The ride was seventeen long, bumpy hours, but the sleeper bus absorbed the shock of most of the potholes and we rolled into the Hospet station only to be bombarded by rickshaw drivers. Aggressive and unfeeling, they leer through the window, “remember my face” they shout while shoving business cards through the cracks “mine best price rickshaw to Hampi,”. Before the bus comes to a stop, they’ve boarded and grabbed your luggage to hold ransom for a trip into town. As you disembark, they create a human barrier, surrounding you in throngs. Somehow I latched on to the least persistent driver, much to my detriment, apparently, because by ignoring one particularly unrelenting individual I now have bad karma my God will strike me down. I’m still waiting…
Once we arrived in Hampi the chaos and confusion of the rickshaw drivers melted into the picturesque landscape. We found a quiet hostel with a rooftop restaurant and I spent the afternoon talking with fellow travelers. Later I took a walk out over the paddy fields and boulder-strewn hills to take in the view. The following day, we rented bicycles and made our way over the dirt roads to the Hanuman Temple, reached by a brutal 570-step climb (naturally we chose to attempt it in the blazing heat of the afternoon). There I was witness to one of the most spectacular views I have encountered thus far on my trip. The patchwork of paddy fields stretch the Tungabhadra River. The spectacular boulders and hills disappear into the haze of the hot afternoon. The ruins of the 12th century Telugu capital, Vijayanagar, just visible across palm trees and thatch roofed houses. The descent was a far easier battle to conquer and from there we cycled to the nearby lake for a quick dip. “Beware of Crocodiles” reads a sign, but the local boys love to tell you that you won’t find any crocs around here.
The other side of the Tungabhadra is the cultural and historical center. The Hampi Bazaar stretches out below the beautiful ruins of the Hindu city, Vijayanagar. The area is a awash with temples, the most extraordinary of which is the Virupaksha Temple, a 50m high structure built in 1442. The main shrine is dedicated Virupaksha, a form of Shiva, but the most interesting part of the building is the carvings on the exterior, where erotic images of the kama sutra adorn the walls (see photos). There was so much to see it got a bit overwhelming in the heat of the day, so we broke off early and lunch among the mango trees beckoned at a beautiful riverside restaurant.
Evenings were spent leisurely in the rooftop restaurant of our hotel. Over Win cigarettes and Kingfisher beer I laughed so hard my sides ached. Each of the Swedes had such personality – Mandus, the tall, lanky “funny one,” Ivar, the intellect with dreadlocks, Joakim, the ladies man and personal trainer, and Axel, the skinny, handsome “emo kid.” Julia and I chose to give them all nicknames, just for fun. They became:
Mandus: Mongoose
Ivar: Igor
Joakim: Joaquin
Axel: Axel Rose
Julia, a fellow Boston dweller, brought her sarcastic wit and an additional female flare to the conversation, making it all the more hilarious. It was heavenly. It was too short.
I packed up my bags and jumped on another overnight train that evening, to catch up with Gautam. We met in Pune, a small city about two hours from Mumbai. I was thrilled to be seeing Pune and Mumbai with an Indian. There’s something comforting about knowing you’ve got a local on your side and to get their perspective on their homeland. They are also vastly more successful at negotiating with rickshaw drivers. Before his arrival I’d been swindled of all my cash by a driver who charged my friend Flora and I Rs800 for a trip into town. At six in the morning after 12 hours of uncomfortable sleep, we blearily handed over our money without a second thought. As he drove away, we realized we’d just paid him the same amount as our bus ticket from Hampi. I’m still cringing.
Pune is a modern Indian city, which means it’s cleaner and less poverty-riddled than most. It’s also one of the educational hubs in the country with nine universities. But it isn’t this that drives the tourists here. It is Osho’s Ashram – the famous meditation center of the spiritual leader Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh also referred to as the “sex guru.” Osho’s is one of the largest spiritual centers in the world, driving over 200,000 visitors a year from all over the world. I don’t know much more about Osho’s but those who visit the ashram are required to a) wear a red robe and b) get an HIV test. And according to Lonely Planet, Osho followed no particular religion or philosophy but advocated “sex as a path to enlightenment”. He based himself in the US was renowned for his large collection of Rolls Royces, later charged with immigration fraud and deported from the country. With that knowledge, I was perfectly content to sit in the nearby German Bakery and speculate childishly about what went on inside his elusive commune. I stayed at Gautam’s friends flat, a true dude’s apartment with the scent of old cigarette smoke radiating, empty beer cans strewn across the floor and dirty laundry littering the bedrooms. His friends were wonderfully welcoming, inviting me and Flora, who I met on the bus, to stay for the night. Gautam and I checked out the bars and restaurants, zoomed around on scooters through the city and visited the most beautiful temple, constantly getting stares as you don’t often see a white girl on the back of an Indian boy’s scooter.
From Pune, Gautam and I took a trip to a beautiful hill station, Lonavala. We visited the Karla and Bhaja Caves, Buddhist rock cut architecture set in the mountains. Thought to have provided shelter for traders on the trade routes across the country, the caves have many stone cut rooms with beds for weary travelers, and a large chaitya (Buddhist shrine) built into the rock. We hiked 10km up to the Loghard Fort, an old stone structure that had far too many stairs than it was worth. Poor Gautam practically had to drag me up the hill kicking and screaming, but once we arrived the views out over the country were so amazing that I forgave him for making me walk the whole way. We shared a sense of pride as we gazed out over the landscape, pretending we’d conquered the fort and the surrounding land. We paid a local to take us down to town on the back of his scooter (three of us, on one scooter!!) and I loved the feeling of the cool evening wind blowing through my hair after a long, tough day.
After Lonavala we took on Mumbai. Clean and modern by Indian standards, the city is truly cosmopolitan. We wandered, ate the street food, such as delicious stuffed burgers with peanuts and spicy sauce, and indulged in American specialties like cookies and cream ice cream and brownies. We trawled the tourist route, stopping to see the Gateway to India and the Taj Mahal Palace, a beautifully designed early 20th century hotel. We visited the infamous Leopold’s Café, a “traveler’s institution” by LP definition. Mostly though, we talked and tried to figure each other out. There is a distinction between the Western and Eastern culture that made our time together, while wonderful, a challenge. We were constantly wary of what the other person was doing and thinking. I think he thought I was too proper – I don’t slurp my tea and I say thank you and apologize too often. He had to teach me how to make coffee over a gas stove using a pot with no handles. We were cautious and guarded, and I was never totally relaxed. But we learned a lot about growing up in different worlds, facing the same challenges but dealing with them in different ways. As with Saleha, I was interested to learn about the importance of family to Gautam, his views on arranged marriage (“it’s just so much easier to have your parents organize everything!” he claims), the importance of astrology in finding a suitable match, and what it means to get into a relationship when there's a good chance he'd wind up with someone else. I learned about the caste system and its ongoing influence in society, particularly during his experience in university, where fraternity-type groups are formed based on your caste. Much like our fraternities, there is much hazing (called “ragging” here in India, it sounds excessively brutal), and there is a similar brotherly connection between those of the same caste. He also taught me a little about the Hindu religion, based on a belief in Brahman, who is eternal and infinite. There are a plethora of gods that are manifestations of Brahman, and Gautam is a follower of Hanuman, king of the monkeys (G if I got this wrong I'm sorry!!!).
I loved our time together and our conversations – I felt I was getting a glimpse of how he and his friends went about their day to day lives- what the university and work world was like for youths in India. I got to explore two Indian cities and forged a friendship that I hope will last far beyond my trip to India. Byself squeezed precariously close to the edge of the sleeper bunk on the upper berth next to an oversized Indian lady. But I was back in the sun before I had an opportunity to fall out, and on a mission to find my Swedes and Julia on the sand. The action didn’t stop there, but I’ll fill in on that later...