We entered the 1000 Pillared Temple and were blessed. The monk applied the red mark on our foreheads, the KumKum. Us. Grimy, dirty, ignorant, shorts wearing Americans.

We entered temples were photographed. We were given more than the usual stares. The next day we appeared in photos and articles for at least two local papers. We were the tourist attraction.

Three hours outside of the city of Hyderabad lies the small city of Warangal. It has little tourist influence. The city lies at the heart of the Telangana region of the Andhra Pradesh Province, a hotbed of separatist politics for the Telangana minority in the province.

We arrived in the city, assaulted by child beggars and the scent of piss and cow dung, and moved from the train station to our hotel. Rooms booked at R130 per night per person, or 2.5 dollars. No AC, no Western Toilets and the usual myriad of scents wafting up from the alley behind.

There were eight of us that went, a good crowd of Americans, a Thai and a Mexican.

We made an early start to the town of Melugu, a further 75km from Warangal. It is a small town of maybe 5000 people, whose existence is solely reliant on the main road that bisects it. Cows, like elsewhere idle in the streets. Nearby, however, is the Ramappa Temple and the lake that sits 2km away.

Isolated and desolate, the temple sits in a green field with evidence of restoration. Like everywhere in India, we did have some odd company. A insane man, whose name sounded roughly like “Byah,” was our “security guard” until we convinced him that we were going to call the police.

Other Indians we more helpful. A bunch of guys transported us on their motorbikes. It’s a treat fitting 4 people on to one small bike. Since we were such a big deal, we had cheers with “thums up” (a drink like coke) at his small cellphone shop. We ate food with our hands a restaurant so spicy that I could not open my eyes.