Stormy Weather

Thursday : Yesterday a man told us that when Shiva smiles it rains. He must be currently watching his Fawlty Towers box-set as it is still raining between brief sunny interludes this morning. Our laundry is delivered, some of it more than a little damp, but we can't really blame anybody for that. We hit breakfast at opening time and R is thrilled to have the opportunity to use the Christmas cracker egg cup that she has been carrying for the last 4 weeks.

 We rearrange our packing to cater for the damp stuff and board the waiting auto. We would go back to the Isabel Palace. As we pass Khajuraho's under construction shiny new airport terminal we come across a novel piece of free enterprise.  Some locals have created a roadblock using an elephant and are demanding 100 rupees for photos and passage. They get 20 and seem quite happy with this as we are invited to shake trunks with the beast.

Khajuraho station has the sort of layout usually associated with lines in rural Ireland. The platform and associated facilities are on the far side of the line from the town so all vehicles have to cross a level crossing to get to it. The level crossing is fouled by the headshunt (bear with me) which is used every time locos or coaches are moved around the station. Our train of 21 coaches is being moved into position and the gates drop just before we reach them. A loco slowly hauls them from right to left, pauses for a few minutes while the points are changed, then propels them from left to right at an even slower pace. As this is happening an almighty thunderstorm breaks out with matching deluge. He must have got to the episode with the Germans.

The crossing gates go up - apart from the one in front of us. The people who have driven up the wrong side of the dual carriageway can progress. Law abiding types are trapped. After a few minutes a rather wet looking chap appears to open the barrier with a hand crank. Our man gets us as close to the station entrance as possible and we avoid getting soaked. We soon locate our coach and seats and even have time to get chai from the refreshment stand. The long open platform looks just like Cleethorpes on a Bank Holiday weekend. 

Today's plan is a little more complicated than is strictly necessary.  You may recall mention of our thwarted attempts to book a pair of 3AC side berths from Bhubaneswar to Bishnupur. Anticipating a fine, sunny Indian spring day, D originally booked Sleeper class from Khajuraho through to our next destination,  Gwalior. After failing to secure 3AC elsewhere he also booked it for the latter part of the trip, from Mau Ranipur. This allows us to swop coaches about halfway through the trip in order to sample the delights of as many different classes as possible while we are here.

The first part of the journey is in berths 63 and 64 of Sleeper coach 8. The weather dictates that we start the trip with the glazed panels down preventing most, but not all of the rain getting in. Our coach is nearly empty but the bay opposite contains six polite young men who have been at the festival with their mask and costume of the goddess Durga. When D asks if he can take a photo they very kindly unwrap her from her protective plastic sheeting. At Mahoba Junction we change direction and cross the Royal Rajasthan luxury train. Looks very smart on the outside but with blinds and tinted glass there is not even a glimpse of what the luxury might look like. It has stopped raining and we can get the windows open. That is sufficient racy living for us.

A young family with a toddler occupy the next pair of side berths, leaving them together as a bed and sitting cross legged on it. The toddler wants to explore and finds D to be an object of great fascination. D wants to try out the Upper Side berth in sleeper for size as these are reportedly quite short. All of the luggage is brought down to the lower level and D removes shoes, hops up and lies down. It is a bit short, but manageable,  although the present practice of using the day pack as a pillow would not work. R takes photographs and all around are captivated by our antics. Bringing entertainment to Indian Railways could be our motto.

The time comes for our move to the dizzy heights of 3AC, about three coaches along the train. There is near silence in B2 and we try not to make too much noise as we repeat the sizing experiment. The 3AC berth is a couple of inches longer and has thicker padding. This coach seems to be quite modern with a charger socket in each side bay as well as one in each inside bay. Our 2AC side berths did not have their own sockets. The window is filthy and D is dispatched to clean it. As he does the train starts to move and he has to dash for the door.

The Indian couple who have sole occupancy of the bay opposite us rouse themselves from their blankets and he begins to play with his tablet. After a while he passes it over to reveal a sketch that he has drawn of R. He has also done one of D and is happy to Bluetooth them to us. Oh the joys of modern technology. 

They are from Jalandhar in Punjab and have been to see the dance festival.  Then the moment of truth arrives. They offer us biscuits!  Most railway stations have notices warning about the grave dangers associated with accepting biscuits from strangers on trains but they seem eminently respectable and we accept with thanks. If this turns out to be our last post please alert the authorities. 

Train 19665 goes all of the way from Khajuraho to Udaipur via Agra and Jaipur and we expected it to be full of pale faces but we only see a couple. We did the same train in the opposite direction from Udaipur to Jaipur in 2011 and the only Indian people that we saw were the TTE and the chai walla. Our artistic friend and his lady disembark a couple of stops before Gwalior where we arrive twenty minutes late. R is deposited in the Upper Class Waiting Room while D goes to locate the hotel,  which is only about 300 yards from the station. Returning for R he buys time to check out the narrow gauge side of the station for tomorrow morning by bringing cups of chai and biscuits. All sorted we set out for the hotel just as another storm kicks in. An auto driver offers to take us to the hotel for 10 rupees which seems too good to be true. At least it gets us and our luggage out of the deluge and by the time we get there the rain has eased off. The guy seems delighted with 20 rupees so we have no idea what his angle is.

The reception area at the Hotel Grace is very smart but it ends there. This place will not be winning a coveted RW award even if it does fit D's two main criteria - quite cheap and near the station. We quickly unpack our soggy laundry and hang it up to dry. The rain returns again. D wonders if we could negotiate monsoon discounts. At least there is hot water, after the manager sends someone up to point out the water heater to us.

Refreshed we decide that attack is the best form of defence and take an auto to the restaurant that LP reckons to be the best in town. The Silver Saloon is an improbable name for the restaurant in the best hotel in Gwalior (Taj again). The auto driver tries to drop us at the Museum which closes at 5 p.m. daily but we get our message across and are delivered to the front gates of the Usha Kiran Palace Hotel. We ask for the bar and are told that it is being redecorated but that we are welcome to have a drink in the restaurant. This place oozes class and R even decides to risk a G&T with ice! D's beer arrives with frost on the bottle.  We are hooked and ask for a menu. At home we wouldn't have batted an eyelid at the prices but here they seem very ritzy. Still an excellent meal with superb service and a couple of drinks for £30. Ye cannae whack it!

Back at the Grace we order a bottle of soda for our nightcap. It is delivered complete with a Tennent's bottle opener.  It's a small world.

Wet Wednesday in February

Wednesday : Slept in until 7.30 , well after first light . The weather is more Killin than Khajuraho, grey clouds with no hint of sun.The hotel breakfast is pretty good and sets us up for a hard day's tourism. We stride out towards the main (Western) temple complex and buy our tickets plus an audio guide.

The Khajuraho temples date back over seven hundred years and some are over a thousand years old but they are still in remarkably good condition. The Archaeological Survey of India doesn't always get it right but here they seem to do a decent job. The grounds in which the temples are situated are well tended and the signage is pretty good. There are plenty of other visitors,  both Westerners and Indian, but there seems to be enough space for all. It is difficult to describe what we see so there are extra photos today.

The detailed carvings are very energetic, conveying life and movement.  The erotic carvings are the famous ones but there are plenty depicting scenes from everyday life.  D is disappointed by the lack of trains and has to settle for elephants.

 On and off there are a few spots of rain and at one point we even don the rain jackets.   By 1.30 we are pretty much templed out and go for a light lunch at the Raja Cafe which claims to be a Swiss restaurant.  Switzerland must have got a lot grubbier since D's visit in July last year. Black tea and grilled cheese sandwiches but no cornichons. After lunch we walk through a light drizzle to the Adivart Tribal and Folk Art Museum. Just as we arrive there are peals of thunder and once inside the rain starts hammering on the roof.

This is a small but interesting museum and we are shown around by a well informed young man whose status appears to be official. R takes a fancy to some of the lampholders that are a bit like mobiles in a metal frame. There is interesting pottery, similar in style to the Bankura horses but with some distinct differences. The colourful tribal wall paintings are also very striking as is the wall coated in cow dung and then decorated in the tribal style.  The musical instrument section includes a pair of wooden pipes that are played by holding at one end and whirling them round and round. D gets a shot at it and R says that it is the most melodious noise he has made since she met him.  Once again worth every penny. At the end we add our comments in the book and slip our guide a pour-boire.

The rain has not yet eased up and we contemplate doing a second circuit of the museum but instead sit in the entrance shelter and write up some blog. There is a let up in the rain after about twenty minutes and we walk briskly back to the town centre and take a cycle rickshaw back to our hotel. We are just enjoying a cup of tea when the thunder starts in earnest, quickly followed by heavy rain. The wifi signal disappears. D has very generously donated his cold to R. 

For want of entertainment we search for an English news channel on the TV and stumble across a channel playing English Vinglish. Unlike the English language films on other channels which have English sub-titles we have to make do with the sound track but we know the film quite well and keep up. The adverts are a hoot.  They even have one for Eno's Fruit Salts.

Throughout the film there is thunder, lightning and heavy rain so we decide to stay in for dinner. We dine alone but it does mean that we are free to giggle at the errors on the menu. The Desert section was particularly entertaining.

Snakes on a Train

Tuesday: We are awoken around 4 a.m. by some kind of amplified chanting. Religion and technology really should not be mixed. They'll be having PowerPoint presentations next. We doze fitfully between prolonged but distant peals of thunder and the occasional flash of lightning then pack up our belongings amd make for reception just before the storm breaks. It's not as bad as Bishnupur but still a sharp downpour.

Our auto arrives a few minutes early and the chap greets us cheerfully before loading our luggage. He deserves to succeed. Lonely Planet says that it is 3km from Orchha to the railway station but it felt much further in the rain and cold wind. We arrive at the station in good time but we are not the first. There are a few people in the waiting hall and more on the platform, some sleeping.  The station is like a Hindi version of  Buggleskelly from the film 'Oh Mr Porter'. There is barely a word of English anywhere and the ticket window is firmly locked.

At 7.15, ten minutes before the train is due a man emerges from somewhere and fires up a diesel generator that proceeds to belch black smoke into the booking hall. The window then opens and D secures 4th place in the queue. There is a strict 'No change' policy in force but D is prepared for this and has the exact fare ready - 35 rupees each. No Old Lady discount on this train.We move out on to the platform and occupy a dry bench under the platform canopy. It has stopped raining but looks as if it may start again soon. Once again we are advised to get into one of the coaches at the back of the train so when the signal drops we walk down the platform. The train soon appears through the gloom. We count the coaches and climb aboard.

At first sight the coach appears to be full with people sleeping on the luggage racks but somebody shifts up and offers R a seat and make space on a rack for our bags. Somebody else shuffles a bit and there is a space opposite R for D. These are not the best seats as you get jostled by everyone who passes along the aisle but they are seats. They are also a bit close to the loo. Alright while we are moving but a bit smelly at the station stops. The train seems to be very much used as a local with people getting on and off at every stop. For some stretches it is very crowded indeed, for others the crush eases and we get seats together. There is a regular flow of vendors but no chai walla.

Important Note for Ann McI - Do NOT read any futher!

The man next to D starts a conversation and is very interested in our copy of 'The Great Indian Railway Atlas'. He asks to borrow it and it is soon the object of intense discussion amongst the other occupants of the seating bay. At the next station a man with a basket gets on shouting "Cobra, cobra". Even D thinks it is a bit early for a cold beer. There is a sharp intake of breath as the man lowers his basket and we see that it contains 3 small but very live snakes. The man suggests that D pays 100 rupees to take a photo but we just want him to move off down the aisle so don't even bother to haggle. The atlas man tells us that the snakes have no teeth but we have no wish to discover this the hard way. 

A couple of stops further on there is a general exodus.

We are at Mahoba Junction where the train splits, one half going to Khajuraho and the other going to some place that even D has never heard of. A man stops at the window to tell us that we are in the wrong coach for Kajuraho. Panic!  D jumps out to count coaches.  The man is right. Somehow we have miscounted. We quickly grab our bags and decant ourselves onto the platform. There is some kind of railway official walking by and he reassures us that our new choice of coach is going where we want to be. The coach is barely half full and we get window seats. It is so empty that we actually get our tickets checked.  Before long we are off at a brisk pace for the last hour or so of today's journey. 

After a brief negotiation we engage an auto and head in to town on the dual carriageway.  Our man stays to the left of the central reservation but not everybody does. We are back to ropey road surfaces and are relieved when our boy turns into a lane that leads to the Isabel Palace hotel. First impressions are good and our room does not disappoint, with its own balcony and a kettle. The wifi works first time. All for under £20 per night.

After a quick lunch we head out to explore on foot. Without trying we collect a teenage boy who tells us he is interested in the history of Khajuraho and that his name is Rocky. When he finishes school he wants to be a guide. We explain that we have no intention of hiring a guide and that we are just out for a walk. Undeterred he offers to show us around the old village, an interesting place but full of kids demanding chocolate. They receive a brief lecture on dental care instead. Eventually we get to the punchline. Uncle's jewellery and antiquities shoppe. We are in and out in two minutes flat. Rocky seems a little deflated by this and tries to steer us to the Kashmiri shop where he has a part time job. We opt for the Ghandi Cafe for a pot of tea instead. He was quite interesting about local life so we give him a small gratuity and part on good terms. 

We head off to what we hope is the main eating area but take a wrong turn and find ourselves heading back towards the hotel. There is some kind of arts and crafts fair going on so we take a spin round it. One stallholder, on learning that we are from Scotland, told us how fond he was of Scotland as his school teachers had been Christian Brothers from Scotland and Ireland. He must have been a quisling.

Back at the hotel there is a hot water problem but they soon rustle up a large bucket of scalding water and we have jug showers. We decide,  for no particular reason,  to have a change tonight and go to a place called Mediterraneo that has good reviews for its Italian style food. We have Indian pizza, farfale with lemon and butter sauce and cucumber raita. In honour of Shrove Tuesday D has banana honey crepes to follow. Only later do we discover that we are a week early.

Khajuraho's annual dance festival is in full swing tonight and we head for it along a very welcome pedestrianised section of the main street. The touts in this town are a menace and have to be told No in very definite terms. On the way we see the town's Shiva temple which is lit up in preparation for the forthcoming Shivratri festival which happens on the day that we leave. 

The dance compound is huge with various side shows and exhibitions but we find our way through to the dancing arena and watch for a while. It is a very colourful and entertaining spectacle worth every penny. At the end of the long dance that we watched (Krisha, Rada and peacocks) a man in a tank top and knitted woollen hat got onto the stage to present flowers to the leading lady. Did we mention that the dance festival is free?

A really great day.

Some Gig!

Kafka's Bike

Monday : The weather is on the mend. No overnight rain and no chill in the air. R is even persuaded that she will not require her fleece sweater today. We are going to hire bikes and visit the Orchha Nature Reserve across the narrow bridge over the Betwa River.  After a much better,  fresh cooked breakfast we are ready to go. The Betwa Retreat's bicycles are not state of the art machines but appear adequate for our needs.

 We set off across the bridge in the wake of a bus that should ensure that we don't have to worry about oncoming traffic. At the far side R realises two things. She has forgotten her binoculars and the seat on her bike refuses to stay in place. Back we go across the bridge enjoying the splendid view of the Chhatris. The bike is swapped over. By our third crossing the locals, down at the river to do their laundry and bathe, are starting to talk about us. 

The next bit should be written by Franz Kafka but he is not available so you will have to make do. This time we make it to the Nature Reserve ticket office without problems and we buy our entry ticket. Apparently as an afterthought the guy says "Bike 50 rupees, two bike 100 rupees". There is no paperwork for this transaction which makes D a bit suspicious.  We are ushered through a gate next to the ticket office. When we mount our bikes we are told "No bike riding". It is indicated that we should leave our bikes and walk around the facility. The only words in English on any of the signs or notices are Orchha Nature Reserve, everything else is in Hindi. 

Strange sort of nature reserve. It has mown lawns, a kiddies play area, park benches and a closed cafeteria with a veranda. It's a bit reminiscent of http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peasholm_Park in Scarborough,  but without the miniature railway or the naval battles. There are no birds to see apart from a few crows in the distance mobbing one of the vultures on a Chhatri spire. We decide that this is not for us and retrieve our bikes before riding further along the main road where we find a gatehouse. The attendant is lying under a tree but opens his eyes long enough to see D waving our ticket.  With a subtle flick of his wrist he motions us to proceed under the partly raised barrier, a masterclass in economy of effort.

It is at about this time that we discover that we have been joined by a couple of stray dogs. R utters Gaelic oaths at them but they are unmoved and escort us as we ride along the forest trail. R spots a common kestrel which poses obligingly for photos before the two dogs race off and disturb a nilgai or bluebuck which disappears before we can snap it. The bikes creak and squeak a bit and we disturb three peafowl which race across the track ahead with their long flowing tails behind them. Again they vanish into the scrub before they can be photographed. 

Next we spot a family of wild pigs just before the dogs do. They race after them and chase one big one which turns to fight, at which point the dogs retreat. The kerfuffle disturbs more peafowl and needless to say it all happens so quickly that there are no worthwhile pictures. We see quite a lot more birds including treepies and a bright yellow woodpecker that flitted across the track. We suspect that without the canine hangers on we might have seen more. We saw not a soul while we were in the forest. Eventually the track came back to the main road where a more enthusiastic gateman asked to see our ticket and then demanded 20 rupees to lift the barrier. No wonder dacoity has gone out of fashion.

We rode back to town and R had an exciting final crossing of the bridge as a bus decided not to wait for her and a motorcycle to clear the spans. D had lagged behind to take photos and waited until the bus had crossed. We decided that we had enjoyed our ride but that enough fun was enough and that we would walk this afternoon.

After an interesting lunch featuring hard boiled egg pakoras we set out to walk to the north end of the Palace island where the Anglo-Aussies had seen the Egyptian vultures. Once we leave the palace complex behind we follow a narrow lane that winds among the fields between the various smaller monuments and temples. We see plenty of birds including a good few braminhy starlings and others that we struggle to identify. Some of these birds have not read the book. Eventually we reach a set of steps leading down to the riverbank. On the far side we see several pied kingfishers just at the feasible limit of photography. 

We decide to head home but just as we are about to climb the steps R spots a large bird take off from a ruined building in the forest on the far bank. It does a couple of circuits getting closer each time and we are able to confirm an Egytian vulture. Great spot. We can call it a day now with no regrets. On the way back to Orchha we see a medium size hawk that we cannot identify. The light is not great for a photo but we get a half decent shot. One for the bird forum on India Mike. As we make our way down the main street we are hailed by our auto driver from Saturday night and confirm that he will collect us at 7 a.m. to take us to the station. We settle our bill and the desk man tells us to make sure that we are in the last five bogies on the train as the rest don't go to Khajuraho.

We get scrubbed up and changed into our smart stuff tonight as we are going up to the palace to eat. When we arrive we are the only diners and it stays this way until the Anglo-Aussies arrive and we admire each others layest bird photos. We have tandoori chicken, vegetable pulao and yellow dal, a feast in any body's language. As we walk home through the town we hear a tremendous racket of disco music coming from a side street. Investigation shows it to be a wedding celebration and it appears that most of the populace are in attendance. We lack the hutzpah (and ear defenders) to just stroll in but D takes a couple of pictures at the door. 

Just as we get back to the hotel we bag a bonus bird. A pair of small owls are taking it in turns to perch on top of a telegraph pole opposite the entrance. There is just not enough light for a decent photo and it didn't really look like anything in the bird book so a bit of a mystery.

Architecture and Avians

Sunday : We are abruptly awoken at 5.26 a.m. by the hotel's generator,  situated below our window , firing up. Luckily the mains power is restored after a few minutes. When we wake up properly D is a bit bunged up. Anyone with any knowledge of the W family knows that this provokes an instant reaction from R who immediately boils the kettle and looks for a suitable steaming vessel. Holding your face inches from recently boiled water whilst covered with a towel certainly kicks your sysyem into life. It has been raining overnight but is definitely warmer.

Today we plan to get on with things and visit the palace and the other , monuments around the town. We skip the hotel buffet and head for one of LP's recommended breakfast spots, the Ram Raja. Here we eat our omelette/boiled eggs at a pavement table while attracting an ever larger audience of dogs. R suggests that we breakfast at base tomorrow. We walk across the bridge to the island and buy tickets which allow us to visit many of the ancient monuments dotted around the town. 

We start with the two big palaces and we have the place to ourselves as we explore the older, smaller palace, the Raj Mahal. Some areas have been graffitied or otherwise damaged but there are glimpses of the splendour created there in the 16th century. We find a dark room decorated with religious paintings, some in quite good condition. As we are about to leave the young man who checked our ticket appears and tells us to follow. He opens a chained up door and reveals a dark room with some much better preserved paintings . He tells us that this was the Maharani's room. We are impressed. The young man disappears before we have the opportunity to thank him in pecuniary form.

The Jahangir Mahal is even bigger and more imposing although the crowds  are starting to build including the usual groups of loud, giggling young men. We catch one taking sneaky photos of us and he suddenly pretends to be interested in the architecture. Once again there are one or two remants of former glory to give a glimpse of its original magnificence. We are so impressed that we retire to the hotel within the palace complex for a pot of tea and the chance to use their splendid five counties view loo.

On our way out of the palaces we pass what are surely the neatest ruins anywhere in India. The genius who made this happen should be promoted from Ancient Monuments.

We opt to take a walk through the palace grounds and are almost overwhelmed by the profusion of bird life. There are dozens of sunbirds, even though it is still rather overcast. We also see a hoopoe, a crested bunting, a Brahminy Starling, lots of little brown jobs that we could not identify, vultures flying overhead and last but not least a spectacular Indian Roller with its electric blue wing plumage.

Our next monument is quite small but has an extensive walled garden planted with trees and that carry sweet scented blossoms. There is some kind of well or sunken bath, decorated with carvings that is now being used as a compost heap. English Heritage/Historic Scotland would have a fit.

We have worked up an appetite and head back to the  hotel for lunch.  R is not totally enamoured of the standards in most of the catering establishments that we have seen around town and wishes to play safe (?).   A small girl yhat we pass in the street greets R with "Hello foreigner". Although it is still cloudy it is definitely warming up and we elect to sit out on the terrace for our pakora and a local speciality potato dish a bit like chips.  We are joined by an English couple who live in Australia, who are on their first visit to India, and also keen on birdwatching.  They have seen Egyptian vultures at the far end of the Palace island and have some great pictures.

After a post lunch snooze we take the short walk back to the Chhatris. Today we have the ticket that gives us access into the maintained garden and lets us get much closer to the vultures. We count 15 on the various cupolas and spires. Some of them are nesting,  hopefully a positive sign. We spend so long vulture spotting that we get evicted by the parkie who rattles his keys at us to get us to jildi.

Tonight we have decided to risk another LP recommendation,  the Betwa Tarang restaurant, Orchha's finest spot for budget veggie food according to the be-sandalled scribes. Our food arrives when each dish is ready rather than in a co-ordinated fashion. Tandoori rotis are 6 rupees each and worth every penny.  R's review will be appearing under the strap line "Grubby but friendly".

Drinking can be dangerous