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.
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