XVI - Leaving Guledagudda
Massive wall at a temple in Hampi. No cement used.
We bailed out of our last hotel a day early. It was an Ashram in Guledagudda – a town so uninspiring that every Indian we’ve told we stayed there has stared at us in utter astonishment, as if visiting England I’d elected to stay in Slough or Swindon, or the Nadir of all that is good and holy, Reading. Incidentally, I used to have a DVD player, which was a bit dodgy, especially with over used DVDs including the Lord of the Rings extended trilogy and the MTV drama Awkward (footnote: awkward is one of my favourite words – the ‘wkw’ just doesn’t seem plausible in an English word but so perfectly – autologically – fits a word that means something that doesn’t fit), and when it was struggling in what is now known as the circle of death moment (frequently experienced here in India in times of poor wi-fi) it would reproduce the warning “READING” in 80s digital script, and we’d all groan “oh no, stuck again in Reading” – and put the kettle on for a wasted ten minutes of tedium before the desired show returned. Reading train station itself with its 8 million platforms and perennial building work (this may have all changed now – I have avoided it entirely for the last decade) deserves the inscription “abandon all hope ye who enter” – when passing through, as I used to on trips from Paddington to Swansea or Cardiff, I would hiss as the train arrived in the station.
Guledagudda is what my colour sergeant at Sandhurst would have called a “shithole”. But bear in mind he called every town that wasn’t in the midlands a “shit hole”. And without irony. We were lined up at the beginning of our Professionally Qualified Officers’ 3 month course and asked what our name was and where we were from, to the repeated response – a military liturgy, if you like. We were in Guledagudda due to its proximity to Badami (actually half an hour’s drive away). It’s a facet of travelling that mistakes are made. The ashram at which we stayed was peculiarly quiet. It seemed to me to be a very “tour of India” thing to do to stay at one. I was on board. And it was very quiet with relatively well-kept gardens, but I didn’t actually see anyone involved, which did make you wonder if it was a Netflix sort of ashram where everyone was somewhere else laundering money, bribing politicians and having orgies. The vibe generally speaking was of an evangelical Christian retreat centre but without any enthusiasm. The one person I met was a “doctor” who seemed nice but quiet and diffident. Looking at the noticeboards they seemed to embrace some exotic practices involving leeches, which intrigued the children. There was also a high walled area which was forbidden for any except the “initiated”, which rather reminded me of the joke about St Peter giving the tour of heaven and the newcomer enquiring about the noisy walled off area, to which Peter replies “Shhh.. that’s for the charismatics, they think they’re the only ones in here.” The joke has many other possible iterations, especially at present. The Church of England is full of people and groups who are convinced that another person or group has no place within it. It’s all a bit sad-making – a friend recently recommended the Scottish Episcopal Church but I’m not sure I could stand the midges. I console myself with the fact that in previous centuries we’d be killing each other over these disagreements.
But we got out of Guledagudda and had a life changing stay at a beautiful hotel in Badami. Badami has the most beautiful rocks set incredibly in piles. The geography around is very flat and agricultural but somehow these piles of stones have emerged which are extraordinary and full of caves and natural delights. Within these have been carved tremendous temples with beautiful sculptures and ornaments. It is remarkable to behold. Some 16 years ago I went to Abyssinia and Lalibela to see the churches hewn out of the rock. A friend remarked that these ought to be considered a wonder of the world such is the incredible effort gone in to literally smashing out worship spaces from bare rock. The caves at Badami are not on that scale but they are beautiful and a great example of human efforts at reaching the divine synthesized with the extraordinary beauty given to us by nature. Incidentally, one of the best walks in the world must be the steps in Sinai which take the visitor up the alleged Mount Sinai. These were made, I heard, as an act of penitence. And it is truly a breathtaking spiritual experience to ascend through the night and arrive at dawn to look out over the desert. Sadly, Badami’s temple caves mostly embolden humanity’s current worst instincts to take selfies in front of an old cave, and where possible drawing in my children who now only join photos for sweets or Fanta – which I take as an ironic comment on the preference for the virtual over the real – where your Instagram stories take priority over your lived experience – artificially sweetened.
Apollo now has developed on this theme more nicknames. He has always been Puck – the trusty sidekick to Oberon, and my preferred name to Apollo, which seems rather grand. Apollo here is the name of pharmacies, hospitals, tyres and all kinds of things, so an easy translation. We also found ourselves at a temple to the Sun God here, a connection which seemed to please him. However, since Rajasthan I renamed him Shah-Shah the Tiger cub. I can’t remember exactly why except for his wild behaviour and beauty. Shah-Shah insists very often on riding the elephant, who laboriously is always carrying a lot. Recently, he was nicknamed by bar staff in Goa “Fanta”, which really needs no explanation except for the maddening trait of this country to give beautiful children anything they want. Already here in Hampi he entreats those with power his requests for “lenomade” (sic) and I can see them crumbling. [Postscript: they have; a man just walked in with two chocolate ice-creams having gone out specially to buy them for the boys.]
But the hotel in Badami was a delight. So nice to have space. I’m not bothered in general about the standard of accommodation. I have to admit that the practice to having sinks simply open out on to the floor bothers me. Not for hygiene reasons. It just plays with my sense of what a sink is, if the water goes down the plug and simply drops by your feet. Similarly, here in Hampi I was almost impressed that a urinal had been fitted on to the wall but for reasons of expedience no one had attached any redistribution, so to speak, the only concession being a small drain btwo feet below in the floor. [Mentioning urinals always makes me a little nervous. I did it once in a sermon at St Lawrence, Jewry, at the Airborne Remembrance service. There were a lot of generals present with their wives and in a classic "i'm still living in the 1950s moment" she complained to her 2* husband, who passed on her grievance to my CO. He didn't really know what to say as he was well aware the blokes, for once, had loved the sermon, so the telling-off was exceedingly polite.] No such urinals in our Badami hotel. There was some madness at breakfast when heaps of rice with chilli peppers, papaya (which is a horrid fruit, and also the name of our camel at Jaisalmer, and so wholly inedible to us all), and other spiced food arrived at our table forcing us all to reconsider our choices and judgement over that 3* hotel breakfast we might have had once in Swindon. But having space, a bath, air-conditioning, a separate bed for the children, was the very definition of luxury.
Momentum is everything when you’re travelling. There have been just a few moments in the last six weeks when the task of moving on has seemed Sisyphean and Herculean combined. When you’re ill, the heat is inescapable, the children are undoing everything you are doing, you’re in a room a little bigger than the bed, keeping going can feel impossible. After a long stay in Goa, which was beautiful and easy but complicated by Rhiannon and Apollo getting a severe virus, it was hard starting up again. On the last day in Badami, neither Rhiannon nor I felt up to getting out of bed and les enfants terrible were going wild. Transfer us to a 3* hotel suite with a swimming pool, wi-fi and air-conditioning, time and space to get everything out and something to occupy the children, and suddenly we are ready to go. Maintaining momentum is a key doctrine in the army but it’s essential for the mental health of travellers. Hampi is I think the most beautiful place we’ve visited in India with lush rice fields, palm trees, great rocks and littered with archaeological remains detailing the history of India. The combination of water everywhere and heat makes the green striking, even for someone colourblind like me. There’s a pack of puppies to keep Rhiannon and the boys entertained with cuddles and a cool backpacker-bar to hang out in. Very restorative, even with its simplified plumbing Our next train departs at 3am, so we’ll see if we’ve built up our energies in time and beaten the Guledagudda slump.
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