Strictly for the birds

Sunday : Our plan for a lie in was trashed by the preparations for breakfast behind the wardrobe but at least we could take things at our own pace and enjoy a few more hours in Blandings Castle. Breakfast itself was suitably eccentric with cold garlic mushrooms and fried chicken salami amongst the options. R's boiled eggs arrive in egg cups bearing the family crest but have already been shelled. The Japanese coach party have disappeared to be replaced by a French one. We wonder where they were last night. D has a filthy headcold and goes online to find out what to ask for in place of Sudafed.

Buddhu arrives promptly with the car and we set off. It is a misty morning but the sun keeps threatening to break through. We make good time on the NH3 toll road towards Agra then turn off onto mainly empty backroads. We know that we are in Rajasthan because there are lots of camels about.  Most of the rest of the traffic is shiny new Massey-Fergusons. We emerge onto another big highway and recognise where we are. It is the road from Agra to Fatehpur Sikri and on to Jaipur that we travelled three years ago. We go by FS this time and are soon on the outskirts of Bharatpur. By this time the sun has won the battle and we are going to have our first sunny day since Orchha.

 The language barrier is hit once more as D tries to explain that we need to go to a pharmacy before being dropped at the hotel. Buddhu ropes in a Sikh cycle rickshaw driver as an unlikely translator and eventually the message gets through. We have a brief detour to the market area, shop successfully and are then deposited at the Bharatpur Ashok Hotel, inside the gates of the national park. D sorts out the paperwork with Buddhu who looks very relieved to be parted from us.

The room is fine with a decent bathroom a fridge and a balcony. We go straight down to lunch which we have on the terrace outside the restaurant. The food is fine but beer is not an option here so we have water. At the end of the meal there is a row because we pay with a 500 note. They expect us to have change. We ask for the charge to go on our room bill. No. D gets cross. "I have no change because you people are always holding your hands out for tips. Go and find some change."

We are approached by one of the Park guides who offers to show us around for 3 hours for 700 rupees. We agree a 3 hour walk starting at 3 p.m. and go to sort ourselves out. Sattu is there and has a powerful telescope on a tripod. The park is quite busy as it is Sunday afternoon but he soon finds us some good spots. There are all sorts of waterfowl and ducks, herons, egrets and a couple of painted storks as well. Old favourites include grey hornbills, rufous treepies, the snakebirds that we saw last year on the Backwaters near Alleppey and, always cheering, a white throated kingfisher. The day was topped off with a distant sighting of a crested serpent eagle.

It was almost dark by the time we got back to the hotel. Sattu explained that the place used to be licensed but had not bothered to renew it as the level of business did not justify the licence fee. He offered to go and get some beer for us on his motorbike as long as we drank it in our room. We also agreed to hire him for the full day tomorrow. While we waited for his return we discovered that there was wifi in the lobby, free to use and a good signal. After a surreptitious beer we caught up a bit and then went into dinner, half an hour before service started. This gave us chance to catch up fully before giving the restaurant another go. "Buffet tonight , sir. Fifteen minutes." We were starving but had no choice. The soup was OK but the rest of the buffet was unappetising and luke warm. For this we were charged 1100 rupees, a real rip-off. 

We retired in poor humour.

Narrow gauge and luxury living

Saturday :  We get a better night's sleep and are all ready when our driver arrives to collect us in a Tata Indigo. His name is Buddhu. We have a slightly misty morning but visibility is fine for driving. The road north towards Agra and eventually Delhi is not too bad although there are a couple of short rough stretches and there is some atrocious driving going on. Buddhu is pretty steady and we make decent progress.  Some of the route is toll road and we get a bit of a shock when we are asked to pay an entry fee of 420 rupees at the Rajasthan state border. State sponsored dacoity.

We are soon in Dholpur and find the railway station. Buddhu seems a bit confused but his English is not great. He phones his boss and D explains to him that we want to take the train ride and be picked up in Bari at around midday. Buddhu still looks a bit dubious but we march off to the ticket office without looking back. Two tickets 20 rupees.

 Dholpur is the opposite to Gwalior in having two separate stations but only one code (DHO). We have plenty of time to kill so we buy a chai at the main station and take a look around.  The NG station is a short walk from the main one and there are already people waiting, ninety minutes before the train is due. R is parked on a bench while D goes to take photos. When he returns she has attracted a small crowd who watch riveted as she reads her Kindle.

The crowd on the platform grows and as, the incoming train's whistle is heard, the people move towards the platform edge. The train arriving is jam packed with plenty of people on the roof. Before the train even stops people are trying to get on, regardless of those who wish to get off. The smart cookies have bags that will slip between the window bars so they can reserve a place. Somehow we get on and our apparent celebrity status means that we are granted two seats together on a wooden bench and D has a window for filming. Sadly this turns out to have a defective latch mechanism and the shutter cannot be held in the raised position. The some jugaad meister on the platform steps forward with a piece of twig that does the job nicely. Even mote surprisingly it holds for the duration of our trip despite the bumping and lurching ride.

 The tiny compartment continues to fill with bodies and we hear the noise of people on the roof. There is some very interesting shunting going on but D cannot get out to see what is happening for fear of not being able to get back in. On the platform a crowd has gathered to stare into our compartment and  see what the crazy firangs are going to do next.

Departure time comes and goes and still the mystery shunting continues, even involving a second loco that has been rustled up from beyond some trees. At one point the train loco trundles by with one coach attached in front and another behind. All the time people are squeezing into and onto the train. About 30 minutes late they are ready and with a couple of whistle blasts we are off. We proceed at a gentle pace through a mixture of wetlands, agricultural land and small villages. We learn from the young men seated around us that today has been an examination day which explains why the train is so busy. As a bonus for R there is plenty of birdlife including black headed ibis, purple swamphens, a stork and an eagle of some sort.

At the first two stations more punters pile on and we start to worry about whether we are going to be able to get off. A man seated nearby reassures us that many people will be getting off at Bari and there will be no problem. As we pull into Bari station there is a throng waiting to board. As forecast quite a lot of people are getting off and we scrum down behind them and shove. The only way to deboard is by getting down on the side opposite the platform. When we are on dry land R says that she now knows how a cork feels when removed from a bottle. A rather anxious looking Buddhu is on the platform and looks very relieved to see us.

The road back to Dholpur is nothing special but we make it to the hotel in time to benefit from the inclusive lunch package. The Hotel Raj Niwas Palace is the former Maharani of Dholpur's old place and it is very much palace first and hotel second. Cheapskate D had booked a Pool Villa as these are a little less pricey but on arrival we are told that we will have a room in the main building. This turns out to be three rooms, a bathroom bigger than some double rooms we have stayed in, a huge bedroom and another large room that is a dressing room. All very splendid.

Lunch is served in a kind of enclosed arcade with various ancestors' portraits looking down on us. We are the only diners and at least four waiters queue up to serve us. We have chicken,    rice, dal, paneer in gravy, salad and chapatis, followed by trifle. This lunch is very welcome as we only had biscuits for breakfast. D needs a snooze after this and we then take a walk down through the village. Unusually nobody tries to sell us anything and only a couple of people shout Hello. Quite refreshing really. We find a cash machine and return to the Raj Niwas to take a turn round the grounds. As we walk back up the hill the sun breaks through at last.

The grounds include manicured lawns and lots of trees and almost immediately we spot an Indian grey hornbill. There are plenty of peafowl but none of the males is in the mood to be photographed. As we perambulate we meet our hosts a young couple who explain that Dholpur has only very recently started attracting tourists. Previously even Indian people avoided the area which had a bad name for lawlessness and banditry. Now people come from all over for cruises up the Chambal gorges hoping to see gharials and a type of long snouted fresh water crocodile. There is also some bird life unique to the region. Perhaps we will have to come back.

We have been told that hot water is 6 till 10 morning and evening but we struggle to get anything but cold out of the shower untill we work out that it has been plumbed in the wrong way round. We decide that we better make an effort to dress for dinner and as the only respectable clothes that we have are the Indian ones that we have bought we go for cocktails in the salon dressed in them. What the coach party of Japanese tourists who walked in thought we were is anybody's guess. Dinner was a buffet with much the same ingredients as lunch but pud was gulab jamun. Yummy.

The Japanese party seemed unhappy and there was a bit of a row going on so we slipped out and back to our room where we discover that behind the wardrobe is a connecting door to the kitchen where they are washing up rather noisily. Fortunately it soon stops and we sleep well.

A day in Gwalior

Friday : Gwalior is a real treat for the siderodromologist as it has a busy, four platform broad gauge station (code GWL) and a fifth platform (code GWO), dedicated to the narrow gauge service to Sheopur, 199.8 kilometres out in the wilds. This line is the longest 2' gauge railway in the world and is the surviving section of the Gwalior Light Railway.

The Hotel Grace has numerous entertainments including 2 a.m. cutlery sorting on the landing, furniture dragging, a noisiest dog contest and hot and cold running trains 24 hours a day. Getting up at 5.30 is not difficult. D takes a brisk walk over to the station where the 6.30 all stops to Sheopur is just being shunted into the platform. R remains in the Hotel as she does not want to miss a moment of the restful luxury. The main booking office for both parts of the station is at the NG side and is doing a roaring trade. D secures a Rs. 5/- ticket to the second stop on the line which seems easier to pronounce than the first one. Time for a few photos but the train is filling up so D grabs  a corner seat in the last coach which seems ideal for filming. The chai man comes along the platform which is very welcome as the morning is quite cool.

We get under way just a few minutes behind schedule and the coaches roll and groan as we progress between the houses. Not only the gauge of line is reminiscent of North Wales but also the misty weather and the brooding presence of the old fort above. D shifts to the open door of the coach for more filming but all too soon we are at Ghosipura. D notes the presence of autos in the station yard and gets in more filming. 

The train is now very full and a few hardy souls climb up onto the roof so they can have some space. The whistle blows the train departs and D turns to get an auto. They have all vanished. Nobody on the station speaks English.  Eventually a young man seems to latch on to D's charades performance of Where can I find an Auto and makes a phone call. "Auto , one minute" is his pronouncement. 

Ten minutes later there is no auto but a bigger crowd. A latecomer beckons D to follow and leads the way across the tracks and up a steep street. Wondering where this is going D follows. The man stops, opens a door and we are in a sort of porch containing a three piece suite and a motorbike. His name is Mr Yadav and he works for the Gwalior Mail newspaper.  Chai is offered and delivered by Mrs Yadav along with biscuits. The conversation is a bit stymied by lack of a common language until younger son is rousted from his scratcher to interpret. Mr Yadav thinks that an auto will be very difficult this early in the day so he is going to give D a lift into town on his Honda Hero. He does and won't take a penny for fuel. What a nice man.

R has decided that we will breakfast out and we find a likely place in LP ,  a few minutes walk from the hotel. It is a shameful admission but until now, in all of our visits to India we have not yet visited an Indian Coffee House. We did try once in Kolkata but failed to find the place. These establishments are run by a workers cooperative and have a good reputation. The branch in Gwalior is quite busy but we find a table and a puggaree clad waiter takes our order. The service is a bit pedestrian but the food is worth waiting for and the bill warms D's heart.

Our first target today is the Gwalior Fort, a massive fortification built on top of a hill to the west of the city. The recommended way to tackle this is to walk up the east side, visit the various palaces and temples, then descend on the west side. The way up is a steep cobbled lane with several zig zags and intermediate gates. As we climb more and more of the eastern perimeter of the fort becomes visible to us. A truly spectacular building.  At the top we see a ticket office where we pay 100 each for tickets admitting us to the Man Singh Palace, built with two stories above ground and two below. This has some nice carvings and decorative work including a row of yellow ducks all around the perimeter.

We move on and come to another ticket office wanting 250 per head. Part of the site is run by the ASI and part by Madhya Pradesh State. We opt for a free stroll within the precincts which are huge. There are birds for R to watch including spotted owls and a couple of Egyptian vultures. As we descend the western side of the mountain we arrive at the Jain Rock Sculptures which are huge and date back to the 15th century. R announces that seeing these has made the trek up the hill well worth the effort.

We walk back down to town and find an auto for the trip to the Scindia Palace Museum,  where we start in the cafe which serves a superb cup of black tea. This museum is best known for the silver model train that was used to circluate drinks and cigars after dinner. It is still there but housed in a case that makes it difficult to get a decent photo. Also impressive was the Durbar Hall with its 3.5 ton chandeliers.  Suposedly the strength of the building was tested by suspending eight elephants from the ceiling! This is a room on the first floor. The museum is also full of items from the late Maharaja's collection including railway curios, cricket ephemera and items of philatelic interest. It is well maintained and most of the signage and labelling has an English version. 

It is payback time for R. In return for bring woken up in the middle of the night she gets to go shopping for clothes. She finds a blouse to go with her skirt but it needs to be fitted and stitched. Half an hour the man says so there is just time to visit Biba for a new Salwar Kamise. They seem to have hijacked the original Biba typescript but without the laid back approach. The sales girl is very pushy but R will not be pushed and takes her time to find what she wants.

Back to the railway station for a few more NG pictures. Yesterday D had enquired on the off chance that our lost Lonely Planet had been handed in when the Bundelkhand Express terminated at Gwalior last Saturday. Today the Station Manager produced the missing item with a flourish. "All part of Indian Railways' service!" Just as D was getting to grips with Kindle.

The Hotel Grace slightly redeems itself by sending a waiter out for cold beers which we drink as we pack. We are quite tired so opt for the easy option and dine back at the Indian Coffee House. Spritely service this evening and good food. Another really good day.

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!