Hampi musts

You must get to Hampi on the 6.30 bus, after you’ve been travelling 10 hours with a night bus all the way from Mysore, finally having some space because the person seating next to you – woman person, mind you – got off 2 hours after departure.

You must try to run away from the rickshaw drivers, who want to take you to a guesthouse veeery far away (although Hampi Bazaar covers an area of about 400 square meters). Try to outrun the flock of Indian drivers and entrepreneurs who shove business cards under your tired nose, and still, you’ll end up with the patient Indian shadowing you, while you proudly apply your flawless method of spotting just the perfect place to stay at (well, mostly flawless; that is, until it fails). All this because your approximate guideline is the 2 kilo Lonely Planet which you haul around and which you occasionally consult mentions a place where you’d like to stay at. The thing it doesn’t mention – hence the reason your Indian shadow laughs at you when you mention the name of the only hotel you remember from the guidebook –, is that the government up and decided to knock down most of Hampi Bazaar. So, from your flawless method, you turn to the suggestion of your shadowing rickshaw driver turned information officer, who does it not because, as he continuously points out, he is your friend, but because he gets a fat commission out of it.

You must see the sun set in the main temple, the one less than 50 meters away and then walk around on the nearby rocks to see the myriad of ancient temples and shrines scattered like confetti all over the place.

You must try to wake up next morning at 5 AM to go see the sun rise on the nearby hill (temple included), but oversleeping. Then just try to make it up, rent a motorcycle (automatic, bleah!) and ride around at the major temple sites (30-40 km), being completely surprised when they tell you that, this being a World Heritage Site and all, you can not drive up to all the monuments. Also, there are lots of temples built on remote rocks or cliffs, which would make for a difficult motorcycle track. So you end up walking 1.7 km to see some old rocks. And back. But before heading back, you will take a photograph of the 30 member family, who will ask you for the photo and will want to see it, yelping and squeaking with joy as they see their faces.

You must get just a little lost driving around, although you practically memorized the map of the area, and when you finally get your bearings, start a photo shoot of some neurotic lizard, which, inexplicably, wants to dodge you. After that, you just have to visit palaces and bath houses, older temples and newer temples, underground and above ground, lotus shaped and monolithic, all under the burning sun that tries to turn you into wax.

You must bite the bullet and drive 15 km to Hospet, stop for directions and not be able to kick start your bike again because there’s some problem with the kick starter, get advice on how to convince the mechanic to repair it for 60 rupees, subsequently kowtowing at the random person who finally started the bike for you. You need to get more directions for the next 5 km or so, which take you to this huge dam, where yet another group of Indians want to have their pictures taken but sometime after the tenth photo you start to mentally visualize your escape route. Still, you get to stroll through this pretty garden which reminds you of the botanical garden back home. The highlight of this modern-day invention, of which India as proud as a fresh mommy, is the signposts, that offer proverbs and parables, which you find both childish and moralistic, but hilarious.

You must finally get up at 5.30 and perspire your way up to the hill temple, where the sun rise and the monkeys are waiting for you. You then really have to try to not have a panic attack when, while sitting right on the edge of the temple’s roof (dunno if that’s actually allowed), this monkey comes up to you and tries to peek into your bag, and when you try to threaten it, it pushes you back with an incredible force and a huge amount of hate. You tend to become a little more respectful towards the monkeys after they harass you, trust me!

You must be waiting by the river at the holy place at precisely 8.30 AM to see the temple elephant being washed and bathed in the river, right next to the locals, who like to wash themselves at around the same time. Of course, the elephant will arrive 15 minutes late and it will not apologize for the delay but it will happily let its mahout wash it on all sides.

You must run out of petrol while touring the last of the important temples, asking for help from some goat herders, being told to wait until they finish their brunch, explain with hands and feet that there’s no more gas left, witnessing how they cannot actually start a motorcycle, finally stopping some other Indian who will more or less churn the last drops of petrol, saying that it will be enough to ride 2 more km to the nearest petrol station. You then try to ring up the same churning Indian (because he gave you his business card and because it is your only contact around here), when your motorcycle stops 1 km further, clearly out of petrol. He has no reception but the pause and the heat turns some of the vapors into liquid and you almost manage to get to the petrol station; you still have to push the bike the last meters, following the lead of another gas-empty Indian bike pusher. But you get a good deal on gas (700 ml 50 rupees) compared to the first 2 liters you bought from the rental guy (100 rupees/l).

You must get you bike across the river on a skimpy boat with 7 Indians already on, all of whom give you instructions on how to turn your bike around so that it faces opposite the boat and then back up to get the bike on the boat. Even the details of this maneuver puzzle you, so you ask their help and they’ll get you on the boat on the bike and then they’ll instruct you to hold both breaks when the boat hits the other bank and you’ll lose your balance (which wasn’t great in the first place, because how in the world can you sit on the bike on a moving boat?!?!) and nearly fall face down on the riverbank. Also, you must get back the same way.

You must impress the Hungarian girl with your ‘szia’ and the fact that you recognized her language, after you’ve sauntered around your guesthouse, avoiding all action, because you got up 12 hours earlier. And you must keep your mouth shut when she explains that she can't eat anything because she's afraid of getting food poisoning. And she can't drink anything because she might get sick. And she can't be outside because there are mosquitoes that will bite and subsequently kill her!

You must look Hospet in the eye (okay, there is no eye but you can still face the damned city) and curse with all your heart and soul because the railway system sucks! But that's a whole other story...