India has loomed over our trip. The very word has altered conversations. A sort of anxious excitement, like the rise of a roller-coaster, has dimmed the easiness of our travels. We were scared to find out what it was about the subcontinent that evoked fear and passion from fellow travelers whether they had set foot in the country or not. We have spent our time largely and roughly within 'the loop' of Southeast Asia: Vietnam, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia. Apparently, 'the loop', as defined by a well-traveled Canadian, was no preparation for India. I disagree.
Once you have spent nearly four months touring Southeast Asia, you become hardened to a few certain facts that became enormously helpful adjusting to life in India. I will list a few:
-Lanes in the road mean nothing.
-Car horns are not for anger.
-Bathrooms are not meant to be clean.
-Some people are dirt poor.
-Littering is the norm.
-You are a foreigner and therefore have more money than pretty much anyone else.
-Locals want your money.
With these and other relevant facts in your back pocket, navigating India is quite doable. The difference that inspires such emotion is that these aspects of travel are amplified in India. With that said, I will describe an anomaly.
I had great difficulty remaining in the top bunk I had been assigned on our 'sleeper bus'. It was a wide, flat slot roughly five feet above the floor of the swaying deathtrap. Uwey was next to me on the window side, which was slid halfway shut to prevent her from prematurely evacuating on any one of the G-force turns. We arrived in Hampi with the sun.
We had first learned about the town from a girl we had met on a snorkeling trip in Vietnam. Since then we have heard it in passing and read a bit about it in our book. Still, we were not prepared.
The landscape around the town could be described as a 'tropical Joshua Tree'. Granite outcroppings dominate the land in every direction, rising and falling, lit and shadowed by the harsh morning light. Ancient temples freckled the rocks everywhere you look.
This was the great ancient Hindu kingdom and houses the oldest continuously functioning Hindu temple in the world. But at that hour none of these facts interested us as much as a cup of coffee so we swatted away the rickshaw drivers and walked into town.
There, we found a waking ancient city with shops opening from within crumbling cubbyholes. We located an open restaurant on the roof of a hostel and sat down. From those seats we were treated to the real gem of the town: the river. Small this time of year, the river meandered and flowed through the shallow valley, around huge boulders and finally out of view.
Life vibrated beneath us. Hundreds of people bathed or washed clothes or dishes, men fished, the temple elephant, Lakshmi, got her morning bath. Goats, cattle and dogs wandered the green grass as water fowl flew by. It was breathtaking. We finished breakfast and headed to the water below. After a while, we remembered how tired we were and decided to find a room.
Hampi is unofficially divided into two parts by the river. One side, the temple side, is holy and therefore everything from alcohol to meat to tobacco is strictly prohibited. We had heard that this side was dead after 9pm. The other side was reputed to have a much more relaxed atmosphere so we headed that way. The only connection between these two sides is a small motorboat that acts as a ferry. For 15 Rupees, or about 30 cents, you can cross from one side to the other. We boarded the ferry, found a reasonable room and took a long nap.
Over the next few days we explored the area. The temples and ruins never ended. With a few notable exceptions, the ancient structures themselves were not striking. Most were rough-cut structures built from the ubiquitous granite. It was this fact, though, that gifted them their charm. I have never seen a place where the man-made blends so seamlessly with the natural.
Fees are only charged at some of the temples with the vast majority open and absurdly accessable. We spent days wandering the granite slopes, happening upon hidden gems and wondering what the fuss was about India.
But as I said, Hampi is an anomaly and even within was the shit, litter and poverty. Our calloused eyes and noses breathed and viewed the differences, an act we are now trained to perform. We were shocked by the boulders and weathered hills, the burning piles of garbage we could ignore. There is little doubt that if we had magically transported from San Francisco, CA to Hampi, India, our time and senses would have been occupied processing the shit, litter and poverty.
India is different, it is a loud place, it is a place of smells and sights that are ultimately surprising but for us, riding our wave of sensory boot camp, they are the norm. We have spent time in far less charming places since we left Hampi, places where the Indian ways beat at you without redemption and still we go on, hungry for what the next town or city holds for us.
Once you have spent nearly four months touring Southeast Asia, you become hardened to a few certain facts that became enormously helpful adjusting to life in India. I will list a few:
-Lanes in the road mean nothing.
-Car horns are not for anger.
-Bathrooms are not meant to be clean.
-Some people are dirt poor.
-Littering is the norm.
-You are a foreigner and therefore have more money than pretty much anyone else.
-Locals want your money.
With these and other relevant facts in your back pocket, navigating India is quite doable. The difference that inspires such emotion is that these aspects of travel are amplified in India. With that said, I will describe an anomaly.
I had great difficulty remaining in the top bunk I had been assigned on our 'sleeper bus'. It was a wide, flat slot roughly five feet above the floor of the swaying deathtrap. Uwey was next to me on the window side, which was slid halfway shut to prevent her from prematurely evacuating on any one of the G-force turns. We arrived in Hampi with the sun.
We had first learned about the town from a girl we had met on a snorkeling trip in Vietnam. Since then we have heard it in passing and read a bit about it in our book. Still, we were not prepared.
The landscape around the town could be described as a 'tropical Joshua Tree'. Granite outcroppings dominate the land in every direction, rising and falling, lit and shadowed by the harsh morning light. Ancient temples freckled the rocks everywhere you look.
This was the great ancient Hindu kingdom and houses the oldest continuously functioning Hindu temple in the world. But at that hour none of these facts interested us as much as a cup of coffee so we swatted away the rickshaw drivers and walked into town.
There, we found a waking ancient city with shops opening from within crumbling cubbyholes. We located an open restaurant on the roof of a hostel and sat down. From those seats we were treated to the real gem of the town: the river. Small this time of year, the river meandered and flowed through the shallow valley, around huge boulders and finally out of view.
Hampi is unofficially divided into two parts by the river. One side, the temple side, is holy and therefore everything from alcohol to meat to tobacco is strictly prohibited. We had heard that this side was dead after 9pm. The other side was reputed to have a much more relaxed atmosphere so we headed that way. The only connection between these two sides is a small motorboat that acts as a ferry. For 15 Rupees, or about 30 cents, you can cross from one side to the other. We boarded the ferry, found a reasonable room and took a long nap.
Over the next few days we explored the area. The temples and ruins never ended. With a few notable exceptions, the ancient structures themselves were not striking. Most were rough-cut structures built from the ubiquitous granite. It was this fact, though, that gifted them their charm. I have never seen a place where the man-made blends so seamlessly with the natural.
Fees are only charged at some of the temples with the vast majority open and absurdly accessable. We spent days wandering the granite slopes, happening upon hidden gems and wondering what the fuss was about India.
But as I said, Hampi is an anomaly and even within was the shit, litter and poverty. Our calloused eyes and noses breathed and viewed the differences, an act we are now trained to perform. We were shocked by the boulders and weathered hills, the burning piles of garbage we could ignore. There is little doubt that if we had magically transported from San Francisco, CA to Hampi, India, our time and senses would have been occupied processing the shit, litter and poverty.
India is different, it is a loud place, it is a place of smells and sights that are ultimately surprising but for us, riding our wave of sensory boot camp, they are the norm. We have spent time in far less charming places since we left Hampi, places where the Indian ways beat at you without redemption and still we go on, hungry for what the next town or city holds for us.
