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!