The beautiful Khajuraho

Another nice and uneventful train trip (the second in a row) ... pinch me! Thus begins my trip to Khajuraho!

Khajuraho is known for its stunningly equisite temples. Lonely Planet describes these works of architectural and sculptural genius as having an historic and poetic resonance that immediately captures the imagination. As beautiful as the temples are, there is the question of why they were built here. There's nothing of great interest or beauty to recommend it as a building site and no nearby population centers. All this leading up to my bus ride to the middle of seemingly no-where.

When we arrive by train in Jhansi (the trains go no further towards Khajuraho), we discover the private express bus either lost its permit or broke down ... not exactly sure which. Meaning, that we've got to get across town to the local bus stand. During these travels, I met up with four other westerners and we band together. We find rickshaws and arrive at even the right bus. My streak of avoiding local buses has now ended ... but at least it was sort of an express bus.

Our backpacks get tossed on the roof. We may never see them again! But since it's up there with the eggs, maybe it will be ok ... amazing how they toss those eggs around. The five of us squish our western-sized behinds into the back row. Not so fast there. We're informed the back row is for six people and a fortunately scrawny Indian sits down in the middle. Well, it's only 4-1/2 hours ... and you can survive anything for that long, right? I'm not sure any of us could move our extremities as we stumble off the bus in Khajuraho.

What a delightful city! Hotel Zen is the evening's guest house of choice. There's soothing music playing, running water sounds, lily ponds (kinda looks like mosquito breeding grounds to me), and an overly helpful staff obsessively catering to my every need.

There's several groups of temples and most everything is within walking distance. The intricate carvings and architecure are really everything they claim to be. The western temples are the most magnificent and best maintained. Amazing how someone could carve such intricacies, in such scale, and in such hard stone.

In the morning at sunrise, I walk over to the eastern temples. Simpler structures, but still beautiful. It's maybe 3 km walk from town and I pass through the neighboring village. Everyone's waking up, going about their morning ablutions, getting ready for school.

The Khajuraho people seem to be fairly well off. The children seem mostly to go to school, people seem to have a place to live (obviously no electricity or running water, but much more than a tarp), and many seem to own cows, goats or chickens.

I will say that in town they are utterly and annoyingly incessant in their clamoring for your attention ... postcards, madam; I just want to practice my english, madam; come see my beautiful shop, madam, looking is free; rickshaw, madam; which country are you from, madam; where is your husband, madam. The list goes on and on. It's never ending and you can't let it get to you. Each question by itself is innocuous, but they don't let up, they wear you down, and there's a strong temptation to run screaming through the streets! By the way, my story is (and I'm sticking to it) ... I'm married, I'm meeting my husband in the next city, I have two grown up girl children, and I'm retired ... it just makes everything much easier.

Indian post office ... now there's a story! I've been gathering various things along the way and my backpack's pretty small, thus a run to the post office is sorely needed. First stop is to take the package to the tailor (no, that's not a typo). He sews up your package in a muslin fabric ... measuring, cutting, measuring again, then carefully sewing the sides to make a snug box shape, fitting it over your package and carefully (and time-consumingly) hand sewing the open end. Time elapsed: almost two hours.

Then it's ready for the post office! I arrive about 2 pm and it doesn't close until 5 ... plenty of time. No madam, we are not mailing any more packages to the US today. Gotta love 'em! I stood there for at least half hour arguing ... you are open until 5; no, madam, the computer is shut down; turn it back on; impossible, madam, the supervisor has gone home; back and forth, back and forth. One thing I've learned India, know what is supposed to happen ... and don't give in! Sure enough, they finally decide they can do airmail, hand me the pot of glue and some stamps, and four people (who were doing absolutely nothing) mill around for another half hour watching the bureaucratic process. Perhaps I shouldn't get too cocky ... will my package actually arrive?

By the way, in case your wondering, sending DHL or Fedex goes through all the same time-consuming steps, including the tailor business ... it just costs a whole lot more!

My time meandering around Khajuraho must end. I rent a bicycle for RS20 and ride around for a bit. No worries about me trading in my Serotta ... this clunker must have weighed 100 lbs, no brakes, no gears, and definitely no helmet.

What a great visit to such an out of the way place ... now it's off to the bus and the train!