Khajuraho - a gem, and not just for the eroticism

Khajuraho to Satna: more potholes than road

Thursday 3 February

They had flown into Khajuraho. The more I heard about the road to Satna, where I was to pick up the train to Varanasi, the more I was convinced I HAD to avoid the buses. Hotel Surya has turned out to be most helpful, and as well as cleaning up my camera memory cards and hard disk of multiple viruses picked up I think in Jaisalmer, they found me a couple prepared to share the cost of a taxi. So I shared the taxi with two Germans in their fifties. They paid 400 rupees each and I paid 500. Hmm. On the other hand the previous day they had been duped by the brother of the same driver to hire the taxi when they could have walked, as I did, to the Eastern Temples.

The taxi was the same make of car as I had used previously. There seem to be two cars made in India - this small diesel car and the larger, old fashioned looking Ambassador. The only other vehicles I have seen have been jeeps. And then there are the ubiquitous overloaded lorries and buses, thousands and thousands of motor bikes and cycles, the rickshaws, camels, elephants, oxen and carts - or just carts pushed by men.

I dont know how the motorbikes stayed on this road: it rivalled the worst I saw in Africa thirty odd years ago. The driver explained that the state we were in - Madyar Pradesh - did not have enough money for roads. He went on to talk about the politics of the state. Apparently the dominant party is the BJP and not the majority party, Congress. I suggested this might be a reason why there was not enough money for the roads, but his English was not up to this. He did talk, however, about corrupt politics. According to him Bihar is one of the worst. Anyhow he was very skilful at swerving round potholes and rocks, veering round first on one verge and then the other. Luckily it was a new car, so he was being extra careful not to damage the suspension. I was trying to work out how much he made on the trip, given that he was probably returning with an empty car. He said that the 100 km to Satna consumed 70 litres of diesel at just over 33 rupees (40-50p) a litre.

I really enjoyed the trip, particularly as I was sitting in the front. The scenery was much more varied, greener and lusher than in Rajasthan. There were lots of different trees, including lots of palms, and the occasional splash of brilliant red flowers. The hill tops were often bare and rocky, but the valleys looked wild and green. The road rose, through terrain not unlike a tropical version of the Cevennes and Causses. We were passing through the Panna Game Reserve - a huge rift valley (hence my comparison with our nearest Causse) whose animals include 36 tigers. We didnt see any of course, as they come out at night. The driver stopped at one point and pointed at some rocks beside the road where the other night he had driven past a tiger. There was only one village in this stretch - its inhabitants had refused to be relocated when this area was made a national park. We passed a sadhu (wise man) beside the road. The driver says when he passes at night he always gives a few rupees to him, otherwise bad luck might fall, and he might crash. Religion and superstition are really so incredibly deeply embedded in the culture here.

It had been a lovely clear, hot day, but as we approached the industrial city of Satna, the sky became hazy with pollution. (We had already passed a couple of smokey chimneys, one of them apparently a masala factory, the other making something which sounded like tuna, but obviously wasnt!). Back to the world of noise and bustle.

The station was predictably busy and unappealing, particularly for me, as I had to face the hassle of getting my reservation date changed. (I had tried at the station outpost at Khajuraho, but their computer was "down".) Predictably this proved a nightmare. The Reservation Office said it was too late to reserve, the train went in two hours. I was sent to the Chief Ticket Inspector, who said that I would need to talk to the TTE.

Over the next two hours I discovered what this meant and how important the post was. The TTE is the Travelling Ticket Examiner, travelling because he travels on the train, and there is one for each class. During all this the Germans had been very supportive. We stood watch over each other when going to the loo with no light and a door which didnt shut, and they looked after my luggage while I sought the elusive reservation. We all tried the Tourist Office Inspector, to try to find what time the train actually came and on what platform.

By this time there were other tourists, equally baffled as to when the train(S) - it turned out there were three - might come, and on which platform. Indeed one Irish woman, a seasoned traveller helping out two novices, actually panicked at one stage, rushed over the bridge and nearly boarded the Varanasi to Bombay train, going in the wrong direction. I really had not expected so few people to speak English and (arrogantly) assumed there would be more notices in English.

My train eventually came, an hour late. I found the TTE for A/C2 class (thank goodness I went for the second highest class), a dour man who examined my Indrail pass with the same suspicion and lack of recognition I have found everywhere. My heart sank, and I produced my 20 rupee "reservation" fee, but amazingly he turned it down, and suddenly I was given a berth! When I mimed problems with my back, it was even changed to a lower berth. It was one of the two in the gangway and I have now concluded that they are definitely narrower than the four in each "compartment". But hey, a berth to myself, with sheets, pillow and a rather dubious looking blanket. I thought with pity of the Germans, who were travelling in the standard "sleeper" class, presumably packed like sardines. They had been regretting their lack of knowledge of the all-desirable AC2 and AC3 (three berths up - the only choice on the Jodhpur to Jaisalmer train, for example).

I slept badly, partly because I was not sure how I would know how I had reached Varanasi and how long the train would stop. As it turned out, I neednt have worried, as all my fellow passengers seemed to be getting off at Varanasi, and perhaps it was a blessing that the train was two hours late, as it was a respectable seven by the time I left the station for my hotel.