Journeying In Gujarat

Pronouncing Jamnagar involves opening with the eponymous syllable that evokes the grandeur of the Ja’am Sahibs before settling into the rather mundane Na-gar. Jaam-na-gar. Rise-Thud-Thud. I found the mundaneness first.

A drab highway cut across arid plains. Saurashtra stretched ahead. An industrial behemoth would appear every now and then - an ugliness of pipes and tubes - a product of the infertile soil. Hot air pelted the face. Blazing heat bared everything even as it forced shut the eyelids. Existence seemed a weariness. When it seemed to wear on forever, the car veered off the highway, depositing me firmly into a two-month internship. Engaging work held me six days out of seven. The gloom of the seventh loomed as the week neared its end. I fled each time, returning to the highway, seeking new places. I found them in various corners of the peninsula.

I saw the uneasy truce forged between land, river and sea at Dwarka. How illusory was the concept of ground beneath one’s feet! If ever there was credence to the frequent mythological refrain of land being reclaimed from sea, here was living proof. A land so precariously perched amidst the watchful eyes of predatory waters that have enveloped it many a time in the past that an encore always seemed imminent.

Somnath, rather inevitably given its history, had acquired the air of a defiant bastion. A quality prized by any nation-state entity; the Government had wasted no opportunity in championing the place as a metaphor for the state itself. Stateliness pervaded the approach to the imposing Shikara. Just in case the scale and significance did not register, the mighty figure of Sardar Patel stood to the right of the pathway named after him with a gaze firmly affixed on what he’d commissioned. There was no trifling with this institution, everything seemed to be saying.

Spurned upon my first approach to Gir, I was obliged the second time. What I saw and heard hinted at considerable duress. The guides cited numbers of attrition - “Kaafi marte hain har saal trains ke vaje se” referring to the Junagadh-Delvada railway line that scythes across the forest. There was talk of imbalance in the fragile food chain. The Maldhari community that lived in the forest, historically amicable with the lions, had recently been reporting more than the odd skirmish. Among the success stories of Indian Wildlife Conservation, it seemed Gir still wasn’t immune to the maladies gripping other sanctuaries and national parks.

At Modhera, I saw timeless beauty both concealed and heightened by the commonplace around it. Like its more famous sister in the east, Konark, the Sun Temple here was also a victim of rapacious advance but to a lesser degree. Modhera, however, was not the beneficiary of a well-laid out introduction which meant that it just appeared at one juncture. As I lingered, the vision became more and more real. What gained lasting permanence though was an idea I’d been introduced to at Pattadakkal – stone has matchless eloquence.

Spurred on by what I’d found every time I’d journeyed with an open mind. I ventured Jamnagar itself. Despite the many industrial encroachments that have sprung up in its outskirts and lent it a name on the industrial world map, Jamnagar town itself remained quite untouched by this. The old had not made way for the new here. A walk through the town, its many alleyways and lanes was an exercise in piecing together the erstwhile Nawanagar through its many dilapidated edifices, arched darwazas, turrets, minarets, havelis and the Darbargarh Palace.

Jamnagar’s most recent evocation of the past, the statue of Maharaja Kumarsinghji Ranjitsinghji commanding centre stage of the panoramic sweep of Darbargarh Palace, had me longing for another statue elsewhere that froze him in the nonchalant audacity of his leg glance, for Ranji (as he was known in cricketing circles) was also the first Indian batsman extraordinaire. His shot-making may have had a long-lasting influence on the development of the batting aesthetic itself in cricket and thereby shaped the vocabulary that has been handed to us. From a tribute by that doyen of cricket writers, Neville Cardus, one may glean this and more: “Before him English cricket was English through and through … but when Ranji batted, a strange light from the East flickered in the English sunshine”.

With regard to Jamnagar’s cricketing legacy, Ranji was not all however. In his wake, came the nearly-as-brilliant Duleep, his nephew. Two decades after Duleep, Jamnagar produced an all-rounder matched since only by Kapil Dev. Mulvantrai Himmatlal Mankad or Vinoobhai as he was known in typical Gujarati fashion was India’s star for a decade after independence. Fittingly, he will always be seen poised in his delivery stride at Mankad Circle, Jamnagar. I was excited to find cricket in such healthy and unexpected doses in what had seemed like some outback of India. Furthering the analogy about pronunciation, I’d done away with Nagar first and was now relishing the upswing of Jaaaam. Curious points of trivia and amusement on this ascendant were things like India’s only extant Ayurvedic University with courses and programmes in learning the ancient healing system, and a Bala Hanuman Mandir which currently sits in the Guinness Book of Records for having featured non-stop chanting since 1967.

One evening, I visit the temple and find it tucked away in a corner on the avenue that retains a sense of quietude despite the chanting inside and the chatter outside. Around the sunset hour though, neither is a match for the twitter from the true inheritors of Jamnagar – the birds. The avenue and the lake transform into an avian spectacle as parakeets, egrets, pond herons, spoonbills, flamingos, pelicans, swallows and thrushes descend upon the setting. A quiet town suddenly seems abuzz with activity as hundreds of birds flit about from one tree to another. This seems to stir people out of their general torpor and infuses the scene with energy. The twilight lasts an hour after which the lake, the avenue and the surrounding areas settle into a dullness of Chaat outlets, sugarcane vendors and other hawkers. The birds have left and they appear to have taken back that which they bestowed upon the scene.

That Gujarat is a birder’s delight is in itself a well-kept secret. That Jamnagar should be the state’s representative in this regard is perhaps not known at all even to travel aficionados in India. In 2010, the town hosted the first Global Bird Watcher’s Conference (an initiative of the Gujarat Govt.) at Khijadiya, a part-marshland part-grassland ecosystem with freshwater lakes and saltwater marshes. It is a birding haven much on the lines of Bharatpur (near Agra) only without similar status from the Ramsar Convention (protects wetlands in the world). Khijadiya in winter provides a transit to rare migratory birds from Russia and Central Asia like the Demoiselle Crane, the Bar-Headed Goose, Eurasian Wigeon and many others. This year (2013), the GBWC is scheduled to be held at Dhordo (gateway to the Greater Rann of Kutch).

Much of this owes to Jamnagar’s unique location on the lower shore of the Gulf of Kutch. The placid waters adjoining the entire shoreline of the Jamnagar district and the islands that dot the coast are collectively designated as a Marine National Park. Some of these islands are accessible from Jamnagar, easiest among them being Narara Bet. A trip to Narara had proved elusive during my internship stint in Jamnagar.

On a later visit, it happens in fortuitous fashion through a random query directed at a cabbie about directions, information and the like. It turns out that he belongs to a family that had been staying at the entry point of Narara for over 30 years, in what I later find to be a middle-of-nowhere with not even a shack for miles. As awareness about the place grew, the powers that were had swooped in to take notice and soon recognition followed. The family had stuck to their place however and were now the unofficial caretakers of a vast and unique seascape. I say recognition with some reservations however, since Marine National Park is still not likely to feature in the average conversation about flora and fauna in Gujarat. Gir, Blackbuck and Rann of Kutch would be the dominant names.

Such relative anonymity serves someone looking for a quiet interaction with environs quite well as the place bears the air of an untouched paradise. One can wade through waters that graduate from ankle deep to thigh deep and observe marine life in the company of a naturalist. Crabs abound, holed up in the shelter of rocks. The spider crab with the many thorns on its skin is a prickly creature to hold in one’s palm. The withdrawal of the sea anemone into the soft seabed upon touch is a wondrous thing to behold. Corals, in addition to being such an important cog in the ecosystem, add glitter and pattern to the water surface. Wading proves immensely addictive and we zone in on an octopus the size of a hand after two hours of journeying further into the gulf. It seems to gain in colour once out of water. Its release of colour upon being released into the water again is a natural science lesson at close quarters. Only exhaustion after a four-hour excursion in these waters proves a detriment to further exploration. I return sated.

Today, I find it both appropriate and odd that I had to discover the delights of the town I was in after having wandered the rest of Gujarat. In travel, the truism that familiarity breeds contempt finds its most pressing reinforcement.  

In The Mumbai, all over India …………… Part 2

I wake up to a dull, throbbing realization. I’m in Mumbai. Leaned against a large window frame, faced before a sprawl of slum dwellings, buildings and a creek but staring at nothing in particular, it occurs to me that I might be Marty Sheen from Apocalypse Now. Mumbai, shit; I’m still only in Mumbai. Another year has passed and yet again, I have turned up for the monsoon in Mumbai. As I reach for my toothbrush, it begins to pour. From the thirteenth floor, the downpour is a sheet of haze, obscuring everything but the most basic lines supplied by memory. Finding that the complaints and cursing are on the verge of return, I remind myself not to get caught up in the realities of life here. On the way to Chunabhatti Railway Station, it occurs to me that the best way I can let Mumbai warm its way into my heart is through the locals, having been a lifelong train enthusiast.

You will often hear it said that they are a great metaphor for the city itself. Amen. Watching commuters board a local at peak hours is to know a second way of meeting Mumbai head on. I’d not been entirely right about the city requiring soaring ambition and confidence. Here was a certain form of ‘a space in the local is my right, and I shall have it’ brashness that is easily the city in a nutshell. Just as the commuter takes to every approaching local, the migrant takes to Mumbai. Often, it isn’t confidence engendered from within but a blind belief that the city has accommodated scores before and will continue to do so.

Understandably, the rhythms of an MRTS train anywhere in India are different from those of an express. Even to the first time traveler on either, this is immediately apparent. Express trains are operas or westerns: a setting is revealed and along with it, a mood, a thought and an idea. On longer journeys, when the setting changes, there is a new ensemble to go with it. Locals operate differently. To the attentive newbie, they suggest a soap opera or intrusive videography with teeming life on display at very close quarters along the tracks everywhere in Mumbai. The viewer can fashion a narrative out of mere glimpses. To the seasoned commuter, I believe the locals may not register beyond the most basic sensory levels. In that sense, they become the stage for soliloquys.

This breakthrough becomes an obsession soon. I pore over the Suburban Railway Network over the next few days, intent on learning it. With this comes understanding of Mumbai’s network topology and a start at dealing with its massive size. I am not overawed into submission any more. Furthermore, the happy realization that Vikram and Sonal live just a couple of locals away in Powai and a spate of visits endears Mumbai further to me. And yet there’s a feeling that something’s got to give. The missing piece, as it turns out, is South Bombay beginning with Mumbai CST.

That the name is a misnomer unlike any other is apparent only when one exits the place and takes in the most impressive piece of Victorian architecture in India. Even to the uninitiated, it screams Gothic (it is supposedly a celebration of Gothic Revival) with towering obelisks, turrets, grotesques, pointed arches and spires. The figurine on top of the central dome (called Progress) is the most noticeable feature of the structure. Gothic was intended to make man kneel before God. Here, I couldn’t help but feel that it wouldn’t be amiss to kneel irrespective of one’s religious views.

It is a hallmark of this stretch that while the CST/VT is easily the Bellagio amongst all the structures there, it is not the only one that catches the eye. Not in the slightest. In fact, the area may be unparalleled in India for the sheer value it offers to architecture enthusiasts. The BrihanMumbai Municipal Corporation building may well be an institution dispensing justice. Its towering columns are designed to correspond to the highest human ideals. The Times of India is housed in a building whose fortune it is to be stared at more than the CST itself for more people peer at it vapidly while waiting for locals within the CST! And this is only the beginning. Further to the left of the CST as one exits are more and more impressive buildings that have been cornered by banks of every denomination in India. It really must’ve been a fad to own or rent real estate in this prime locality. Such fads exist elsewhere too. Marine Drive inexplicably has offices of airlines like Iran Air, South African Airways etc!

Further down is Flora Fountain, a beautiful piece of sculpture if one can find the time to stand and admire. It is very nearly an incongruous structure in the concrete jungle that is Mumbai, even on this hallowed stretch. On a Sunday afternoon though, when the circle has an epidemic-induced emptiness, the structure might speak to you. Or perhaps, no words beyond those of Niranjan Bhagat (on display in the plaque below) are necessary. Right on cue, I swerve behind to spot a footpath hosting a vestige of olden times fast disappearing today – the old bookstall. Browsing with care can unearth rarities like Eric Newby’s A Short Walk in the Hindukush or Bruce Chatwin’s Blue Highways. My current predilection for travel means that I invariably look for titles of this sort. 


Thirsty from a long walk and sightseeing, I'm encouraged by my friends to stop over at the now infamous Leopold's Cafe. They reveal no desire to have anything but I'm informed that the Blueberry Cheesecake is a knockout. The first thing one notices about Leopold's is its oddball colonial character. I imagine one would find cafes of this kind at ports of call everywhere in the world. Despite the presence of memorabilia from ages since and the cliched Elvis stamp, there is enough to kindle the senses into believing that this was once a cafe where naval officers, merchants, traders, peddlers and others whose calling called for frequenting Bombay met, had drinks or coffee over conversation. A long poster drawing across the breadth of the room, while confirming what has prompted Ketan to remark that Leopold's would have attracted every manner of clientele, is also the singular attraction here. It packs various stocks of people into its considerable canvas and yet retains a sense of space amidst the bedlam scenes it depicts. I amuse myself at the lengths the artist has gone to impart varying countenances. When the cheesecake comes, my first morsel confirms the legend. It literally melts in my mouth and in the wake of a food orgasm, I finally notice that we have chosen a table right next to the bullet hole from 26/11. In a fit of whimsical impropriety, I see it as one more piece of memorabilia at Leopold's. In making room for the insignia of violence and death, the cafe is only reaffirming its presence in a city where there's always room.


I now see an experience trail from the locals to VT to Flora to Leopold's. A familiar pattern has reinforced itself. Open-mindedness, lending oneself to experience, drinking out of a charming history, being repulsed and intrigued by the city's culture - all of these have led me to this realization: I am taken with Mumbai. It is like no other place in India. It couldn't be. History and commerce alone have ensured that. What I don't realize at this juncture that the final piece isn't this evening in South Bombay. Of all things possible, it is a museum in Byculla. That however, is the subject of another write-up. 

Romancing the Stone

Visiting Hampi left me with an agenda. For what remains after a trip to those ghostly ruins, the sole artery in the form of the Hampi Bazaar feeding off their modern fame is a nod to the north – even as Vijayanagar casts a spell, the Chalukyan legacy is a gentle tug. Badami-Aihole-Pattadakkal has been a whisper this year and a half, to-do, not too soon, someday. When the whisper became an urge is hard to tell but it stems from my leaving Bangalore in a short while. One weekend we make it happen.

Badami has monkeys. In good numbers. They are a lot to reckon with, always on the prowl for a lapse on the part of the tourist and seemingly everywhere, including the railway station and hotel balconies. They seem the true inheritors of the place and play good hosts upon our arrival by the Bijapur Express. My uncle points at one doing a trapeze walk over a high beam. An hour later at the entrance to the cave temples, they are rendered touristy by busloads of people. They are easier to ignore now and we head for the caves.

Straightaway a relief of Nataraja leaves me clicking and staring in disbelief. As we take in more, the stark beauty of the reliefs in the shrine to Shiva (first cave) contrasts with the ornate iconography in the caves housing Vishnu (second and third caves). The relief of Vamana with feet raised to dwarf the earth and the heavens is insouciance to the beatitude of a Vishnu relief rendered with girth and gait. Varaha and Narasimha feature, as they will quite regularly in a tour of this trinity. We don’t know it yet but the reliefs are a sign of what awaits at Aihole and Pattadakkal. The fourth cave is a Jain shrine with Parshvanath (23rd Tirthankara). I notice that the reliefs of Mahavira (24th) are brought out by depicting the meditative sage in all sizes and stacked symmetrically around a central, much larger icon.

On our way to the Bhoothanatha temple, fatigue from a mild temperature and a slight pull in the thigh are taking their toll on me as is the harsh Deccan sun. I recall a line from Outlook Traveler – Badami can vary between hot, very hot and extremely hot. So with some issues resolved and some tucked aside, I find walking through the alleys of Badami a pleasure. I guess it is what lends character to these two tours – Hampi and Badami. You’re better off on foot and though it isn’t quite backpacking and hiking, it comes close. The exertion lends value to every treasure. Having walked that much, one is inclined to attend keenly to the sights at hand. The pleasures-pains of walking apart, the serendipity of a protected monument popping up between two dwellings is something that fascinates us.

The Bhoothanatha temple has an enviable setting with the greenish moss of the Agastyatheertha surrounded by the cragged hills of Badami. A couple of herons stand expectant and their scouting for catch proves elusive to capture on camera. It is this setting that we drink out of in the evening when we come back after a meal and a nap. The twilight and ensuing nightfall transform the scene and soon the heat is a memory. Soon I trail off on parallels between Ashoka and the Chalukyas – both achieved lasting fame through their response to war and bloodshed. The Mauryan made Buddhism what it is today and the Chalukyas took to temple building.

We hire a cab the next morning. The first stop is Mahakoota. Of note here are a group of temples clustered together in one complex flanked on three sides by a forest that lends it an unhurried air. This is a welcome change from the hustle of Badami’s main road. Climbing up to the roof of an adjoining hall, a strange sight …. a shikara and what I think is a vimana (later at Pattadakkal it is clear that what we now know as the South Indian vimana or gopuram was yet to evolve when the temples at Mahakoota were built) one after the other. One belonging to the Sangameshwara temple and the latter to the Mahakooteshwara (Lord of the Mountain Crest), they form an odd couple. Little else is odd about Mahakoota. The quiet and the environs make it worthwhile. The big draw however, is the temple pond. Thankfully, the complex is just about big enough with more than a corner or passageway for respite, hidden from plain view.

Next up is Pattadakkal. We are met with a surprise there. It is April 18th, designated as World Heritage Day and this is one of India’s 27 World Heritage Sites. There is nothing forthcoming from the authorities, apart from a waiver on the entrance fee. It hardly registers then for we find it hard to contain our glee. It’s down to business though when we begin to take in the treasures. The temples are a motley collection. If one can look beyond the smug dismissal that is ‘Aihole School, Badami Degree College and Pattadakkal University’, it is apparent that there are experiments here too. Likewise with the reliefs. Some clearly suggest early attempts and there are others that show refinement. How much of an induction it is for the uninitiated! How much can be gleaned only by glancing from one structure over to the next! The Chalukyan temples here revel in questioning established precepts of beauty – that it diminishes as one peers closer. The collective vision that is all the monuments at Pattadakkal is as stare-inducing as the tiniest engraving.

Aihole, in hindsight, should come first in an itinerary. Pattadakkal raises the bar so high that Aihole’s school credentials can only offer so much. Given that the Durga temple that greets you first up has the most in terms of sights, the rest can seem a chore. That it exists and must be acknowledged. A hotter afternoon than the previous isn’t helping either and I spend more time cooling off in empty temple verandahs. The museum here isn’t quite on par with the one in Badami but it helps me establish one thing. Photographs mention places in Aihole that we are yet to see after an hour or so in the main complex (Aihole, like Pattadakkal, has one sprawling complex dotted with temples and the museum). And this is the key to getting the most out of Aihole. If one can keep the spine up, the best of Aihole (Ravanaphadi Cave, Huchimalli Gudi, Meguti temple) lies outside the complex.

The trail to Meguti temple has the other two. While the Huchimalli Gudi looks impressive, we can’t go in as the gates are closed. Soon we come upon the Ravanaphadi cave. This constitutes the last of the gems on this trip and it is some way to sign off. Built out of a huge monolith, the cave temple houses reliefs that evoke awe. One features an eight-armed dancing Shiva with Parvati and Ganesh to the left, watched by Saptamatrikas. The other includes a Tantric figure leaping in ecstasy. Later, spent, I take a breather in the Meguti temple on top of a hill ascended by taking a 120 step staircase. We are done and my thoughts echo what my uncle has just told me, you can now leave Karnataka in peace.

2-day sojourn at Hampi

Much has been said in print and other media about Hampi. Such adulation over a period of time can sound the death-knell for most places. Not Hampi. Actually, it gets you thinking if it might be the other extreme with Hampi. There's an aura of mystery that hangs about the place and uncloaking it might not be achieved no matter how many trips one makes. This is a paradox in itself for the sunshine, while not harsh (definitely not if done during the rainy season : June to Sep), still is something to reckon with. I find it hard to imagine Hampi at a pleasant 25 degrees or thereabouts. The sun (indicative of what's to come when one journeys into the Deccan) bares the place to the last detail for all to see, yet one isn't quite able to decipher what the place stands for. This definitely isn't the case with say, the Chennakeshava Temple at Somanathapur, one among the numerous Hoysala masterpieces. Situated further south (much further), it eluded the marauding hand and as such stands as another paean to Hoysala art.


That said, it might be a good idea to tour Hampi with a good guide-book in hand, not one filled with photographs but one that recounts the story of Hampi as it should be told. Else, the sheer scale of things at Hampi might result in one walking around dazed and dwarfed. We (my Uncle and I) acquired one towards the evening of the first day, but couldn't manage what I've recommended though. We could only read parts of it and I must say it definitely helped. The book in question is 'Hampi in Ruins' by A H Longhurst, an account of the various styles of monuments produced during the reign of the Vijayanagar empire. Like any well-researched work, it also considers the influences behind their evolution. Very understated, it is objective for the most part and rarely intrudes to comment. It is available in its entirety at http://www.ncra.tifr.res.in/~yogesh/hampihistory.html. The first section is worth a casual read for anyone, irrespective of whether they have plans to visit Hampi in near future or not. The author recommends Robert Sewell's 'A Forgotten Empire : Vijayanagar' as the seminal work on Hampi.


The presence of two hubs named 'Royal Centre' and 'Sacred Centre' inevitably leads to a bifurcation of tourists. 'Royal Centre', a sprawling area with numerous monuments among which 'Queen's Bath', 'Hazara Rama Temple', and 'Zenana Enclosure' (once a secluded area for the womenfolk of Vijayanagar) are the famous ones, is the more touristy of the two hubs. Offering a varied fare, it attracts throngs of people seeking to impose themselves on the place and this can mar one's impression of some of the monuments here. 'Queen's Bath' is probably the most overrated (and as a consequence the most photographed as well) monument at Hampi. If you want to have a quiet time of it, head for the other hub, 'Sacred Centre'.


The 'Sacred Centre', has the imposing Virupaksha Temple as its centre, and is dotted with temples and monuments amidst huge boulders strewn across rocky terrain, forming a landscape that is alternatively surreal and fertile to look at. This, of course, is charted by the path of the Tungabhadra river. All this has led to Hampi acquiring the 'out of this world' tag. For starters, nothing here is even remotely small. Though there are sculptures that does remind one of Hoysala art, as far as size goes, it doesn't compare with the minute carvings that dominate a Hoysala temple. The Vijayanagari motto might well have been 'Think big, execute to perfection'. This is also borne out by accounts of the reign of Krishna Deva Raya, also the golden period and the zenith of the Vijayanagar empire. One can encounter a huge 'Kadelakalu Ganesha', a 'Sasivekalu Ganesha', a graphic rendition of 'Lakshmi Narasimha', the 'Badava Linga' and the huge 'Basavanna Nandi'.


While the intention of such scupltures is manifest in many ways, the true legacy of Hampi lies in not one but three temples - the Achyutarama Temple, the Vittala Temple and the Krishna Temple. If the Achyutaraya temple ruins are accessed via the hill at whose base the 'Basavanna Nandi' is situated, the effect is akin to literally stumbling upon a long-lost place. The 'Soolai Bazaar' links the Achyutaraya temple to the Vittala Temple, King's Balance etc on one side and an Anjaneya temple along with a Rama temple on the other, all along the banks of the Tungabhadra. Achyutaraya was also the name of Krishna Deva Raya's younger brother and succeeded him. Reading Longhurst's account, it appears that his manner of running an empire may have sowed the seeds for the destruction of Vijayanagara.


The Vittala temple is, without doubt, the highlight of Hampi. Albeit incomplete, it feels the most complete of the lot and features the stone chariot. The Krishna Temple features scenes from Krishnaleela on scuplture and is a must-see. It's best not to have a rigid agenda for any of these places, for one can never tell which place will capture one's fancy.


Before I end, here are a few tips of use for the budding traveller to Hampi.

• Stay at Hampi. This is in order to avoid travel times to Hospet (the nearest town, 16 kms away and connected by rail and road to Bangalore, the Hampi Express 6592 from Bangalore reaches Hospet at 07:45 and 6591 bound for Bangalore arrives at Hospet at 20:50). This can be done at the cute guesthouses that one may find to the right of the Virupaksha temple all the way upto the Tungabhadra. They offer neat rooms that take care of one's basic needs.
• Those who simply cannot do without the mobile phone may find Hampi a frustrating place as far as connectivity is concerned for there are very few places where one can find atleast minimum connectivity. One of these is a spot on the bank of the Tungabhadra. This can be reached by travelling to the West end of the Hampi Bazaar (the arterial road that features the Virupaksha temple at the West end and the Basavanna Nandi at the other) right upto the gopuram of the Virupaksha temple. Take a right before entering and follow the paved path with shops featuring curios, general stores, restaurants and the only guesthouses in Hampi. A few paces after the Suresh Guest House one can see the Tungabhadra come into view.
• Hiring a cycle requires good fitness levels and usually one finds only foreigners doing that. One the other hand a bike/taxi/auto-rickshaw isn't needed within the centres (Sacred and Royal). From 'Sacred' to 'Royal' it's a 3 km walk and here one may use an auto-rickshaw. We used the auto twice - Hospet to Hampi and back.
• The Sangameshwara restaurant on the Hampi Bazaar features the best food (comparatively speaking, Hampi offers pedestrian fare) and as such finds itself recommended to tourists in the 'Lonely Planet' travel guide series. All of them offer palatable Chapathi with Sabzi. It's best to stick to simple food items inspite of the menu featuring most of the items that one is likely to find in a city-based restaurant.
  It's useful to equip oneself with the following : a sun-hat (some of the shops on the Hampi Bazaar sell 'em. Try not to settle for a normal cap), sunglasses (if needed, might be a necessity in summer), provision for water (although you'll find people selling coconut water, mineral water etc at the at the likeliest and the oddest of places, it's always best to carry water - particularly if one is walking from Sacred to Royal centre or vice-versa), light clothing and all those items that apply for a jaunt under sunny conditions.

I can't imagine another place matching the profundity (alluded to in the prelude) of feelings that Hampi invoked in me. Probably Leh. Or any of the natural wonders of the world for that matter. Certainly not a heritage destination.


Hampi rules.