In India’s UNESCO town of Hampi, you can climb boulders amid 14th-century ruins

“Are you just starting or heading back?” she asked, her voice tentative but friendly. It was 6pm, and a small group of climbers had gathered by the edge of the Rishimuk Plateau, the sunset too beautiful to climb through.

“Just starting,” I replied.

She was a beginner climber, like me. “Climbing at night is so much harder, though!” I nodded. But in Hampi, where the midday heat clings to the boulders long after the sun sets, climbing at night feels like a rite of passage.

That same night, I found myself perched atop a 15-foot boulder. What should have been a quick descent stretched into 30 nerve-wracking minutes. Sayandeep, my partner in climbing and documenting this story, coaxed me down. I never imagined the comedown would be harder than the climb itself. Typical Hampi.

Yet, from that precarious seat, I watched the sky come alive—the most celestial bodies I’d seen outside the Himalayas. Below, the hulking shadows of Hampi’s boulders stretched forever—towering, cracked, textured, some precariously stacked, others cradling roots and life. I wanted to weep.

The town of Hampi lies in the south Indian state of Karnataka. Whether you arrive by bus or train, inching closer is surreal. The sheer volume of boulders is staggering, like a long-dead giant’s bones strewn across the earth. Between them, rice paddies, farms, and villages thread through.

It’s hard not to wonder, “What on earth happened here?!” Volcanism was my first guess. Turns out, years of weathering have shaped this boulder paradise.

Locals are also seeing the boulders as more than just rocks to be quarried; more are finding work as climbing guides, adding income streams beyond farming and rickshaw driving. Besides, there’s now a more balanced mix of Indian and foreign climbers, reflecting climbing’s growing popularity in India through gyms, social media, and films.

In the 14th century, the Vijayanagara Empire—a Hindu empire that ruled southern India between 1336 and 1646—chose Hampi as its capital, using the boulders to build an imperial city. The rugged hills formed a natural fortress, with the Tungabhadra River acting as a moat. Over 1,600 remains of their urban, royal, and sacred systems now span over 4,000 hectares, earning Hampi its UNESCO status in 1986. The empire crumbled, but the boulders of Hampi endured. Over time, they found new admirers: Adrenaline-fueled, chalk-covered humans, solving problems one climb at a time.

“Some people came for the ruins and realized, ‘Oh, there’s climbing here!’” says Jerry Vikram, a local climber who runs Golden Boulders, a climbing gear and guiding shop. The first wave of adventurers arrived in the 1980s, mostly tackling trad routes with ropes. Then, in the ’90s, crash pads were invented, and bouldering took off. Climber Paul ‘Pil’ Lockey and others spent seasons mapping routes and documenting ascents, shaping Hampi’s bouldering scene.

Of course, climbers needed a place to crash (no pun intended). In 1998, The Goan Corner became Hampi’s unofficial climber HQ. Hostel owner Sharmila recalls the chaos: “At any time, at least 150 people were staying.” The preferred ‘room’ was often just a mattress, a pillow, and a mosquito net under the open sky—aptly called The Million Star Rooftop.

More climbers flocked to Hampi after Pilgrimage (2003), a Big Up Productions film featuring renowned climber Chris Sharma and others. The whole crew stayed at The Goan Corner. “Chris gave me my first three crash pads, actually,” Sharmila adds coyly.

Today, climbing is banned in Hampi’s UNESCO-designated core zone, but allowed in the buffer zone, where villages like Hanumanahalli and Anegundi hold smaller ruins and relics. One evening, we follow Jerry to the crag, where he’s guiding a session. Watching him climb makes me think humans were born for this. Funnily enough, Jerry agrees. “Some people I take out climb once a month, once a year, just for fun. That doesn’t make you less of a climber. And Hampi is great for beginners, too.”

“There are around 1,500 documented problems in Hampi and just as many undocumented ones,” he adds. In bouldering, a ‘problem’ is a predetermined climbing route; compared to global hotspots, that number may not be much. “In Squamish, Canada, there are about 5,000 problems within a five-minute drive,” a fellow climber shares.

But for India’s fast-growing climbing scene, it doesn’t count for nothing. Besides, what Hampi may currently lack in quantity, it makes up for in variety. There are razor-sharp aretes (narrow rock edges), impossibly thin slabs (low-angle rock faces), and boulders so high you need to crane your neck to see the topout.

Jerry now runs around 1,000 guided sessions a year. Locals are also seeing the boulders as more than just rocks to be quarried; more are finding work as climbing guides, adding income streams beyond farming and rickshaw driving. Besides, there’s now a more balanced mix of Indian and foreign climbers, reflecting climbing’s growing popularity in India through gyms, social media, and films.

Lekha Rathinam from Bengaluru (formerly Bangalore), about 200 miles (340 kilometers) away has been climbing in Hampi since 2018. But it isn’t just the boulders that keep her coming back. “I love this ecosystem. The moment you arrive, people ask, ‘Oh, when did you come? What are you climbing?’ People are invested.”

She tells me tales of climbing in Hampi during the monsoons, when the reptiles, insects, and lush greens come alive. “It drizzles, and it dries, drizzles and dries. In between, you find little pockets to climb—it’s the best,” she adds. I find myself dreaming.

The government’s apathy was stark in the 2020 demolition of Hampi’s ‘Hippie Island’, a backpacker hub known for its communal vibe and easy access to bouldering spots. Authorities declared long-standing guesthouses and restaurants illegal, bulldozing them overnight.

Climbing in Hampi is one thing, but it’s everything around it that makes this place special. I spent my afternoons napping in hammocks and catching up on novels. On a rest day, we crossed the river by boat and wandered through the ancient ruins. On days when energy ran high, we’d bike through impossibly green fields or fall into deep conversations.

“Getting good at climbing means getting good at failing,” a friend mused over crispy dosas at our usual spot. Some evenings stretched into more climbing—until our bodies gave in, or the thought of leopards lurking in the dark was too hard to ignore. There was nowhere else I’d rather have been.

Still, a recurring theme lingered during my time here. For all its natural beauty and historical grandeur, Hampi isn’t living up to its massive potential. The monuments bear scars of neglect, a result of inconsistent funding and misplaced priorities. We saw carvings eroded beyond recognition and half-finished restorations that felt more like patchwork. Beyond the ruins, neglect continues—garbage-strewn paths, broken roads, and poor sanitation.

The government’s apathy was stark in the 2020 demolition of Hampi’s ‘Hippie Island’, a backpacker hub known for its communal vibe and easy access to bouldering spots. Authorities declared long-standing guesthouses and restaurants illegal, bulldozing them overnight.

The Goan Corner was among those affected. “They gave us two days to pack up our whole life. They even broke our house,” Sharmila recalls. Officials claimed it was for conservation, but many believe corruption was at play, with powerful interests eyeing luxury tourism. “For 25 years, they took bribes and let us build. Then suddenly, it was illegal,” she says.

The demolition displaced businesses, leaving climbers adrift—if only briefly. Sharmila has found success in Gangavathi, a nearby village, running a new property flanked by fields, lush greenery, and, of course, boulders. Business is doing well, but she sees fewer climbers. Part of the reason is the lack of developed problems in the area. Still, progress is happening. “We even have a topo already—I have about 10 problems in that,” she says, the topo referring to a climbing guide that maps out established routes.

If you’re visiting Hampi to climb, spots like Thimma Climb Bouldering, Wanderlust Café, Tom’s Place, and Golden Boulders offer rentals and/or guided sessions. Post-demolition, Hampi’s climbing scene scattered, bringing business to multiple villages. But this silver lining doesn’t mask the challenges—conservation is an afterthought, basic infrastructure lags, and tourism efforts are half-hearted at best.

On my last evening in Hampi, I wait for my auto to Hospet, where I’ll board my bus home. It’s 7pm and climbers are trickling back from the crag. Crash pads are being returned, and hands scrubbed clean of chalk and dust. Someone’s just ascended ‘Sunsloper’—a typical Hampi boulder problem. Others are planning for ‘Chandra’ the next morning—a technical and physically demanding climb. Most are just hungry.

Hampi and climbing are inseparable. The government must recognize the value of the outdoors—not as a restricted space but as a shared resource that benefits locals and visitors alike. Besides, addressing Hampi’s challenges will help both the place and its climbing scene thrive. And who doesn’t benefit from that?

I can’t wait to be back in the monsoons.

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