Agra to Khajuraho

Tuesday, November 18th I was afraid I wouldn't get a train journey on this tour, but I did.... Agra to Orchha. The Agra train station and the one described by Daddy have changed very little: dirt, vendors, people living on the station, beggars, noise and ancient trains with people crammed into every nook and cranny. We had to wait at the station for awhile since the train was late, and there was a good deal of mutual staring between the Indians and the Americans - there is a mutual curiosity with the only difference being that we had cameras to capture it all. When our train arrived we were escorted to our first class car where tea, coffee and snacks were served. It was an uneventful ride but nice to add this to my list of local transportation methods. We were met at Orchha by our local Indian guide - Mama-Gi, a fairly pedantic older gentleman who loved to hear his own voice, did not abide disagreement and who was not all that comfortable with using the wireless headsets. (Of all our local guides to date, he was my least favorite. I don't doubt his base of knowledge, it was his delivery and manner which was a bit off-putting). We boarded another bus, a little less plush than the last ones, but perfectly fine for the occasion. Our first stop was lunch at a large restaurant, obviously designed for tour groups, and then we were off to see the 16th century medieval town of Orchha and its a palace high over-looking the town with beautiful wall paintings. I skipped this part of the tour chosing to sit on the bus and read about places we were to see next. I can only take so many palaces and forts before I go into over-load. Upon everyone's return we had the wonderful experience called by Lisa "Bus shopping". This is a process which she and Prakash have obviously done in the past. Its goal is to allow us to avoid the constant hassle of hawkers and vendors who when seeing a group of tourists immediately glom on with a persistence that is to be admired. It can be daunting to have large numbers of young boys surrounding you, shoving items before your face and telling you that they have the best price. Their favorite lines are that "you are my first sale of the day and therefore a special price", or "you are my last sale of the day...." or "my sister made this", or simply "Hey Lady, buy this"....For the most part the objects are all the same, be it books, jewelry, head-gear...but local to each town in which we stop. But the prices are arbitrary and usually start quite high. It's up to the poor tourist to try and figure out the right price, and then god forbid, if you buy something, they smell the odor of a sucker and there will be a hoard of other hawkers sure that if you bought one thing, you want to buy a few things more. It is frustrating since you do want to perhaps buy something, but you don't want to be smothered in vendors. So. Lisa and Prakash arranged "bus shopping" as we leave each location. The two of them would 'negotiate' a price for each unique item from the hawkers, they would bring it onto the bus, and we could buy it directly from them. They would in turn give the money to the hawkers waiting anxiously at the base of the bus stairs to see what they would reap. It was explained that most of these young hawkers all report to one primary 'pimp' to which they owe a quota by the end of the day in order to keep their jobs, so that this added pressure adds to the urgency of their sales approach. We have all enjoyed "bus shopping" which is done in great humor by Lisa and Prakash, but there was a certain pleasure in negotiating directly as well. On average nothing cost more than the equivalent of $2 - 5 so it wasn't exactly a high risk process. So far I have purchased various necklaces, tour books and one snow-globe (glitter rather than snow inside) of the Taj Mahal. The danger is, of course, that you get caught up in the frenzy and find yourself with lots of chatchke that you really don't need. We were now off on a five hour bus ride to our next stop in Khajuraho. Our goal was to stop mid-way at a small village where Mama-Ji was familiar with the children of the town who were awaiting our visit and the bags of sweets and cookies we would leave behind. By the time we arrived it was dusk so we quickly walked to the center of the village where the children gathered and Mama-Gi, acting much like a very stern school teacher, asked each child a series of questions which they answered enthusiastically. It was a bit like watching performing seals waiting for their treats so after a few pictures we returned to the bus stumbling past numerous cows and humans and continued our ride. How to describe the countryside - Surreal. The area we were passing through is a very fertile plain with farms prospering on both sides. Personally I would chose farm life over city life, were I an Indian, but as Doranne explained, the country life is only tolerable if one is a land owner, otherwise you are working for someone with little chance for advancement. To own no land, but to work the land was hard work with little reward. I kept thinking that little had changed since Daddy was here. There were ox-drawn wooden carts carrying grain; ox-drawn wooden plows that looked almost biblical with a man steering the oxen while a sari-dressed woman walked behind strewing seeds in the newly made furrows; there were water buffalo everywhere - the main source of milk and dung; cows looking scrawny, but with free range to walk whereever they wanted and bullocks with their big hump on their back; large pigs, bulls with painted horns which helped to identify the owner; goats and their kids; sadu priests ash covered and scantily dressed; and everywhere piles of garbage. The road was more a one-lane road but was treated as a three - lane super highway with the game of Russian Roulette everytime one passed another vehicle. Who will give way first: the on-coming vehicle, the vehicle you're passing, or your own. With much honking of horns and near- calamities, it was enough to have me sitting at the back of the bus rather than in the front where my heart would be in my throat. We arrived at the Taj Chandela late in the evening, had our dinner and crashed. There appear to be two main luxury chains: Oberoi and Taj. While their prices may be similar, the qualities are distinctly different. Oberoi with its management training and structure gives one a sense of service, the Taj on the other hand seems like the employees are simply there to do their jobs. But in neither case can we complain - the alternatives are not even close. And after a long bus ride any bed looked fabulous.