Friday, 20 December 2013

Dont Worry, Be Hampi!

After my horrible last night in Goa, i would have quite happily walked to my next destination if it meant escaping. But thankfully, I have a train booked to Hospet, the nearest railhead to Hampi, a little town slightly inland in Karnataka. Anyone that travels India will frequently hear about Hampi; how wonderful it is, what a happy and chilled-out place it is. The last time I was here, I skipped Hampi in favour of Gokarna, a sleepy beach town also in Karnataka. This time, after so many glowing recommendations, there is just no way i can't go.

I arrive to the station very early, and am still a little on edge so sit chain-smoking in drinking sugary chai. By bit of serendipity, while I am waiting for the train i meet Manon, a French girl also heading to Hampi, and who is also in the same carriage as me. We spend most of the 7 hour journey chatting, taking in the amazingly lush landscape and buying food from the vendors who pace up and own the train every 10 minutes, flogging their wares with shouts of "chai, chai, chai", "samosa, samosa, samosa..." And in no time at all, we arrive to Hospet and my previous nights worries have all but disappeared.
From Hospet, it's abut 30 minutes to Hampi, either by rickshaw or by local bus. Hospet itself is uninspiring, and I cant imagine why anyone would need to stay there for longer than necessary. On the train, we just so happen to meet a local rickshaw driver called Coffee Boy, who takes us in to Hampi, chatting in English, Hindi and French, recommending places to stay along the way.

Onthe drive from Hospet to Hampi, it becomes clear why everyone raves about this place. The landscape is simply incredible and totally unique - like nothing I've ever seen in India before, let alne anywhere else. For as far as the eye can see, there are colossal boulders peppering the ground, some as big as houses. Often they are clustered together, perched precariously on top of one another, creating natural viwpoints for people to climb. Mixed with the arrid dusty land is lush jungle and banana plantations, and best of all, the whole area is home to hundreds and hundreds of temples, over 500 years old. Dozens of monekys scramble up the boulders and temples, ocassionally snatching bits of food from tourists, or hanging out on rooftops, play fighting, This landcape is straight out of an Indiana Jones film.
Most of the temples were destroyed by a Muslim siege a few hundred years ago, and so are in a fairly dilapidated state - but this only adds to the magical charm of Hampi. Almost as soon as we arrive, I feel this warm wave of happiness; there is something so bewitching and speical abut Hampi that i think most visitiors would agree.

It's easy enough to find a guest house, and me and Manon end up staying at the same one, which is in a brilliant location in the centre of the little town, overlooking the main lingum style temple at the end of the bazaar. There are plenty of little cafes and restaurants to choose from, all clustered around one another an of a fairly similar standard and price - after a few days most visitors get to know them all pretty well. So after an incredible sunset from a little vista near our guest house, me and Manon head for dinner to Chill Out Bar, where we eat, chat, drink chai and smoke beedies for a few hours. (Chhill Out soon ecomes my favourite spot in Hampi; cushions on the floor, soft lighting, good music and nice staff, perfect!). Hampi, being a holy place, is dry, meaning there is NO BOOZE (obviously there is as much weed as you can smoke, though!), and as is common in the dry tows, eveyone heads to bed early. So come 10 pm, I am tucked up, ready for a day of exploration ahead.

The following day I waken naturally very early. After a morning jaunt for a belssing at the temple, me and Manon bup in to a group of Israelis who we met the previous night at Chill Out. They are heading in to the jungle, so with the promise of waterfalls and unspoiled scenery, we decide to join them. To cut a long story short, we end up hopelessly lost, ambling across the boulders, through banana plantations, through small rural villages and across rivers...but never quite managing to find the promised land of watefalls. Nonetheless, it's a total adventure, and for a few hours we are really out in ths sticks. By the time we get back to town, everyone is shattered...no more exploration until tomorrow! Luckily, Hampi has such a gentle and relaxed pace that you can be as busy or as peaceful as you want. So i spend the rest of the day wandering around the little market, drinking chai and sitting on the rooftop of the guesthouse reading.

If there is one "must-do" thing in Hampi, surely it must be the sunrise hike to the top of Matanga Hill, a 30 minute climb from the far end of the bazaar. Me and Manon leave at 5.45 am, making sure that we are in plenty of time, and although it's still dark out, the locals are up already...early nights = early mornings. Guided by a torch, ew scramble up th boulders to the top, where there is a small temple. The views are incredible, and only get better as the sun slowly rises; first bold streaks of pink and purple, then eventually a lazy orange ball, illuminating the surrounding landscape. Matanga Hill really shows the beauty of Hampi, and best of all, it's pretty quiet. All in all, thre are probably about 20 people there, a tiny amount compared to the hoardes who flock to Angkor Wat. This being India, the Russian contingent is here, but they only come to take one picture as the sun rises, then leave pretty sharpish. After an hour of basking in the silence and the morning sun, we come down the hill, and even meet a holy man who actually lives in a cave close to the top, with only a few blankets and some cutlery for comfort. Quite incredible.

Hampi also turns out to be the perfect place to continue and maintain my yoga practice. Individually, it is easy as the rooftops are generally flat, but on one of my morning market jaunts, I meet Yogananda, a local Ashtanga teacher. His calm nature instantly persuades me to join in his morning classes, and so for my final 2 days I do 2 hours of early morning gentle ashtanga asana practice, right outside a peaceful hidden temple near the centre of town. It's incredibly relaxing, and Yogananda really knows his stuff. His practice is definitely the best way to start a day in Hampi.

There are various ways to see all of the temples and boulder sites in Hampi, many of which are pretty spread out. The best way, by far, is to hire a bicycle, ususally in the form a gearless boneshaker, bright pink, complete with a little basket. The landscape isnt difficult to cycle or to navigate, and it makes for quite a liberating way to see the temples at your leisure. Most of the sites are free too, and generally pretty quiet. To wander around a deserted temple, in desert scrubland all alone is quite a thrill; i could be in any era, any time in history.
 As I pedal around, past lazy cows hiding from the midday heat, and farmers working hard in the paddy fields, I feel so happy and so free and so loved up with everything. No bhang lassi or chillum required! It's the Hampi effect; narcotic, and similar to the highs that people experience in Puskar or Varanasi. There are some places that words barely do justice, and Hampi is one of those places.
As our my final day in Hampi approaches, i feel sad to be saying goodbye to Manon, to the village and the the locals. After 5 days, the locals know our names, greet us in the mornings and eager shopkepers invite us to drink chai with them most days. Everyone is smiling and everything is shanti shanti. My bus isnt until late night, so with a whole day to kill, i decide to crossthe river, to "The Other Side." (everyone calls it this because no-ne can prenounce the official name of the little village across the river). It 30 seconds by boat, or if you are feeling brave, you can hobble across the bouders, or even swim. But as with any Indian river/waterway/sea etc, this is where people come to bathe, wash their clothes and perform thier morning ablutions. Exercise caution if swimming....!
It's even more relaxed on "The Other Side", which basically consists of a string of guest houses and huts for rent, most of which seem to be excusively Israeli. Signs in Hebrew, lots of falafel and impossiby gorgeous people walking around.
Before we take a rickshaw to Hospet, me and Manon enjoy onelast gossip/chai/beedie session at Chill Out. She is heading to Mysore, and me to the Sivananda Ashram in Neyyar Dam, Kerala, where I will spend Christmas and New Year. It's an overnight bus to Mangalore, follewd by an overnight train to Trivandrum to get there though, so anticipating a restless couple of nights.
I willv miss this special little town, but am glad that I have taken the time to come here. It really is worth it. Don't worry, Be Hampi!

Where to Stay: I stayed at Shambu Guest House, right in the thick of the action. Clean, quiet, private bathroom and wi-fi fr Rs 500 per night. Probably wont find much cheaper in high season!

Eating: There are quite a few little places dotted around the town, all serving Indian as well as western foods. Best ambience in Chill Out. No alcohol served, but bhang lassis available at Ravi's Rose Rooftop. Standard curry prices from Rs80 upwards.

Transport: Getting from Hospet to Hampi is Rs10 on the local bus, or Rs 200 in a rickshaw. Bicycle hire is widely avaialble and is about Rs 50 per day. Scooters/motorbikes will set you back Rs300 + per day

Yoga: Yogananada has a class at 8am every day, meeting at his office next to the French bakery in town. Highly recommended, and only Rs250 per class. Amazing location and superb teaching style.

Other: Sunrise at Matanga Hill - wear trainers, take a torch and plenty of water! And possibly a scarf for the chilly early morning!

Temples: Explore, peacefully at your leisure! No need to spend a fortune on a ricksahw tour, though they will try and pressure you in to this!!

Shopping: Small market, selling jewellery and camel leather products mostly. Pretty reasonably priced, ad the sellers aren't too pushy :-)


Friday, 13 December 2013

Arambol: Just Let Goa...and a very nasty reality check...

Just a few days in Arambol, North Goa, and it's easy to see why most people who come here stay for months on end - even years, in some cases. With little in the way of major commercial developement, this beautiful beach-side town is brimming over with beach huts, chilled out cafes and bars, juice joints, a bustling market, ayurvedic clinics, yoga classes, t'ai chi, meditation, hula-hooping, cookery classes, tabla lessons, belly-dancing, break-dancing, live music, techno parties, reggae nights, Goa trance, Reiki, hypnotherapy, chakra cleansing, dreadlock workshops...pretty much everything the modern-day hippy could ever want or need.

I arrive mid afternoon, having taken to local bus from Pernem (the closest rail head) to the bus stand in Arambol, about a 10 minute walk from the beach. As luck would have it, I get chatting to an Irish guy outside the bank, who tells me about some uber-cheap beach huts tht he's staying in - and even better, he gives me a (white-knuckle) ride on the back of his Royal Enfield, straight to the door. Perfect! At between 300 - 400 rupees per night for a beach side hut (shared bathrooms), Cock's Town (yes, this was really the name of the place), is on prime beachfront property. Ok, so the bamboo shacks don't look like they would withstand even a slight wind, but the I can't argue with the location, or the price.
Arambol is a strange little place in many ways - whilst being unbelievably chilled out, there are constant mutterings that it is almost entirely controlled by the Russian Mafia. This is evident pretty much instantly - the whole town has a huge Russian population, and many of the signs, posters, restaurants and bars advertise exclusively in Russian. From movie nights to borscht on the menu, the Russians really have Arambol monopolised, closely follwed by the Israeli contingent, who wander around looking effortlessly attractive all the time. Whether that's your cup of tea or not, it doesnt matter, because Arambol really is a place where anything goes. Whatever 'scene' you are in to, Arambol has it. (But it helps if you smoke weed all the time, are surgically attached to a ukelele and have dreadlocks...)

As soon as I arrive, I ditch my bag, shower and head out to explore, with the primary intention of finding a yoga class. After about an hour (and several jewellery-stall distractions....), I bump in to Alpesh, a local yoga teacher and healer. He talks a good talk, and has a very spacious (if ramshackle!) studio, so I decide to give his classes a try, starting first thing the following morning. Happy that Ive joined a class, the rest of my day is dedicated to Kingfisher and joints with the 2 German boys in the hut next door. The smell of ganga is EVERYWHERE in Arambol, like a pleasant hippy pot-pourri. Certainly makes a welcome change from the noxious Mumbai air...

The next day i arrive to my yoga class, full of the joys and ready for what I though would be a gentle reitorduction to yoga after a few months off. I was very much mistaken! Alpesh is a taskmaster, pushing me to the limits of my physical capabilities at times, and by the time my first class is over I pretty much collpase on the beach, aching. Luckily the classes don't seem as challenging as my practice increases, and I begin to learn that (although a little unconventional), Alpesh isn't the yoga-Nazi I intitally imagined (although he did threaten to hit me with a bamboo stick yesterday...). He's friendly, encouraging and his classes are small, so sometimes the lessons are one-on-one. For Rs 300 for a 2 hours session, there's no complaints here!

The rest of my days in Arambol are spent walking on the beach (i think one of the nicest ones in Goa - very spacious and only a few cows), perusing the market (fairly generic tat, reserved for those that want to "buy" being a pseudo-hippy), drinking chai/kingfisher/fresh mango juice, reading, chatting and joints with the Germans and occassionally dodging slighty clingy Indian men who seem to latch on to me. Nonetheless, everyone is smiling here (aside from a few stern looking Russians). Everyone and everything is shanti shanti. The restaurant staff - mostly young guys who have come from the far North of India or Nepal to work for the busy season - think they have struck gold. A job, by the beach? Perfect!
As a small aside: I find it strange - almost a little desperate/sad - there are market stalls where people can go to get thier hair dreadlocked. Don't get me wrong, I love a good dreadlock, but to actively seek out a place to fast-track the hair-matting process...? Hmmm. A little contradictory to the laissez-faire appraoch taken by the people who have taken years to cultivate such a gnarly do. Goa: just another mall piece of India where westerners can come to live out their bohemian dreams...

4 days is barely enough time to enjoy all that Arambol has to offer, but can certainly see myself returning for a few weeks, perhaps before the end of my trip. But if I don't leave now I will almost definitely get stuck there...which doesnt sound like a bad thing actually! Although given that it's fast approaching Christmas and New Year, Goa is about to hit FULL POWER, so perhaps this is the perfect time to escape the chaos!

I take a few local buses from Arambol, eventually to Margao, where i have a train to Karnataka in the morning. There's very little ofinterest in Margao, and is a just stopping off point for most people making connections elsewhere. Its late afternon by the time I arrive, and assisted by a couple of friendly Indian guys that I meet on the bus, I find a cheap hotel for the night (Hotel Annapurna - AVOID AT ALL COSTS). It's a bit rough and ready, but I dont think too much of it - Ive stayed in far worse places. Around 11, i finish reading and turn the lights out for the night. It's hot, and the noise of dogs fighting and howling in the alleyway makes me restless, butI drift off nontheless. Then, around 12.45am, there is a loud knock on the door followed by silence.
 I sit bolt upright in bed, but dont move a muscle. At increasing frequency for th next 2 hours, an unidentified man (most probably the hotel manager) continues to bang and pound at my door, occasionally shouting "Madam, open this door; Let me in".
To say I am terrified is an understatement. The door is bolted from the inside, so I'm sure that he can't get in, but nonetheless I sit awake on the bed until morning, shaking and wondering what business anyone - manager or otherwise - could have to come to my door so late. There's no fucking way I'm answering the door, of this I am sure.
Naturally, my mind is in overdrive - what if he gets in? What then? It's pitch black, I have no phone, I'm two storeys up and there are bars on the windows. The banging eventually stops, and so I pack and dress - trainers and all - in case I have to make a run for it. Perhaps it might seem that I am over-reacting, but at that moment, sitting in that dingy little room, it dawns on that I am completely alone, in a strange city and withv nowhere to turn for help. All I have is a smll pocket knife and some acetone; it's hardly decent defence.
At 6am, i wake from a light sleep, and linger around the hotel room until the sun comes up, and until I feel confident enough to open the door and get out of there as quickly as possible. Luckily, there is no-one around when I leae the room, and I practically sprint down the 2 flights of stairs to the exit....which just so happes to be padlocked.
FUCKING NIGHTMARE.
The manager is passed out on the floor, so I have to wake him to let me out. Of course, he gets his cock out and stands, unlocking the door slowly, while I am desperate to leave. Now, I'm no stranger to opportunistic masturbators/perverts/deviants (see previous blog posts!), but this situation is the first where I've really felt genuinely harassed and threatened. I manage to leave okay, and arrive to the train station in plenty of time. Although I'm always fairly careful, this has been a bit of a reality check for me. I'm definitely not in Kansas any more...

So onwards it is to Hampi in Karnataka. I'm putting ths little hiccup behind me, and out of my mind.

See you soon Goa - I'll be back to cleanse my chakras and awaken my third eye in no time at all... :-)


Getting Around: The closest railway station is Pernem. Dont bother taking a taxi, instead walk out of the station to the end of the dirt road, and wait for a bus. They are pretty frequent and only cost Rs 15. In Arambol, just about everyone hires scooters or motorbikes. From around Rs 200 per day, they are a bargain. Goa is a decent place to try out riding scooters if you've never done it before.

Where to Stay: I stayed at Cock's Town, half way along the beach. 300-400 rupees per night for a beachside hut with shared bathrooms. The beach front accommodations are a little noisy as they all compete with each other musically, so it can be a bit of a relentless headfuck. But there are literally hundreds of similar standad places set in the little roads connecting the beach to the main market street, or along the cliffside at the far right of the beach. Just look around! Everywhere now offers wi-fi too.

Where to Eat: Beachside eating is expensive - mostly catering to the rich Russian crowd (things like shark on the menu etc), so it's worth walking to the main street to find a smaller, more local restuarant. There are plenty to choose from. There are a few little street cafes offering veg thalis for Rs 50. Although a little pricey by Indian standards, Once in Nature organic cafe, tucked away down a little land on the market street, is brilliant. The food is ridiculously healthy and delicious, and the ambience is just perfect. Main courses from about Rs120. Umbrella Cafe is also a lovely little upstairs chill-out spot, albeit almost exclusively Russian.

Drinking: Same as eating - the closer to the beach, the higher the price (generally). Some places offer 2-for-1 happy hours though. A small bottle of Kingfisher will set you back about Rs50- Rs80 in a bar, or Rs30 in a shop.

What to do: Aside from lying on the beach, drinking Kingfisher, and taking in the amazing sunsets? Arambol has smething for everyone. There are posters EVERYWHERE advertising classes and services in just about everything. Get some recommendations when you arrive, as the sheer volume of things available can be overwhelming.

Other: It's COLD at night, seriously! I dont remember this from the last time in Goa, but it really is chilly! I slept fully clothed with 2 blankets and still woke up cold. Bring a blanket, or buy one at the marketl

Saturday, 7 December 2013

Mumbai: Smells, sights and Spellbinding Slums...

India is the first place I've ever been to twice. Everywhere else I have been has been a solo, single visit. But something about India, since the day I left, has compelled me to return. The people, the place, the noises, the smells, the culture - all of it is so alien, so exotic and unusual that I can't help but remain totally spellbound by it.

So 2 years later, here I am, back at my original starting point, Mumbai. I feel I owe this city an apology though - I was unfairly harsh on it the last time I was here. Ok, so it's pretty overwhelming, but not nearly as daunting as I recall. Yes, it's busy, frantic, noisy, ocassionally smelly and a little dirty, but therein lies the charm. Seriously! So Mumbai, I'm sorry. I take it all back.

From the airport, I take a prepaid taxi to Fort, where my hostel is, which costs Rs 590 (about 6 pounds). Considering the trip takes 2 hours (allowing for the hectic, relentless traffic and the driver stopping to ask for directions a few times), I think this is a pretty good deal. It's evening time, and still pretty hot and humid, but it's not nearly as oppressive as I'd anticipated. I'm sweaty, but not shamefully so. By the time I arrive to the hostel, it's 9pm, and I can figure out if I am tired or not. In this situation, a beer is always useful, so I ditch my backpack and head to Cafe Universal at the end of the street, where I have a drink with a Xima and Shine, who are also staying in the hostel.

After a restless night of sleep (I guess it will take me a few days to readjust to the warm nights and constant noise), I get up the following morning and head on a tour of the slums with Xima. I'm not usually a fan of organised tours, but going with a local guide is pretty much the best way to the Dharavi slum. Since it's the 3rd largest in the world, going it alone more or less guarantees getting lost. So me, Xima an Austrian couple and our guide (who has lived in the slum all his life) head off in the morning, taking the local train to reach Dharavi.


I'm not quite sure what I expected really, but it certainly wasn't what we saw there. The word slum conjures images of desolation, poverty and misery - the type of living reminisecent of a tear-jerker Oxfam advert. But Dharavi (where Slumdog Millionnaire was filmed), is anything but. It's progressive, home to multitude of booming industries and has every type of amenity imaginable - clinics, banks, shops, restaurants, schools. There are even private schools there!
Spread across about 550 acres, Dharavi is a cramped, ramshackle affair, connected by claustrophobic, labyrinthine alleyways, patches of wasteground and busy roads. It is densely populated (potentially housing up to 1 million) and the toilet facilities are communal, with thousands sharing the scarce bathrooms. Under the patch-work concrete streets there are sewage channels, full to the brim (by the end of the day I completely regret wearng flipflops; my feet are definitely toxic!). Huge mounds of rubbish dominate areas of wasteland, and despite the stench and abundance of flies, they provide recreational space for the local kids.
On of the most incredible aspects of slum-life is the sheer level of industry that exists. Huge scale operations are in place - from soap-making to leather manufacturing and plastic recycling to food production - the slum really does it all. It is organised, efficient and lucrative, and most importantly, provides a steady source of income for thousands of people. Behind tiny, curtained doors down a dark, quiet alleyways, it is likely that there is a factory of some sort, where people work round the clock.
Probably the most 'admirable' aspect of the slum (I mean that in the least patronising way possible), is the fact that everyone and everyhthing there co-exists, seemingly hassle free. Rats, chickens, goats, stray dogs and skinny flea-ridden cats wander around, seemingly in harmony with the people living there- a diverse mix of Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Gujaratis, businessmen, Rajasthanis, ...the list goes on. The slums seems to be a very inclusive place, and there is a tangible sense of community. People seem happy. The children are content. This is large-scale communal living that really really works.

Mid afternoon, we leave the slum and head back to Fort. It's getting a bit hot and uncomfortable, so me and Xima head to a local cafeteria for lunch - rice, chapatis and various unidentified sauces and dips, washed down with hot, sweet chai. At about 50p, its pretty much ideal. By the time we're finished, it's ideal walking temperature again, so we wander down to the Gateway of Mumbai, probably one of the most tourist-oriented parts of town. It's extremely busy, and we are constantly surrounded by peple asking for photos, so after 10 minutes of duly obliging, we abandon ship and instead head for spacious avenue of Marine Drive for sunset, where we sit on the wall by the sea, people-watching and chatting. It's a breezy night, and ideal for taking in all the sights, sounds and smells of Mumbai. Chai-sellers stroll past (purposefully shouting "chai, chai, chai"), the relentless sound of car horns soon becomes a comforting, background noise and every so often, the smell of incense, or spices (or piss, unfortunately!) will catch my attention.

It's been a beautiful reintroduction to Mumbai, but already I am craving a little peace, so tomorrow night it's off to Goa on the night train. A few days on the beach sounds pretty good right now...

MUMBAI

WHERE TO STAY: Traveller's Inn, Fort. Dorm rooms from Rs 500 per night. Still the best deal in Mumbai, by a mile. Friendly, helpful staff, clean, spacious rooms and an excellent location. Only 10 minutes walk to Mumbai CST (train station).

SLUM TOUR: We paid Rs 650 for a half day with Mystical Mumbai. Highly recommended!

WHERE TO EAT: Every 2nd building is a restaurant, canteen or cafeteria. Food is super-cheap here, so try to avoid the tourist trap places/chain restaurants, where prices can be double or triple. Curry dishes from 50p upwards, chai for about 5p, chapatis for about 7p. Bottled water about 20p.    

GETTING AROUND: The local train network is cheap and efficient, if a little crowded. You have a matter of seconds to exit the train when it stops, so be fast! Tickets fom Rs 20. Taxis are widely availble, and prices are negotiable!

Train to Goa is a sleeper train. Try to book in advance to avoid waiting lists. Journey time is around 10 hours, and I paid Rs 341 for a Sleeper seat (around 3 pounds 50).

There are banks, ATM's kiosks and chemists in abundance in Mumbai, selling everything imaginable. I stocked up on sleeping pills for the train. 10 diazepam for Rs 100 (1 pound).

(Unfortunately, I dont seem to be able to upload pictures just now...am working on it but dont hold your breath!)