paddies, and boulder-covered hills.

I arrived at Rambos (I mean, who does not want to stay at a place called Rambo), and was greeted by the owner – Ramu – who had apparently been given the name Rambo years ago and just stuck with it.  I was expecting a Rambo-themed hideout, but a chilled, laid back vibe would just have to do.

Not exactly themed like the movie franchise, but very nice still.
Rambos, Hampi

Had a very decent view.
Rambos, Hampi

That afternoon I walked around to orientate myself of the area and ended up climbing the 575 stairs to the Monkey temple on my side of the river to watch the sunset.  Here I met two travelling Indians, who invited me to join them on a temple tour the next day.  By the time I got down it was dark, and walked most of the 5 kilometres back to the backpackers in the rain, before getting a lift on the back of a lorry for the last 2km.

The view from Monkey temple.
Hampi

India has some of the best rules.
Monkey temple, Hampi

In case your legs were not sure.
Monkey temple, Hampi

Playing with the monkeys, at their temple.
Hampi

 Sunset at Monkey Temple.
Hampi

My new Indian friends had hired a tuk tuk driver, who actually turned out to be quite a legend, and restored my faith in the devilsh profession (at least temporarily).  We spent the whole day, literally from 7:30am – 6pm, going around some of the main monuments and ruins of Hampi.  Hampi arose as a powerful centre of trading, and was one of the biggest and richest cities of its time.  But as we went from temple to temple, I still could not comprehend how a city could actually build as many sites as there were, each with such size of construction, but simultaneously intricate detail and carving on each, individual stone.  Not sure how anyone got anything else done, as everyone must have been on permanent temple building duty.  Though, one forgets the power of a good old set of slaves.

Our tuk tuk driver for the day.
Hampi

My new friends for the day.
Hampi

A full south-indian thali.
Hampi

Fully stuffed, but finished it.
Hampi

Temples and ruins and ruins and temples.
Somewhere in Hampi

The monkeys have learnt to copy the humans.
Watching the sunset on Hemakutta hill,
Hampi

Virupaksha temple at sunset.
Hampi

Coming home from a long
day of temple seeing.
Hampi

In any event, after a long day of temple seeing, and eating at some local places our guide took us to, we got back to my friends’ place as dark was setting in.  I bode them farewell, and set off on my 2km walk home.  This time I was not rescued by any lorry when the heavens opened, and arrived home for the second night in the row drenched.  

It was not the best time for Rambo to ask me a favour, as I walked in, looking to just get dry and warm.  The backpackers had been overbooked, and he needed my bed.  He asked if I would not mind moving into his house, just a few hundred metres down the road.  Without much other choice really, I agreed, and relocated to his house.  The next day I called in my favour in return.  It was the semi-final of the Rugby World Cup, and there are not exactly many sports bars in Hampi (a place that does not sell meat or alcohol), let alone places to watch rugby.  He had a television in his house, and satellite, and he squared up his debt by letting me watch at his.  Just a normal day in India – watching a rugby game on the floor of a guesthouse owner’s house in the middle of an Indian village.

Vittala temple.
Hampi

Our tuk tuk driver where the king used to sit.
Hampi

The rugby world cup semis,
from the floor of my backpacker's
owner's house.
Hampi

Virupaksha temple lit up for Dewali.
Hampi

Approaching sunset on Hemakutta hill.
Hampi

Ahh Sanapur, you beaut.
Hampi

I mean seriously.
Hampi.

What did you have tonight? Me? Just the hummus

Anjuna 19 - 24 October

Goa is famed for its beaches and parties.  I got a taste of both when heading down to Anjuna from Mumbai for a few days.

Unfortunately, catching the tail end of a month-delayed monsoon, a lot of my time in Goa was spent indoors watching tremendous amounts of water come down, and more than I liked, being outdoors when the heavens opened too.  Like any Joburger though, desperate to get onto the beach, I braved colder and winder than ideal days to explore the immediate and surrounding beaches.

My first glimpse of the beach, and a sign of the weather to come.
Anjuna beach, Goa

Still nice though.  Palm trees help.
Anjuna beach, Goa

I was based in Anjuna, the area in Goa known for being a hub for psychedelic trance parties and things of that sort.

The Anjuna beach though is less paradisey, and more rocky, dark, sandy.  Further, and rather unfortunately, the whole Goan coast hugs the warm, Arabian sea.  Swimming unfortunately is not refreshing, and feels more like a warm salty bath (nice if you looking for a salty bath, but), not ideal when you trying to cool off from the hot, humid Goan weather).

A 20 minute walk out of Anjuna however takes you to the quieter, more ‘beach-towny’ Vagator.  It has a far nicer stretch of beach, and softer sand (although still gross warm water).  I tried to venture even further north, to Morgim beach, which was by far the nicest of the three I visited in the area, and also apparently a famous nesting ground for turtles, but alas, no turtles, and most of that day it rained.

The entrance to Vagator beach.
Goa

Clearly not the only desperate city slicker on the beach.
Vagator beach, Goa

Now that's a beach.
Morjim beach, Goa

Oooh.  Sun.
Morjim beach, Goa

With Goa being so popular with tourists, both local and international, Anjuna is full of restaurants, bars, and stalls selling souvenirs and other wares.  Alcohol here is about third of the price (or less) of the rest of India, but altogether the place offers very little in the way of experiencing an Indian culture.  Anjuna could very well be in any other country, and you would not even know.

Churchy, McChurch (real name)

About the most cultural

thing in Goa

Anjuna market, Goa.

Don't book your plane ticket

just for this

So with beaches not offering much, nor anything particularly Goan to experience, I decided to try out the other aspect of Goa folklore: its parties.

I intentionally decided to visit at the beginning of the season, so to avoid the huge crowds November (and even more so December) bring.  I was told that the uncharacteristic rain and an uncharacteristically slow start to the season meant that Anjuna was uncharacteristically not as busy as was characteristic for this time of year.  There were though enough people in the hostel and about the town to fill up the few places that had already opened their doors.

I knew people were serious about partying here, but not so much so as to be prepared for the causal conversations about how hard they indulge in it.  One conversation in particular stands out of when a French guy was nonchalantly telling the new group of people he had just met how perturbed he was when he found out a few days ago that the person who was passing around a joint had also put heroin in it.  I’m paraphrasing here, but basically, a serious case of accidentally taking class A drugs was discussed like:

“Ah man, when he told me after I had smoked with him that there was some heroin, I knew I had to lie down.  I had such a bad sleep because of my heart arrythmia”

Response from some of the group “Oh no, that’s so uncool”

“I know.  And it was that cheap, rubbish heroin too.”

The group “Ah, that’s the worst”

…continue with conversation about rabbits or the new, latest cooking show or something.

Ok, maybe I was not as prepared for partying in this area of the world as I thought.

Anyway, my first attempt at going out was not ideal.  It started with the taxi driver taking advantage of us not knowing the party we were going to was about 1km from our hostel, resulting in us agreeing on a ridiculous price for what was less than a 2 minute journey (disclaimer: I was just tagging along, so had no role in the poor planning or negotiations).  Also, it rained the whole night, so as dancing took place in the open air area, all patrons were soaked head to toe.  Not normally the worst when dancing, but surely so when your new shirt’s colours run making everything else you are wearing a little yellow. 

Some were more ready than others to party

Anjuna in full swing

Damn dirty hippies

Although nothing too bad, and granted, some good music, the worst was the hangover the next day and patchy memories of how I got home.  I put this down (mostly due to age, but also) with my body not being used to sugary rum, cheap beer and the abuse I traditionally inflict on it back home, on account of India not really being a place known for its drinking culture (outside of Goa), and therefore my resulting largely lack of exposure to such sins for the previous six or so months.

Seems like they have the hangover breakfast sorted.
Probably not the first one to ask for it.
Anjuna, Goa

Recovered, wiser and more trained, I spent my last night in Goa at an (indoor) party with some new friends from the hostel.  My naivety with this scene, though shone through once again when one of the group asked what I had “had” on the night.  As I had just wolfed down dinner in the restaurant below, in preparation of the night’s drinking, I innocently told her “just the hummus (platter)”.

Indoor allows for greater decor

Not sure why everything is so UV
and psychedelic

Ohh, fishy, fishy, fishy

Her confused look made me realise I had misinterpreted her question, and quickly tried to recover by telling her that I was only drinking.  We laughed.  Well she laughed, I embarrassingly chuckled.  Overall though, it was a fun night, until we walked home and the heavens opened one more time, convincing me that it was time to move on to (literally) greener pastures.

Overall, I did not find Goa to be the paradise people fly from across the world to visit.  It was nice to be at a beach, and early morning yoga with the waves crashing in the foreground is nothing to be scoffed at (before being hassled by a stray dog posse).  Maybe it was the rain, and maybe it is better inside season, but in my experience there are better beaches elsewhere, and far better parties too.  However, the booze is cheap and I guess it is somewhere to go if you are looking to try "hummus".

Back to typical India: bucket lists, disappointments and surprises

Pune 9 – 14 October & Mumbai 15 October – 18 October

Coming back into India, I flew to a city called Pune.  Pune is not a particularly notable city on any tourist trail, and I was only there to fulfill one bucket list item – watch a cricket match live in India.  

It had worked out just nicely, that the South African cricket team was touring India, while I was doing so too.  So I really had no choice, but to make sure I whipped out my flag and make my way to the stadium to ensure our team had the support they needed to triumph against the Indians in their backyard.

Back into India

Any cricket fan will know though that SA got thoroughly trounced in this game (and the series), so I will not write much about this.  Save to say, it was a nice stadium, although a 2 hour drive out of the city (4 hours in the car a day – cannot say I was not committed).

As the only South African supporter there, the partisan crowd did not need to translate their Hindi comments to English for me to understand how happy they were with India being so dominant (I did not help things by purposefully plonking myself in the middle of the Indian fans, waving and cheering loudly each time we get a run / did not go out – which were about in equal numbers).  

Finally, they do not serve beer at the stadiums, so I could not even drown my sorrows, and had to endure the painful torture, sober, and with full memory (obviously how I enjoy all my cricket matches #whatsinthebread).

"Queuing" for tickets
the only way the Punians know how 

Proudly flying the flag in
Maharashtra Cricket Association Stadium, Pune
(worst name for a stadium?)

That’s pretty much all I saw of Pune.

The next stop was Mumbai, where I was hosted in a family friend’s house.  Oh, I cannot explain the joy and warm fluffy feelings, after more than six months of backpacking, that comes with eating a home-cooked meal, and not sharing a bedroom or bathroom with others.  My generous hosts made sure that I was well looked after and fed me and showed me the sights of the city.

Mumbai is a big Indian city, and like any other, it is dirty, busy and crowded.  To its credit, the food there is the most diverse and some of the best I have had in India, but after a few days, I was ready to resume my travels, refreshed, belly full, and a backpack overflowing with fully laundered clothes.

The famous, crowded
trains of Mumbai 

Gateway of India,
Mumbai 

World's largest outdoor laundry.
Dhobi Ghat, Mumbai

Dirty, dirty shoreline.
Mumbai
#incredibleindia

I was catching an early 6am train to Goa and as I as got to the train platform, I realised I had not arranged any snacks for the just-under nine-hour trip.  My worries though were short-lived, as unpredictable India once again came to my surprise. 

The train that pulled up to the station was colourfully decorated – which is uncommon for Indian trains.  I did not think much of it.  My sense that I was in for a train journey, different to what I had experienced before here, was heightened though when I got onto the colourful train and the staff were in colourful Hawaiian shirts, as opposed to the smart, black and white, formal wear of previous conductors.  The seats were bigger than normal and the cabins a cool temperature because of the air-conditioners pumping through them.

First flag that this would be a different train experience.
Tejas express

A uniform that can
make anyone smile.
Tejas Express

When I got served a tea and biscuit by my new Hawaiian-clad best friend, I tried to research why I had fallen into such a paradise.  Turned out, completely by fluke, I had booked the luxury Tejas Express.  It is a normal train that runs from Mumbai to Goa (and was the only one in India, but since two more have launched), but with all the perks I mentioned above, to make passengers’ travels more comfortable.  Oh, they also served a delicious breakfast, snack and lunch, so my incompetence and ill-preparedness did not lead to my stomach suffering this time.

The journey, in my new luxury setting, was made even better as the vegetation outside shifted to more and more green, and was complimented with a number of waterways, as we entered the Goan state.

Moving south, into Goa, and greener pastures.
Tejas Express

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end and as abruptly as I was lifted into luxury, I was shoved back down to backpacking reality on reaching my destination in the state of Goa.  I had to catch a train and two busses in the pouring rain before arrive to the town of Anjuna – thoroughly soaked – where I would be looking to find out what all the fuss about Goa was about.  Oh, and I did not have a place to stay, so I arrived at 7pm that evening, travel weary, but still energised from my little slice of luck and fancy train journey.  

Back to the normal, overcrowded public buses,
Anjuna