Day eight (six)
Today looks like a grind: a three hour train ride to Jhansi followed by a six hour bus ride to Khujuraho, home of allegedly erotic temple sculptures. Perhaps it's a sign of the times that all of the old farts on this tour react to this as if it was the sight of geezers staggering about Bollywood-style: Grins and chuckles. Not sure why we're spending an entire day to get there, though. It's something to do with there being no air service from one tourist town to another. Or maybe it's remote, or, as Sameer says, it's a chance to experience the India Rail System, slightly famous for over-crowded trains and routinely running late. So far, India Rail has lived up to its rep: our 9:20 train leaves at 11:00 and is only slightly more than filthy. We're in Second Class so no livestock in the aisles: There's also no trash removal, the toilets are a disgrace, and my window has an extensive sunburst crack in it. It's ok, though. Men circulate through the aisles selling chai, water, chips, and a bucket of stuff I have no intention of even looking at. The view out of the dirty windows is of farmland and the shrieking child sometimes doesn't.
There was also a nice Hindu woman in the sleeper seat across from me (sleep seat = think Cary Grant and Eve Marie Saint on the train in North By Northwest, only not clean and without the gorgeous people). India Rail provides sheets, blankets, and pillows you wouldn't touch with a stick, but so what? It's just three hours and the young lady, a school teacher on her way to a funeral, knows enough English to say she was happy to see me when she took her seat. Happy, probably because I'm old and harmless. She also recommended - at my request - some books by a Hindu author, a Mr. Premchand. Not a name I knew, but a Nobel prize winner, nonetheless. A nice young woman interested in her reading and in her efforts to move from being a 6th to 8th grade teacher to being a 9th to 12th grade teacher. Better money. Good luck to her.
Lunch in Jhansi at a formerly British hotel built 100 years ago, we are told, but also so completely remodeled that nothing of the Raj-era look remains.
From there, the dreaded 6 hour bus ride to Khajuraho, home of the aforementioned horn dog sculptures. Now, travel by bus in India is pretty good; the seats are good, leg room, the A/C works very well. The down side is for those who can see out the front windows. That's when you realize that lane dividers mean nothing. During daylight hours, it is mildly alarming to see an on-coming truck approaching at high speed in our lane with people on motorbikes, bicycles, or on foot on both sides of the road. After dark, however, it's much more disturbing. The Indian driver's first response to trouble is horn honking. This isn't as good as evasive action, in my view, but eventually one of the drivers (the one in the smaller vehicle) gives way by swerving to one side or another (regardless of the presence or absence of small fry at the side of the road) and, with mutual honks, we are saved for another minute or two. Passing a truck is a special treat. Are these "highways" lighted? No sirree, Bob. It is stone black except for headlights and these appear to be optional. Did I mention the cows? They have right of way in all situations, highways included. Our driver slams on the brakes taking us from "high" speed to zero because of a cow. Somehow, our on-board experts concluded that the cow's actions were the driver's fault. Uh. All part of the rationalizing to stiff him on his tip. ("He nearly got us killed.") Sorry, but people who pay thousands to go to a far away place shouldn't try to get the money back by shorting staff on tips once they get there.
Happily, the six hour drive turns out to be only four, perhaps because the driver hurried us along at nearly fifty mph during the few times we had open road, and we arrive at Khajuraho at 8 pm. Somehow, doing a little walking, a little standing, and a lot of sitting, tires one out. Man! What a tough day!
Not many pictures taken...just a few at the train station of people boarding and of guys selling food when the train stopped (reaching through the window) and Dave and Deb in their cushy seats.
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