Hampi, in Karnataka, is one of the most documented places you can visit but it can still surprise you, as discovered when she strayed from the beaten track

The stone chariot at the Vitthala Temple

a rather sturdy coracle made of bamboo split wickerwork ferries people across the Tungabhadra ( the boatman must swirl you real fast when you're midway)

A heart of stone

Hampi, in Karnataka, is one of the most documented places you can visit but it can still surprise you, as discovered when she strayed from the beaten track



As I drove towards Hampi's main bazaar, a close friend's jibe rang in my ears, "You spoil it all by 'researching' your destinations. You travel only to tick off your to-do lists."
I smirked. I had had a day to plan this trip, and my homework was flawless. Day 1: Check out the ruins psychotically jotted down in my notebook. Day 2: Check out some more ruins (what else?). Leave by noon.
But the minute I entered the bazaar, I knew I had smirked too soon. The Portuguese traveller, Domingo Paes, visited Hampi in 1520 and said, "…it seems to me like Rome". If he were to overhear my plans, he'd flick the back of my head that instant.
I stood several feet away from the towering gopuram (entrance) of the Virupaksha temple. On either side stood the colonnaded bazaar built in the 13thcentury. Kutchi, Rajasthani and leather goods may have replaced spices, diamonds and gold sold back then, but the bazaar still seemed to draw its energy from the nine-tiered ornate gopuram affectionately overseeing the goings-on even today — locals selling trinkets to foreigners in impeccable English dipped in the heavy, yet lyrical accents that characterise Hampi's Kannadigas; a bookshop owner running out with pamphlets whenever he sees a new face in the bazaar; and a lady called Reshma offering free gajras with her bananas. I turned around to see the centuries-old columns stretching three kilometres behind me. Concrete walls had been illegally constructed around the granite to house Hampi's increasing population.
I understood then. You don't 'plan' Hampi. You can check out all the photographs and travelogues you like, believe that you know what the erstwhile Vijayanagara empire has to offer, but Hampi will always give you more.

ruins of a13th century colonnaded bazaar

Beyond the bazaar
Hampi flourished under the rule of two kings — Deva Raya II and Krishnadeva Raya, who showcased their might by building shrines and monuments. But in 1565, it all came to an end when Hampi was captured by the combined armies of Bijapur, Golconda and Ahmednagar, and vandalised.
Today, locals in the 500-odd homes in Hampi village seem to have forgotten a time when tourists did not drop by for a chat, or to enquire about guest houses. As one guest house owner admitted, "Hampi would feel desolate and eerie without tourists, and it's not just because of the money they bring."
The village has higgledy-piggledy lanes of colurful, one-storeyed homes. Rooms come cheap (Rs300 being on the upper side). Other things, like a glass of warm milk just taken from a cow, and suggestions to visit Hampi's best eatery, Mango Tree, come free. The next day, my friend and I mulled over what to do while watching Virupaksha temple's resident elephant Laxmi being bathed by three attendants along the Tungabhadra. We decided the ruins could wait. We told our guide Nagaraj we wanted to see Hampi's prehistoric cave paintings, making him raise his eyebrows.
Back to the Iron Age
We followed Nagaraj uphill, away from Hampi's bazaar , and we were soon panting as we cut through thick foliage. We passed a number of massive boulders before Nagaraj stopped by one of them and pointed out faint brown marks on it. Then he took our bottles and splashed water across the boulder. Voila! Bright red paintings in herbal colours showed up, looking so fresh that they could have been traced the day before. There were fish, stick figures carrying firewood, cattle, even a patch depicting a burial site. "These were made in 1500 BC, in the Iron Age. But no one cares now. As far as I know, you're the second pair to come and see this in 14 years," said Nagaraj.
The Dutch Connection
As we moved on and stood atop a hillock, we heard soft jazz music coming out of a cottage. "Oh, Robert's home," said Nagaraj, explaining that Robert Geesink was a Dutch painter who had made Hampi his home since the 1970s, dedicating himself to painting the ruins.
We went up to the first floor where Robert, 70, greeted us with a wink and cleared up some ceramic debris to make place for us. Robert and his friend were working on either side of the entrance to his studio, chipping tiles to make a mosaic of two dragons breathing fire.
"Just learning, just learning..."

Robert rolled a cigarette and waited, as if he knew the questions I'd throw at him — why Hampi instead of Amsterdam? Does he really only paint Hampi?
"In the 60s, I wanted to be an illustrator and briefly worked at the Elle magazine in Paris. But I hated having a boss. So, I left the country." Just like that? "Yes."
Inspired by Dutch painter Vam Batheveld who frequently visited India to paint, Robert toured the north, Gujarat, Kanyakumari and then, Hampi. "I fell in love with the Lambani tribes here. Their gypsy way of life, colourful attires... I fell in love and married one of them." Robert's first wife died after 17 years. Now he lives with his 30-year-old second wife, Jaini, and four children. His studio is a beautiful mess of paintings of Hampi's boulders, ruins, temples, Lambani women and his muse, Jaini.
Robert has sold many Hampi paintings in Amsterdam and Delhi. I asked him whether he ever thought of going back home to Amsterdam. "Hampi is home. I live in the past and the present. Can anything be better than that?"

Carved slices of life
Finally, on our third day in the village, we hired a bike to see Hampi's ruins. Our guide this time was Krishna, and he was on a mission to pack in all the must-sees and must-dos before dusk. He showed us the musical columns at the Vitthala temple. "But I can't play them… there are too many security guards in the temple," he said apologetically. To make up for this, he took us to a stone carving that depicts nine scenes. Depending on how you see it, the carving could be a toad reaching out for its young one, a serpent perched to pounce on a monkey, or two monkeys hanging from a tree.
The more you look at the slices of Vijayanagara life carved in stone, the more you appreciate how Hampi's splendid past cradles its present. Most locals, like Krishna, have given up farming to become tourist guides, guest house owners or shopkeepers in the bazaar. Their versions of history vary — three guides will tell you three different stories behind a stone carving. However, every one of them is so ingenious that you don't seem to mind the gaps in their training (most local 'guides' are self-taught, thanks to the many books on Hampi).
That night, as I walked through a long patch of banana plantations in the dark to reach Mango Tree for my last meal in Hampi, my friend asked me if everything on my to-do list had been ticked off. Sitting under a mango tree by the gushing Tungabhadra, the only flickers of light being the lanterns placed on our low wooden tables, I had to admit, at least to myself, that the wretched notebook now lies in a bin outside one of Hampi's many ruins.