Matanga morning

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The objective of the morning was to climb Matanga Hill to see the sunrise, an obligatory pilgrimage for Hampi visitors. I had a lot of difficulty finding the path in the darkness, and my abysmal fitness ensured that it wasn't a hop, skip and a jump to the top. On the way up, though, there were excellent views of the Tiruvengalanatha Temple (often used as a symbol of Hampi), so I took regular breaks while pretending to take photos.

Local wisdom had said that the sun rose at 6:30AM, but fortunately local wisdom was wrong by 30 minutes, so when I arrived on all fours at the top just before 7AM, gasping and panting, I hadn't missed anything. One sadhu was already in position, facing the east and looking serene in his saffron robes. There were a few pockets of tourists scattered across the hill top, speaking in hushed tones. When the sun finally appeared, the barest sliver of red on the horizon, there was muted applause and the mechanical clicking of a few camera shutters.

One of the things mentioned in all the guidebooks (so people have absolutely no excuse for not knowing it) is that Westerners, especially women, should dress conservatively in India, especially around religious places (of which Hampi is one). This is not only to avoid causing offence, but to reduce the chance of unwanted attention. So I was doubly surprised when a gaggle of European women appeared wearing tank tops, short shorts, and flimsy plimsolls, these also being uniformly excellent gear for climbing. I tutted under my breath, but will not change my policy of keeping my legs under wraps.

It was enthralling watching the face of the countryside change as the sun rose higher and cast its rays further afield, but after an hour or so my stomach made a request for food so I returned to the hotel. A lazy day followed.

I had told the hotel that I had a berth on the night train back to Bangalore in order that they would organise an auto for me, but for some reason they left it until the last minute to tell me that there was a major festival taking place in all the villages between here and Hospet so it would take a lot longer to get there. And when the auto driver turned up and quoted me 50% more than the price the hotel had mentioned, I was told he would have to take a much longer route to avoid the congestion.

It goes without saying that I returned to Hospet via exactly the same route I'd taken to get from there, which was especially hair-raising as the auto's horn didn't work. This meant we were unable to give a good blast at any of the moments where it would be appropriate, which for any road traffic here is about 90% of the time. The driver also seemed to be engaged in racing one of his friends, so at times we were side by side with this other guy, careering down the road with them laughing and sledging each other, as I clung grimly to the seat.

We did pass through a couple of villages that were clearly in the throes of a celebration. There seemed to be a lot of drunken people wandering around, engaging in violent dancing that in some cases was spilling over into fisticuffs.

On the train from Hospet to Bangalore, I had the lower berth for the first time ever. Shortly before the lights were turned out, I saw a mouse doing the rounds of the carriage. Maybe being near ground level isn't the advantage I thought it was.

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