Hassan Hissy Fit or Why does India have no volume control button ?

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We left lovely Mysore and the cosy and safe confines of The Green Hotel and headed onwards towards Hassan.
Having said goodbye to our lovely new friends Mark and Sarah from Dublin. They're traveling by motorbike for four weeks and sharing 12 Kgs luggage as opposed to our 45kgs for six. We actually said goodbye five more times as the motor bike they were on was acting up., We picked up our driver and off we went.

Our first stop was to be the awesome , stunning, enormous Jain human Sculpture at Saravanabelagola (sp).
It is 18M tall and stands atop a hill reached, barefoot, on hundreds of scorching, rock hewn steps.

Thankfully there was, what my mother refers any sudden zephir to, "a thin wind".
This thin wind was most welcome when we got to about step number 600.

As a place of pilgrimage and worship for Jains in India, it was naturally quite busy.
Upon reaching the summit of the hill, which is strewn with mini temples and rock carvings, the colossus is cleverly kept from view until the very last step.

At the very point of relelation and in the presence of the serene grace of this truly magnificent statue, (there are many signs asking for complete and contemplative silence), the visitors and pilgrims alike make so much noise with their shouting and mobile phones and general hubbub of LOUD chatter, that the moment was spoiled a little for me.

We stepped off to one side of the railings and got chatting to the keeper/warden/ priest, and chatted (in whispers) with him for a while. Long enough to let the crowds abate and for us to have the site almost to ourselves for a few quite moments. A rare thing in India.

We decided to stay in a smalll town called Hassan. It serves as a good base to see a few temples and a stopping place en route to Mangalore. There is nothing to to do in Hassan except wait to leave.

The hotel was advertised in the guide book as having a pool and garden restaurant and was about the best of the 3 places in Hassan.

Sometimes guide books get it wrong! And with the Suruya Regency they certainly did.

The pool was non existant and the garden, (including the restaurant), had been swallowed up into another block of the hotel.

The room smelled of moth balls and roach killer.
But a sign on the door advertised proudly "hot water available from 7am till 9am".
Hot running water is something of a luxury in most places we stayed.

We were required to pay in full, up front. That should have been an omen.

After dinner we set about waiting to leave at 9am next day.

At 11.00 we called reception to ask them to stop construction works. And again at 11.30 and again at 12.00.
At 2am there was a contstant phone ringing in the room next door.
At 3.45 , I was just nodding off, the sound of a very loud Indian game show was BLARING out of a room down the corridor. I stormed there and found the reason it was so loud was that the guys there were watching TV with their door open. They must have got a shock when I roarded at them to shut it up. It was only then I realised the sight that I must have been standing in their doorway, draped, Ghandi style, in nothing but a sheet and a big Irish sleep deprived head, white with rage.
At 4.20 someone tried to break into our room (no prizes for guessing who it was)
At 5.00 the Muslim Faithful were called to prayer from what seemed like our bedside speakers
At 6.00 the construction work started again
At 8.00 I gave up on sleep and got up to have at least a boiled egg and a hot shower, hoping food and a shower would wash away the trauma of a night in Hassan.
At 8.15 they told me it was a pure veg resaturant and the nearest thing to a boiled egg I could have was yoghurt. And then they produced something brown, lulewarm and brackish. I think they called it coffee. It had been made with really weak dried coffee and tepid water.
I nearly cried.
At 8.30 I had my shower. Freezing cold
At 8.40 I throttled the receptionist. I imagined that I came through the phone - a la - geni in a bottle - only this time I was spitting mad.
At 8.45 the hotel offered us a bucket of hot water and promised the water would heat up in ten minutes.

By 9.20 I had wiped the floor with the hotell staff, engineer of works, bell boys and receptionsit. They denied there was any problem with our room.
The manager offered us a 10% discount and I told him that he had just insulted me more. John stepped in and said he would get onto Lonely Planet, Trip Advisor etc and report the hotel. At this there was a chink in the manager's armour and he offered us 50% discount and told us never to mention THE SURUYA REGENCY, Hassan, on any site. Oops - seems like I forgot about that bit.

After this fiasco we went on to see two fabulous Hoysala Dynasty Temple complexes at halebid and Belur.

Their sumptuous solid rock carved temples there are beyond comparison.
Layer upon layer of Hindu deities and all manner of battles are carved in minute and accurate detail on every surfave.
They sure made up for the awful preceeding night in Hassan.

We continued on for four and a half hours through rambling coffee estates, (with this much raw material on their door step, how did that hotel get it so wrong?), and switch - back roads down steep mountain passes to the deccan plains below.

Our end point was Moti Mahal Hotel in Mangalore and as advertised this one had a lovely pool and a large quiet room on the sixth floor.
Hot water in the taps, news papers under the door , a shop selling Cladagh ring jewelery in the lobby(!), a choice of three restaurants and room service.

Civilisation at last. I could stay here in this room for ever!

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