Hampi trip

8/7 - 8:25 p.m. Not feeling well. My stomach's been off all day, and coincidentally so has every other in our group. There's no bathroom on this bus, and the fans aren't working. I'm burning up. I removed my shawl but still have to keep it draped across my chest for the buses level to us. They're playing some video in Kannada and Hindu music -- so much for a sleep. Amber, my roommate, is sharing her old iPod with me. We've been jamming to Mr. Mister and Guns 'N Roses while everyone else has been konked out.

10:45 p.m. It's taken us over an hour to escape the outskirts of Bangalore which, save the palm trees and shantytowns, sort of resembles a drive around the Washington peninsula. We just had our rest stop, a bit over two hours into this ride, with six or so hours ahead of us, and no more stops, according to the itinerary.

. . .
At some point I stopped trying to journal. One reason being that my handwriting came to mimic the off-road turbulence of the landscape, but namely because I became very, very sick. I won't go into details but, "No stops"? Yeah, that was some foreshadowing.














My classmates are asking me plainly, "So how was your trip?" This is not an easy question to answer. When evaluating the success of my trip, I have to divide my judgment in terms of the destinations, the itinerary, and my wellness throughout. Hampi itself was gorgeous, a vast historic beauty littered with bygone palaces and huge volcanic rocks that looked poised to topple the village below them. The people were kind, low-key ad sincere, and I would've loved to hang around for another day or two. Unfortunately our guide insisted on us moving at a discomforting pace. He seemed more concerned with having our attention every minute than us enjoying the artwork and scenery he was describing. Still feeling drained from the night before, with no sleep and very little in my stomach, I nevertheless managed to make the best of it.

Later in the evening my mates and I visited Tungabhadra Dam and the nearby park. We were surprised to see so many locals there (though only upon arrival did we learn the Tungabhandra River is considered sacred), but were soon made uneasy at becoming the main attraction. We've gotten used to people wanting to take our picture, shake our hands, and give us flowers -- I still kinda have problems with it, but it's harmless. On the other hand, being videotaped and laughed at, with fingers pointed at us... That crosses the line of decency for me. Made for contemplative, if agitated, conversation though.

The next day, we drove I don't know how many hours to Mantralayam, a town in Andhra Pradesh, the state neighbouring Karnataka. We were told a number of times about the holy temple there, and found out later that we would be spending eight hours in close proximity to the temple, the only point of interest in the whole town. Several times we tried to get into the temple... "No no, it closes at 2. Come back at 4." "The temple is closed now, you won't be able to get in until after 6." There was no obvious entry and no one seemed to know where we could wait or if we were supposed to pay.

Thus, bummed out and fed up, we forgot about the temple and became recluses on the patio floor of our hotel until the evening, when we walked to the river. That was certainly worth moving around for, as we got to see the sunset drop behind the glistening water and dark figures bathing. The bus ride back was much more restful.


Needless to say, this wasn't the departure it was supposed to be. It was dramatic, tiring, and at times rediculous. I am both excited and hesitant to return to the States, to Washington. This has been a scary, deep, healthy and eye-opening trip... and I believe there has been a paradigm shift. Significant chunks of thought and memory will probably be put on hiatus until after PAX, which makes the return all the more nerve-wracking. I'm even more thankful for the Tokyo finale now. I'm hoping it will help me deal with my world.