Our holiday in Karnataka was, quite accidentally, a sociological experiment in marital booking styles.
Stay One: Imperial Time Travel (With Poolside Cocktails)
First came Evolve Back— a place so committed to “heritage experience” that it appeared to have borrowed architectural inspiration directly from Hampi and then run it through a luxury filter.
We arrived via a dramatically bumpy, rock-strewn driveway reminiscent of old Hampi that gently rearranged our internal organs before depositing us at towering, weirdly raised, fort-like walls, also Hampi-ish. The franchise had clearly asked itself: What if the 14th century had a spa budget?
There were heavy metal keys that clanked with historic importance. Light switches were discreetly hidden in places known only to palace architects and possibly owls. For a good half hour, we wandered about dramatically slapping stone walls in the dark like confused archaeologists before discovering illumination.
But oh, once illuminated!
Our “villa” was less a villa and more a minor principality. It featured:
- Three showerheads (in case two guests wished to sing in stereo)
- Two bath spaces
- Two bathtubs
- Three-plus rooms
- Two televisions
- A private swimming pool large enough to host diplomatic talks
- 24/7 housekeeping
- An open bar
- Sumptuous breakfasts and dinners
- A promenade, boutique, salon, and even drivers’ quarters!
The place had more duplicates than a royal dynasty — though curiously, only one toilet bowl. Clearly, history has limits.
This architectural abundance was, naturally, booked by my ever-discerning husband, whose philosophy is: “If we are to time-travel, we shall do so in opulence.”
Stay Two: Budget Reality Theatre
I booked our next accommodation.
In my defense, I relied entirely on the glowing description on Booking.com, which promised a “fabulous stay with view, TV, and breakfast included.”.
(Let me pause here to acknowledge that I have a history with Booking.com. There was an earlier European episode involving optimism, misrepresentation, and what can only be described as betrayal in Bad Hersfeld – https://iyer.family/in-bad-hersfeld/ And yet — like someone who returns to a buffet after mild food poisoning — I believed again.)
Technically, none of Booking.Com’s description of this stay was untrue!
The “view” was indeed a view — of a street dump that appeared to be conducting its own waste management symposium.
The listing said “TV.” It did not specify “working TV.”
The bathroom featured one noble showerhead that looked like it had retired sometime in 2003.
Breakfast was “included,” meaning you could choose between:
- Bread and jam delivered to your room at approximately 10 a.m. (brunch for the patient), or
- Stale idli and chutney at a café two streets away at 9 a.m. (breakfast for the brave).
The only thing that worked perfectly was the elevator — a blessing, since the staircase was broken and had the structural confidence of wet cardboard.
Still, there was a certain… minimalism to the experience. We had:
- One functioning light switch (we cherished it)
- One showerhead (philosophically present)
- One television (symbolically present)
- One room (optimistically described as “cozy”)
And, in what felt like karmic symmetry with our previous palace, one toilet bowl.
In the end, our journey through Karnataka taught us two important truths:
- My husband books as though we are minor royalty.
- I book as though we are contestants on a budget survival show.
Between faux-royal excess and heroic frugality, we experienced the full spectrum of hospitality — from “Your Majesty, your pool awaits,” to “Madam, the elevator works. Mostly.”
And honestly? Both stays were unforgettable. Though next time, I suspect my husband will be handling the reservations.