Tirupati to Tadipatri
December 15th 1995
From Tirupati, Jenny had two possible routes. One would go towards Bangalore, to the south east and the other would go to the north. After a complicated process of working out trains to and from both places from a very confusing pair of timetable books, we decided on the northern route, to a town called Tadipatri, where there was a temple or something. From there, we'd go straight to Hampi - or as straight as was possible. It would be tricky getting trains that would take us to Hospet, the nearest station to Hampi, at a reasonable time of day. However, it seemed like it should be relatively easy if we caught a bus for the last part of the journey.
We arrived at Tadipatri at about eight o'clock at night, in the middle of a power cut - they'd happen several times a day in southern India. The station was in complete darkness and, as we walked down the platform, it became obvious that it was in the middle of nowhere. There certainly wasn't a town very close by, anyway.
It was a bit of a worry and we wondered if this was going to be another Chandragiri, with the town a long way from the station and nowhere to stay the night when we got there. But before we got to the end of the platform, a man came up and asked us if we wanted a rickshaw. We said yes and followed him out of the station to where his rickshaw was parked. Jenny laughed when she saw it was a cycle rickshaw - the only one, parked among a few auto-rickshaws, although if it hadn't have been, the driver would have asked us if we wanted an 'auto'. We climbed aboard, which was difficult, partly because it didn't have a proper seat and partly because there was hardly any room for luggage in a cycle-rickshaw.
The journey to town was pretty crazy, with Jenny bursting into hysterical laughter now and then. The road was terrible and there were lots of lorries and other large vehicles. An unlit rickshaw didn't seem to have much chance under those conditions, but we eventually made it into town.
The first hotel we went to was full, but the second one had a room with two creaky old beds and a scummy bathroom for fifty rupees, which we took. It wasn't the best place we'd stayed, but we didn't really care much, at least it was a room. The power was still off, but i had a couple of candles with me, which was just as well, as the one short and very skinny one the hotel provided us with wouldn't have lasted anything like as long as the power cut did.
A short while later, there was a bang on the door and it was the boy who'd showed us to the room and a man i hadn't seen before. They asked if we wanted any food. When we said no, they asked if we wanted any alcohol. Ah, this place wasn't so bad after all! After a bit of negotiation, i ordered a quarter bottle of whisky which they charged me a hundred rupees for - that's over twice what you'd pay in Tamil Nadu. But, well, if there's one thing that prohibition of drugs does, it's to increase the price dramatically - and therefore the profit margin.
That was the first time i'd ever been anywhere where alcohol was illegal, and the first time i'd ever bought black market booze - apart from illegally distilled poteen in London, of course, and possibly illegally distilled arak in Flores. It was quite exciting really. But, of course, it was just like buying any other drug on the black market. You give them money and then have to hang around waiting for them to come back, wondering if they would come back and, if they did, what they'd bring. After a while, there was a knock on the door again and the boy came in with a weird looking bulge under his jumper. It was so obvious and so silly, i couldn't help smiling. Anyway, it was a plastic whisky bottle and it was a quarter full of whisky. Not bad really - and i did desperately need a drink!
I think that was the best part of being in Andhra Pradesh all in all, the opportunity to buy prohibited alcohol! Apart from that, my short visit to that state left me with no particular desire to go back there.
The weirdest thing about A.P. was that, unlike everywhere else, at both hotels we stayed at the staff seemed to find it necessary to bash on your door at all hours of the day and night as if there was some kind of emergency happening. To be woken up like this at half past five in the morning, only to be asked if you wanted coffee, didn't leave me feeling particularly friendly towards the person doing it. Then, when they thought you might have gone back to sleep, about an hour later, they did it again. Only this time it's food, or clean the room or take the bed sheet or god knows what. And this continued throughout the day. I though the lack of alcohol must make them hyperactive.