Staring at the boulders

You don't meditate in Hampi. Hampi meditates you.

View from Hanuman shrine

I don't know how many hours I spent just looking at the rocks of Hampi; the play of light over this massive area of myriads of boulders. The monkey King Hanuman is said to be born here, and rightfully so. If you don't watch out, they'll grab your food right out of your hand!

People across the ages have seen Hampi as it is: A magical place. It's been home to dynasties, that all built wondrous temples here, also because the rock is of such a character that it is very easy to cut in straight planes. There are hundreds of temples, shrines, houses, baths, bazaars and the like, in intricately cut rock. Even at the quarries, they've built small shrines, and carved portraits and gods in the rock.

Hampi is magic in another way, I met some wonderful people here. Especially one, together with whom the sunrises got even brighter. But that belongs in another forum...

In all, I spent 2 weeks here, hardly climbed a rock, but overheard many climbers recounting their day with feverish eyes and trembling limbs. Some have come back every year the last 30 years, and they say perhaps 5% of the area has been climbed, or rather bouldered.

Sunrise and bouldering

Beach yatra

I finished the yoga course in due time, said bye bye to my newfound friends (I'll see some of them again in March), and started walking the beaches of Goa. This is the first beach vacation I've had for as long as I can remember, I've always gone to the mountains, so I figured I'd do it proper this time.

Chapora castle

Crossing a shallow stream

Small, quiet beaches... 

And not so small and quiet ones

Fishermen pulling in their dinner

Older type fishing boat

Yatra means journey, and some Indians practice the tradition of leaving their house to go to holy places, as in a pilgrimage. The best time to walk is in the early morning or the evening because of the heat, but the paths over crags and hills separating the beaches are treacherous in the dark, so I walked mainly in daylight. 

Just north of Chapora castle there is a little hindu shrine, built onto a cave, in between the sea and the cliff. I was resting in the shade when another traveler walked by, and we had an interesting chat about life, the universe and everything. At some point a couple of Indians came to the shrine and lit some incense, giving their respects to the local deity. One of them started playing a harmonium, a box-shaped accordion, and sang a wordless song to the mountain. My new friend and I went inside, and listened to this classical Indian style hymn, while watching the eagles above, the fireflies playing in the wind, and the fishing boats coming in from the sea. A truly beautiful moment... 

My little trek lasted 3 days, and despite all good intentions, my feet wasn't up to the task of walking all the beaches of Goa. Walking in the "desert" for miles upon end really gives a good foot scrub, and when blisters are a fact, sandals and shoes don't do much good. So, reaching Panjim, after long consideration over proper coffee, I decided to take bus and ferry the rest of the way.

Ferry fun

 India has it's own way of getting under your skin. And taking public transport even more so. On the bus, I usually take the handicap seat close to the door, since all the other seats have miniscule leg room. On this particular trip, the ticket guy insisted on squeezing his butt-cheeks onto my knee, and if I moved it, his ass would follow. Moreover, an elderly lady that sat beside me held on for dear life, and pressed me with her back into the window, and kept pushing as much as her frail body could. All together with a bus driver that believes speed limits are for inferior beings, Bollywood music that's so loud that the driver can't hear all the honking and mayhem he leaves behind, nonexistent suspension, and your friendly neighborhood fishmonger that spills all his merchandise onto the floor of the bus. I traveled for 2,5 hours, and paid 1 euro. 

And now I'm in Palolem, south Goa. I'll probably move inland to Hampi soon, the Indian climber Mecca, but not before some more soaking at the beach. 

Hello India!

2017.11.07

Here we are again. Wonderful India, scary, happy, free, pulsating India!

I quit my job and traveled. But not before a whole heap of housework. I'm using a rental agent to rent out the house, which seems to go well in order. Took me a sweet while to ready the house, it's always somewhat discouraging to see how much stuff I've accumulated. My biggest regret before leaving was not being able to throw a farewell party for my  friends back in Oslo, but I did get to properly say goodbye to my now ex colleagues at Mantena. Work and party hard, guys!  

So now I'm here. Arambol, north Goa. The area was once a Portuguese colony, and bears clear marks of this. One Sunday morning I woke up to singing. I've woken up to many sounds in my travels, but not this. The beautiful call to prayer from Muslim minarets, cocks greeting the rising sun, bells and whistles, but never a chorus. Upon closer inspection, the local church was packed with people, and I joined some on the stairs outside. Not an organ playing, but guitar, flute and violin, and the chorus being all the locals dressed in their finest Sunday outfit. Beautiful! 

The Christian heritage is strong in Goa, but it bears clear marks of other influences as well. The hippies of the 70'ies came here in bus loads, carpeting the area with sweet smelling smoke, chanting and spirituality. Their spirit lingers, but is hard spotted, as mass tourism has flooded the beaches. Gory neon, scooters zipping to and fro', street merchants, scattered music and drunk Desi (Indians) and foreign tourists thrust themselves upon your senses. Which really isn't uncommon in India, but here it is somewhat concentrated. 

The first impression can be tiring, but true gems are scattered among the cascades of input. The heavily tattooed biker gang that hangs out in the nearest restaurant, talking about the importance of mudguards on Indian roads, and their warm but frustrated feelings about the Enfield, the motorbike of choice in India. Or the energetic Mumbai ex teens, that have rented a hotel rooftop, making it into a cafe/restaurant/nightclub/yoga hall/everything that is nice, where the food is some of the best I've tasted in India. Or old hippies, that have more or less settled, scraping by on pensions or a seasonal restaurant. And rest assured, under an old banyan tree in the nearby forest, an old baba was showing the younglings how to handle a chillum, or traditional weed pipe.

A wonderful place to chill, if you can find your chill in all the ruckus. It really helps to take one of the many yoga, Ayurveda, massage, music or elsewhat courses that are on hand. Which I have, I'm attending a five day course in Iyengar yoga. After that, I have decided to find the nicest beach in Goa, from north to south. Stay tuned! 


And I also got a little taste of what the monsoon entails. =)