Onwards to the Hippies in Hampii...

Worst sleep imaginable! We should have seen it coming! We had arrived in Bhadravati, the Port Talbot of India, an industrial town in the shadow of a giant steel plant. Huge towers pumping noxious fumes into the air and the constant blue flame on the horizon of burning gases. Our hotel was just off the main drag through the town. On our evening bimble (in the words of Howard), we found the main cross roads completely blocked by what, at first glance, looked like a riot. Men blocked the dual carriage way with flaming torches swaying to a rhythmic drumming. It seemed to be energising a growing crowd as the the traffic, initially toleratant of proceedings, became more impatient. The sound of blaring horns ever increasing as motorbikes and auto rickshaws jostled for position. We sheltered in a petrol station next to our hotel to see what developed. Our position seemed a little less safe when we watched the attendant open the underground petrol reservoir and begin funelling buckets of petrol in by hand, all illuminated by the light from fifty flaming torches only metres away! We asked a seemingly unconcerned policeman what on earth was going on, trying not to think about the impending explosion. He calmly explained that the 'riot' was in fact a celebration of a miracle which had once happened at this particular beautiful industrial intersection! Before long and with no obvious culmination in events the flaming torches disappated and the traffic unwound its impossible tangle amid police whistles and horns.

After all that excitement, and pleased the petrol station and our hotel were still standing, we headed back to our room for some peace. Unfortunately, the hotel manger had decided to start renovations to the lobby in the time it'd taken us to go out for food. A downstairs room next to reception suddenly seemed like a bad idea. We tolerated the banging and mitre saw until half nine but then enough was enough and it called for drastic measures... heading into the building site in my boxers did the trick! This unfortunately did not stop a bus load of Indian tourists arriving after midnight and we were ready to leave by 4am after the second express train had thundered past our bedroom window, punctuating the brief silence with an endless blast on its whistle. I suppose that's what you get when you scrimp and save on accommodation (Kat's keeping a very tight reign on the budget these days!).

We left Bhadravati sleep deprived but keen to make our next stop in Davengere as there, we bravely planned on entering the world of couch surfing (all be it a little apprehensively!). The smooth tarmac quickly deteriorated to a slippery red muddy mess alongside seemingly never ending roadworks and we vied for position with buses, trucks and cars, wheels slowly clogging. With tummies hungry for breakfast we searched in vain for our normal delicacy of samba and idli (dahl and a spongy fermented rice cake). We escaped the road works and began asking shop keepers for the nearest dhabas (street vendor). One friendly shop owner saw I'd (Ed) got a little cut to my ankle (t'is but a flesh wound, I replied) but he promptly invited us into his house, gave me a plaster and plied us with coffee, biscuits and fluffy artificial white rolls. With bellies full of sugar and kindness we happily pedalled the next 10km to our food stop

We reached Davangere on a hot afternoon. We'd arranged to meet our host for the night in front of KFC, newly built alongside a Dominos Pizza to cater for the needs of a growing student population. Nadirah, was a Malaysian junior doctor who had lived in the city for the last 5 years. We happily waited outside a stationary shop, while the owner graciously introduced us as two mad British cyclists to every passing university lecturer and professor. Nadirah duly arrived after finishing her morning theatre list and we followed her on her scooter to her nearby flat. We were then welcomed as old friends and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening chatting about home, Malaysia, travel, her work with refugees and some of the very real differences between our respective lives as junior doctors. From her time in European refugee camps she made some very accurate observations of the fluffy, "patient centred", empathetic approach of British doctors, she did an amazing impersonation which had us both cringing - she had absolutely nailed it! She explained that patient communication is slightly different in an Indian Government  hospital! Our initial apprehension over couch surfing seemed completely ridiculous as we sat, talked and ate an incredibly tasty home cooked Malay feast. The only downside to the evening was that Ed came face to face with his nemasis....three of the fluffiest Persion cats you have seen! We crept out the next morning and continued on our way. 

As we've slowly progressed northwards through Tamil Nadu, Kerala and now northern Karnataka, we've  noticed people have become increasingly inquisitive. Breakfast stops in small, roadside shacks have become anything but peaceful. We stopped on sunday morning in a sleepy village to refuel. There couldn't have been more than two dogs, three cows, a pig and two old men smoking beadies in sight. However, before our first mouthful of idli had reached our lips, we were surrounded by at least thirty pairs of eyes. The inevitable questions followed... what is your country? What is your name? What is your sister's name? What is your  father's name? ... it goes on! Then comes the snotty child passed into Kats arms before the selfies begin!!

Chai stops are also becoming increasingly time consuming. Before, the chai stall was a safe haven where the etiquette for tea and tranquility was stritly adhered to, no matter the setting. Now, within seconds of stopping, a host of men and children engulf us and the bikes. 'Gear cycle?!' they whisper,  as others point at the disc brakes and knowingly squeeze the tyres. Men nod approvingly to the mounted iPhone, our GPS (another Roger Moore invention), while passing their hand back and forth in front of our rear lights, 'ah recharge LED' they reply. No matter how nice the bikes appear, no one can hide their dismay at our lack of 'bike stand', an obvious flaw as we clumsily mandhandle the bikes into a stable resting position.

Very occasionally the attention we get is a little less welcome. It usually comes in the form of slightly  sleazy  men on motorbikes. In the last few days we've devised a  routine where I (kat) cycle up the hard shoulder alongside Ed, allowing him to gruffly inform the often baby faced youths where to go in his most polite English!

Different sort of attention...

Our next destination was with the hippies in Hampii. To reach this oasis of ancient ruins, perched amongst granite boulders, a winding river, coconut trees and rice paddies; we knew we had to tackle Hospette, a grim transport hub and its infamous 'Red Road'.  Our reward, a few days rest in a simple mud hut in a bucolic setting (see Lonely Planet page 732!). All was well until a road, the size of the M1, deteriorated into a single lane of crumbling tarmac, red dust and numerous cavernous potholes. Busses drove two abreast as gargantuan freight lorries fought for position on what was left of the road. A never ending 10km followed, our only occasional refuge was the half built road that came and went as quickly as the buses next to us. When all hope was fading we rounded a corner and an immaculate 4 lane highway opened up in front of us as if a mirage. Hospette was a breeze after this and we were safely on our way to our bucolic mud hut!

Mud hut for the night...

The setting around Hampii and Anaegundi was pretty magical. We could try and describe the ruined temples over looking Hampii Bazaar with hills made of precariously balanced granite boulders the size of houses (India's bouldering Mecca) but we would struggle to create the feeling it inspired (although Clem managed to find the boulder fields on Google maps!). After two days recovering in Hampii itself we moved to the ancient walled village of Anaegundi, 7km downstream. Hampii had been our first real exposure to fellow western tourists en mass. It was a strange reality to confront meeting someone from Mid Wales (Llanidlois) under a pagoda, drinking Lassi (banana yoghurt drink) surrounded by rice paddies...

Anaegundi proved to be other worldly. It's ancient city walls and stone entrance gates appeared to have kept out some Hampii's vices. We stayed in a beautifully restored simple village home and spent our time wandering the village streets and purchasing ethically made, recycled sari dresses and made to order tablet holders (we couldn't help ourselves... their goes Kat's budget!!). It was hard to leave after a sunset sat on top of the highest boulder watching men in coracles peacefully fish in the river below but our second couch surf awaited in Ilkal.

Loads of love

Ed and Kat

Xxxxxx