Clairy snapped this nice pic of the restaurant with the temple behind.
As we sat and munched on our eggs and coffee, we watched the usual procession of cats, dogs, cows, rickshaws, motorbikes and people weave there way passed each other in the tiny lanes. The chap below was wheeling his bicycle off on some errand with his tiny son perched on the back, but was accosted by a slightly older son, who didn't want to be left behind. A battle of wills ensued, as well as a minor physical struggle, but the child was much too persistent and got his way in the end.
A beautiful shot of this painted trolley.
We returned to our guesthouse and retrieved our big rucksacks before nine, then walked to the travel agent that we had booked our bus to Bengaluru with the previous day. We were a tad nervous about leaving our bags there, particularly as no staff were actually present for half an hour after we arrived, even though the internet cafe/travel agents was open. We didn't have a lot of choice mind, so we crossed our fingers and headed off.
For reasons of food hygiene, I didn't get to try the 'Kwality' ice creams.
More Indian/Glasto mirror-wear.
Clairy had been desperate to get a snap of these guys in their holy costumes. As soon as said picture was taken, they each produced a book of pledges (not sure exactly what it was in aid off) that tourists had donated to them. The names looked authentic, but the sums were enormous, some us much as forty quid. I had a sneaking suspicion that they might have added a few zeros on here and there. After Clairy signed their book, I swiftly gave them ten rupees (about thirteen pence) each and we pegged it off before they could argue.
Clairy also wanted a pic of the pondweed covered water tank of the main Virupaksha temple. It was pretty massive.
The scenery down at the river was so stunning we had to try and get a pic with us both in it.
Goaty-pegs! This lot were tied in a tangled spider's web of twine...
...although some seemed to have pretty much free reign to go where they liked.
In the end we both agreed we wanted to go on a coracle before we left, so we walked down to the far end of the river with the aim of getting across and hopefully reaching the Hanuman temple we had seen on Anjanadri Hill on the first day. After a good deal of haggling with the only boatman around, we finally agreed on a price.
It was a lovely structure made entirely of split bamboo cane, covered in plastic sacking tied on with string that had then been painted with tar to make it watertight.
Clairy looking gorgeous on the calm river.
Not a hint of water leaked through.
Our boatman sat in a very uncomfortable looking position on the front edge of the coracle and paddled to each side.
Looking back at the Kodandarama temple from where we departed.
This tiny isolated temple is apparently used by occasional yogic masters for meditation.
Break out the vaseline! This chap needed some serious attention. Clairy was horrified/fascinated by his gnarly feet. One for Rob E's collection possibly.
He was very nice though and pointed out various points of interest on the way.
Phew, nearly there. I asked about coming back and he replied that someone should be about later on. This worried me slightly but I kept it to myself.
A bit of re-tarring in progress.
And off he went.
We got a good view of the ancient ruined bridge as we headed on.
The other side of the Tungabhadra River was a revelation. There was nothing like the rampant commercialisation of Hampi Bazaar, and nothing like the rubbish. We had a gorgeous walk up a coconut palm shaded track, past immaculate paddy fields.
It was so picturesque and peaceful.
We passed a number of these huge crops of bananas being prepared to be loaded onto trucks. This one had just been laid out, but others were protected from the scorching midday sun by banana leaves carefully arranged on top and around them.
After a little while the temple came into view.
Looking pretty sweat-drenched before we've even started on the four hundred plus steps up to the top.
Clairy was pretty dubious of the idea of walking up to the top, not just because of the height, but also due to the rather psycho looking macaques patrolling the route. In the end she did really well, and made it about two thirds of the way up before deciding that was far enough. I went on ahead, hoping she wouldn't have been forced into some kind of simian slavery by the time I returned.
The view from the top was absolutely stunning.
Clairy was down there somewhere.
You could really see just how much greener it was on this side of the river.
You could walk all the way around the temple for stunning views on each side.
Standing on one of the walls, I took this vertigo inducing shot for Clairy of the two hundred odd metre crevice below.
The view from the rear of the temple was particularly stunning.
The temple itself was a very simple affair, with a small shrine to Hanuman (the monkey god) inside.
Before I headed back to Clairy I had a small altercation with an old guy sat by the area where everyone had to leave their shoes. I had assumed that he was begging like the various others we had encountered on the steps on the way up, but two young local lads explained that I had to pay him for 'slipper parking' as they put it. As soon as this was done, the man was all smiles, and proceeded to ask if I wanted to share a 'secret smoke' with him whilst doing the action of smoking a chillum. Sadly as I was the one who was presumably supposed to supply the goods, I had to decline the kind offer.
I snapped a piccy of my headscarfed baby below on the way down.
There she is, looking lovely! I sometimes wonder whether our headscarf and mahoosive beard result in us being mistaken for Muslims in this predominantly Hindu area. Then again we have been stared at pretty much everywhere we have been, even when we didn't look half as weird.
Back on the road below we took a rickshaw to Anegundi village that we had attempted to get to on our first proper explore. It was, as our guide book had said, a much more genuine village, with almost no tourist facilities at all. It was a real breath of fresh air (metaphorically speaking of course).
Beautiful colours.
We had a delicious thali in the quality named hoover cafe. Clairy spotted this unfortunately coloured but healthy looking puss relaxing in the dust.
In the streets outside was another of these strange carved wood rolling temple thingies.
We decided to head back and spotted this quality little shack tacked on to one of the gigantic boulders.
One of the chunky banana trucks. Another legacy of British industry, the Ashok Leyland.
When we reached the spot where we had been dropped by the boatman earlier in the day we found a group of women who looked like they had been maintaining the boats and a very grumpy bloke who insisted he wouldn't take us back across the river unless we paid over twice what we had paid previously. I had been slightly concerned that this might happen as we didn't really have any other way of getting back. In the end we stuck to our guns and an even more grumpy and slightly wasted looking young chap turned up and reluctantly agreed to take us.
Even though we had the current with us, he huffed, puffed and sighed like a sulky teenager.
His coracle was definitely not as well put together and I had a wet bum immediately. Clairy quietly expressed some concern as to whether we would make it what with the grumpy chap's slow progress...
...but we did, with just my soggy bum to show for it. On the vast granite slab upon which we disembarked were various ancient carvings. Some were still being adorned with pigments by modern worshippers.
We still had a few hours to kill, so we took some final pics from around the town. Clairy thought this was a good example of the old and new.
We walked up on the hill behind the town as the sun was setting and got some really nice shots.
Clairy really wanted to find the enormous bull she had photographed the previous day. We followed the sound of this big fella until we located him. It was shortly after this that a local pointed out that although they might look very docile, they can occasionally be aggressive, and one shouldn't try and touch them. Clairy considered this and thought about the way she might treat a bull back in Britain and resolved to give them a bit of a wide berth from now on.
Lovely silhouettes of the temples.
There were quite a few others up on the hill watching the sun go down. Some enterprising kids were offering tea and chai, as well as biscuits for sale.
The gorgeous lady with a tiny moon in the distance.
For our final meal in Hampi we headed back to the pretty Mango Tree restaurant. Clairy found herself in the middle of a herd of goats and took this action shot.
After a slightly mozzie-infested meal we made our way back to the travel agents and retrieved our big bags before heading to Hospet for our first Indian bus journey.
We had wanted to get the train to Bengaluru (Bangalore), but it was totally booked up, so we went for the sleeper bus, with a proper flat double bunk thing. The travel agent assured us the road was a big highway, but we were quite dubious, going on our current experience of Indian roads. As it turned out, the bus was an hour late leaving, then immediately got stuck in the most almighty chaotic traffic jam. The roads were a complete shambles for the entire journey as well, feeling like there were speed bumps every ten feet. In the end we got a few hours kip though, and fortunately had a decent hotel bed to crash into when we arrived, so we were fine, but resolved to try and get the train as much as possible in the future.
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