A River Crossing

No more than 13 years old, the boy smiles as he paddles his circular vessel -which appears to be nothing more than a large wicker bowl – to and fro across the Tungabhadra river. Catching me raise my camera, he looks over, blows a kiss and laughs.

This boy is the private river taxi, the gondolier as it were of Hampi, and just as when in Venice together we weren’t allowed to go in a gondola (as Father deemed it a rip off), here we stuck to the Vaparetto equivalent too. The Vaparetto equivalent – an old boat filled to the absolute brim with tourists and that looked as if it wouldn’t be too long until it was also filled to the absolute brim with water.

We’re both able swimmers. We got in.

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