On the bus from Hosped to Hampi a few fellow travellers from the night bus are sitting next to me, three pretty girls from Poland. It's always amazing how small the world is and how quickly you manage to make friends with complete strangers. These facts turn out to be a universal solution against any kind of xenophobia. You recognize yourself in the stranger and are amazed to discover that almost nothing is different.
And so everything foreign disappears, becomes something familiar.
The ancient Hindu capital
Half an hour later, bizarre rock formations emerge from the desert, signaling the approach of the ancient Hindu capital.
And there they are again, those deja vu feelings. Where on earth have I seen exactly this arrangement of traveler pubs, souvenir stands and youthful cosiness? It must have been in Nepal on the Annapurna trek, but I'm not sure.
In this way, the travel experiences merge into one another, becoming a conglomerate of impressions and memories that can no longer be assigned. At the end, the otherwise good memory is overwhelmed, the film is torn. I care little.
Ruins
I am not a classic lover of ancient ruins and monuments, no matter how impressive they might be. I feel more comfortable among the people, in the hustle and bustle of the markets, alleys, squares.
So I make my way to the distant ruins of the former Hindu capital. It's hot, not surprisingly, but it makes me happy. With slow steps I climb the hills, stopping again and again to let the amazing panorama flow into me.
It's a problem: how to describe something that's just a composite of lifeless rocks, but still displays the majestic splendor of its former grandeur? I admire everything that is still there and wonder what it must have looked like here in the days of the capital. With thousands of inhabitants, animals, life. It's always the same with old ruins: you only see the puny present.
And the question always arises as to why this capital was founded in this parched place, abandoned by God and the world? Strategic, tactical reasons? Better Defense? One can only speculate, but it seems certain to me that there must have been a very good reason.
And just as inexplicable is the question of why the city was abandoned. Did the water run out? So a very simple explanation? Sometimes it's not the big things that bring about big changes. It's the supposedly small things, like water shortages, that change everything.
Abandoned city
Anyway, from the hill it looks impressive. There is a squarely laid out part of a city, with bizarre towers and oriels. Much is destroyed, hardly recognizable, some is well preserved, showing hardly any traces of decay.
I drift slowly, as always, trying to take in the breath of the past life, but there isn't much. It's just dead, abandoned, a languid ruin dozing in the heat, inhabited by spirits who hold feasts in the night.
Typical: in the only temple that is still really well preserved (entrance fee!), I like three noisy poisonous green parrots best. It seems to be a trio, where the gender roles and the togetherness is still unclear and repeatedly leads to loud screeching and wild flapping around.
Along the river
The path along the shore of the river is simply beautiful. Round rocks lie in the water, which slowly and gurgling seeks its way. Strange round boats made of woven straw (?) float on it.
Little Jerusalem ... and a saint
I sit down in a shady little restaurant and then continue along the river. This leads me past the ferry dock (where only Hebrew is spoken) on a path that gets narrower and narrower. I suddenly seem to be the only person in the world.
A holy man sits by a narrow passage between sheer cliffs and gracefully awaits a few rupees. His role in life is unclear, but in any case he looks very handsome in his colorful cloaks.
Village life
There are even cave paintings somewhere, but I discover them only after long searching (although to this day I'm not sure if it wasn't something else that I have photographed). The way through a small village shows the daily village life as you don't see it as a normal tourist. And again and again thinking about the reasons for the cheerfulness of these people. They treat each other more affectionately than we do.
There are of course souvenir shops in Hampi offering beautiful works of art. A bronze animal (first a donkey, then a limping camel) has taken a liking to me. The sales talk with the shopkeeper develops into a philosophical discourse about the imperfection of the world.
And a lesson in generosity
Yes, and then it is slowly getting dark, my TukTuk driver has stood me up and so another one comes to take me home. I let myself be driven through the slowly setting dusk in the direction of Hospet, the driver stops on the way and gives a few rupees to an obviously mentally handicapped boy ("no parents, no one cares for him").
P.S. Matching Song: Linkin Park - Forgotten
And here the journey continues ...
