June 18, 2005
Road trip: Panaji -> Hospet
I may have already mentioned this, but I've completely lost my sense of time. Today is Saturday, which I only know because the newspaper left under our door this morning said so.
The Mayfair, the hotel that hosted us during our first visit to Panaji was nice, but the Panjim Inn was spectacular. The owner converted his own colonial mansion into a guest house, and I'm grateful he did so. Lovely antique wardrobes, a four-poster bed in each room, and the bathrooms are lovingly detailed floor to ceiling in bright mosaics.
A word about the bathrooms in mid-range Indian hotels: I don't know why this design hasn't caught on in the States, but it's extremely efficient: sink, toilet and shower, with a floor that gently slopes toward a corner drain. No shower curtains, no extraneous cabinetry, no carpeting.
It must be a snap to clean. When I build my dream house, I hope to emulate the layout.
Perhaps these photos will encourage you to continue reading this lengthy entry...
 Deccan Plains |  Polyglot with his sister, Lakhsme |
Liz asked the hotel staff about hiring a car, and they referred us to a pleasant fellow with a shiny new white SUV large enough to accommodate a small village. His rate: 8000 Rs, which seemed rich. I spent 15 minutes trying to negotiate the price down, but I could only get him to go to 7250 or so.
He showed me around the vehicle proudly, demonstrating the flip-down seats in the cargo space in back, the extensive legroom, and so forth. He also pulled out a tax form indicating that he'd have to pay about 1400 Rs just to ferry us across the border into Karnataka. Not to mention the cost of petrol.
Liz seemed sure that we could do better, so we got another referral to Sanjay, an equally affable driver with a smaller tourist vehicle. Working with him, we got the price down to 6000 Rs for the 200-Km drive.
Two hundred kilometers on the road is quite a journey here. These aren't California freeways, where the worst delays are caused by rush-hour traffic or rubberneckers. Here, one might be delayed due to a fallen power line, mudslides, and not least of all, monsoon squalls.
I gave Sanjay 1000 Rs as a retainer the night before we were to leave, and he said he'd see us Friday morning around 7 or so for an early start. His price included petrol, border crossing fees and other incidentals.
"I'll bring my driver with me, and we'll go together. No problem?" he said, not really a question.
I agreed, and Liz and I did our best to get a good night's sleep. She did a bang-up job, but I fed my insomnia by watching several episodes of "24" on pirated DVDs, an excellent gift from one of Liz's friends who knew we'd occasionally find ourselves with time to fill during the trip.
Friday morning, we checked out of Panjim Inn during a power outage, which necessitated payment by traveler's check, as opposed to a credit card. Change in hand, we headed outside to meet Sanjay. Instead, we met Surinder, the guy Sanjay had farmed us out to.
I'm not sure why the change in plan threw me briefly -- it's not as if Sanjay and I were college pals. Either way, we'd be driving across the Western Ghats and up into the Deccan plains with a complete stranger, so six of one, a half dozen of the other. We loaded our packs in back and squeezed in.
Outside Panaji, another taxi flashed his lights at us, and we pulled over. Sanjay dashed across the road, exchanged a few words with Surinder, and wished us a safe journey. I felt a little better.
The drive began as most Goans were starting their day: children in bright uniforms walking to school, workers huddling in and around concrete bus shelters, young men with long sticks, herding goats or cows for the day's grazing.
We drove through South Goa, and I did my best to follow our progress on the Lonely Planet map. Liz put her iPod earbuds in place and gazed out the window, seeking her travel mode. I stopped following the map when I saw striped pikes blocking the road at Karwar, the crossing into Karnataka state.
Surinder spoke to some policemen while we waited in the vehicle. Two officers in crisp uniforms sauntered over casually, and I slid open the window. The usual queries: where are you from, where are you going, how long do you plan to stay, etc. I'd heard that the cops at border crossings were notorious for their thinly veiled requests for baksheesh, but we got off lightly:
A young cop asked us if we had any American coins or stamps -- I've met more
numismatists and philatelists here than I have in a lifetime lived in the U.S. His older, jaded partner behind the aviator frames asked if we had any cigarettes. We had neither to offer, so as soon as Surinder completed his forms, the younger officer raised the pike, and we were on our way.
I returned to the Karnataka map, but fatigue got the better of me, and I nodded off for a while. Liz said I slept for an hour or two, which surprises the hell out of me. Generally, I'm a poor sleeper while traveling. I rarely snooze on planes, trains or (especially) in automobiles.
It's probably a control issue: I like to be aware of my surroundings at all times, as if keeping my eyes on the road would keep us out of harm's way. Still and all, I woke up more than once after being jounced by a pothole or startled by the Doppler effect of an approaching lorry horn.
Despite the slick, narrow roads and fatalistic driving style of Indian motorists, I only saw three accidents during the hours we spent on the road; two were trucks bearing heavy loads. The first had run off the soft shoulder and into an irrigation ditch. The second wreck was far more dramatic: a lorry had rolled onto its roof, partially compressing the driver's cab.
The third accident was between a pickup truck and a sedan, and must have happened moments before we came round the bend. There was safety glass in the road, and the respective drivers were still shaking off their adrenaline shock before the inevitable Blame Game began.
Good news: I didn't see any injuries at these scenes, which was surprising. Around here, drivers pass on blind curves, narrow bridges, and everywhere else they think they can overtake the vehicle ahead. As ever, cows were the only entities on the road that got a wide berth.
Goa is at sea level, so driving up into the plains was a nice change in landscape and temperature. We passed vast stretches where the land seemed practically denuded, save for some scattered trees where workers and animals shaded themselves.
In Hubli, about two hours outside our destination, I finally got a network signal on our Treo worldphone. I tried calling different hotels a number of times, but each attempt was met with an annoyingly cheerful automated message that repeatedly informed me that the numbers I was calling simply did not exist.
Liz and I looked through the documentation that came with the Airtel service, but to no avail. In desperation, I picked up the Lonely Planet book and looked up "telephone" in the index. I was directed to pages 88-89, where there was this helpful bit of advice:
... telephone numbers in in most parts are India [are] undergoing changes. Although we have implemented these changes where applicable, if you do happen to have difficulty getting through to a local number, first try adding a "2" to the front of it...
Mentally, I gave myself a cookie before dialing -- and connecting! -- to Hotel Mallagi in Hospet, 9 km from Hampi, our point of interest. In short, clipped tones, the clerk gave me the rates for a double with A/C, but I was unable to make a reservation.
"As I already said, sir, it's pending availability," he sighed into the phone.
Each morning, I've been trying out a new travel mantra. Friday's was "CYA." I called an alternate hotel to check availability.
We made excellent time to Hospet, pulling into the hotel's porte cochere around 3:30 p.m. IST. I pulled out a wad of bills for Surinder and counted them out in full view of the hotel staff. Compounding our visibility, Liz very generously tipped the bellboy who brought up our bags while I checked us in.
As a result, we've received excellent service, but there are constant knocks at the door asking if we need anything. Everyone's gotta make a living, I guess.
After sleeping in all morning, we made a preliminary trip to Hampi this afternoon via auto-rickshaw, a eye-popping, butt-bouncing 9 km journey. About 650 years ago, Hampi was the capital of one of the largest Hindu kingdoms, a nexus for commerce and culture. But you know that old saying about, uh, success -- no one's smells good but your own.
As a result, the place was sacked by some player-hating sultanates, but the ruins persist and some of the temples remain intact. We checked out the Hampi Bazaar, where we met several brilliant, beautiful children. Their English is universally good, and we met one young man who's quite the polyglot.
"How many languages do you speak?" he asked me.
"English, and just a little bit of French," replied I sheepishly, holding my fingers this far apart.
"Ah! Je m'appelle (forgot his name!) Comment allez vous?"
"Ah, comme ci, comme ca," I replied, grinning. "Je m'appelle Walter. Ca va?"
I wish I could recall his name, because when he realized he couldn't hustle us for postcards and maps, he just wanted to talk. We walked the length of the bazaar with him, and at one point, he even corrected Liz's Spanish, remanding her for mixing former and informal forms of address. All told, he said he was conversant in 8 languages, and I believe him.
A bookstore owner helped us get a guide, Gutti Chandru, B.A. (LL.B.) I'm assuming those initials indicate his level of education, and I only know them because we're meeting him at 7:30 tomorrow morning for a half-day tour of Hampi. We went over the area map, and he showed us what we could expect to see before the sun was too high in the sky.
I told him all sounded good, but pointed to the Virupaksha temple that wasn't on our itinerary. I've developed a strong fondness for Ganesh, the joyful, elephant-headed deity who removes obstacles. If the temple's elephant is in attendance, you can get a "blessing" for 1 Rs.
The blessing comes in the form of a smooch on the crown of your head, a bargain at any price.
I hope to return with more amazing photos and stories. The temples and surroundings are like nothing I've ever seen. And those children just glow. I let Liz do most of the talking as I tried to capture some of them on video and in stills.
I'll not try to convince you that these kids are living in anything besides poverty and squalor, but the few we met -- their spirits shine through. They smiled and laughed at us and with us, and I'm looking forward to meeting them again.
Posted by Walter at June 18, 2005 04:50 PM