Journey to Orchha Sunday 30 January Rain in Orchha

Bone-rattling road to Khajuraho

Tuesday 1 February

It rained a lot last night and at four in the morning I decided I wanted to get out of Orchha today and not wait to accept the lift from the Frenchman tomorrow. No way was I going to take the local bus - I had read too many accounts on the internet. Even seasoned backpackers argue which road out of Khajuraho is the worst.

My aim was to find other travellers prepared to share the cost of a taxi, so I went for a mid-morning chai at the crossroads cafe where all the riff raff like me hang out.

Tourists here seem to come in three groups: there are the tour groups, who arrive in their luxury buses, stop for two hours, for lunch and a quick whizz round the palaces, and then are off again, for the next spot on their itinerary. They tend to look rather dazed and I'm glad I'm not on a tour. Then there are the residents in the exclusive upmarket hotels. You might catch a glimpse of them, accompanied by a guide, when going round a palace; otherwise I imagine they are cocooned in the safety of their hotel. And then there are the young, the backpackers, supplemented by a few wrinklies like the American couple - and me.

This is the group which sits at the central, cheery cafe in Orchia, particularly on a miserable, cold day like today, when we all consumed more yummy pakoras, hone pancakes and cups of chai than we should have.

So, I plucked up courage and asked people generally: Änybody interested in sharing a taxi to Khajuraho?" Plenty of friendly interest, but for the next day.

Pause while we watched an extremely loud wedding procession pass - or rather not pass, as the brass band accompanying the bridegroom stopped for an ear-splitting session at the crossroads in front of us. The groom, in splendid turban, was sitting on his decorated horse, but looked somewhat incongruous, since he was also wearing a smart western suit, as were lots of the accompanying men.

This was the wedding party which had block booked the whole of my hotel, apart from my room. One of the reasons I'm feeling rather bleary is that those in the pavilion next to me watched bollywood films on their telly till one in the morning. I also did some channel flicking, in another unsuccessful attempt to find the cable BBC channel that the Frenchman was listening to yesterday. A couple of channels rather depressed me, as they were fairly sexually explicit masquerading as romance films, with tarted up women and sleazy looking men. Then there were the bollywood dramas, which I find hilarious: lots of brooding looks and dramatic speeches made to the assembled company, who stand stiffly listening to the orator. It is clearly formulaic, maybe I should accept the symbolic movements, as one does with art. Then I came across a news program in English. What was striking about this was the announcer, a smooth, good-looking young man in smart suit and snazzy tie, who looked and sounded as if he had stepped out of a BBC young presenter training course. Maybe he had? Anyhow the turns of phrase sounded so familiar, so very much more British English than American or even Indian English, albeit delivered in the clearly enunciated accent of a well educated Indian.

After all that thrilling TV, the night of rain, and at 6.30 a couple of musicians celebrated the start of the wedding day - close to my pavilion. Actually, I rather liked the music, played on very lively drums and an instrument clearly related to the western oboe. According to my breakfast waiter both bride and groom's family come from Gwalior, some distance away (and both sides are staying in the same hotel). I think they come this far because the temple with the Rana shrine has particular impoortance, perhaps for couples getting married. This is of course the season for marriages in India. Somebody told me that several thousand can be celebrated on one day in cities like Delhi.

The band having moved on, I wondered what my next move should be. The American couple, who have kindly been letting me use their room near the crossroads as a base suggested I try to hitch a lift with one of the tour buses. I accosted a group of Germans who had just stepped off their bus and asked in - very - halting German if I could ride with them, as there were no taxis. (This was not strictly true, but there were so few that they were able to demand 1600 rupees for the trip - 21+ pounds. It doesn't sound too unreasonable, but it is so easy to persuade oneself that each trip is an exception and it is OK to spend a little more - rather like I persuade myself too often to go above budget with my hotels!) Anyhow the Germans, somewhat startled, agreed and said they would be off at 2pm.

I quite enjoyed the trip, apart from the need to hold hard in order not to fall off the seat. The countryside became lusher and a little more tropical, with a growing number of palms, thicker woods, some pretty red flowers in many of the hedges, much greener fields, and more stagnant pools. All very pretty, although the people looked just as poor as everywhere else. Then suddenly, when you think you have reached a new vegetation zone, the landscape switches back to arid, rocky semi-desert.

It was dark when we reached the plush Holiday Inn, with its swish drive, marble floors and subdued lighting. I climbed down, said thank you to my hosts, tipped the driver, who then helped me find a cycle rickshaw. A pretty dilapidated affair, indeed a couple of times I was afraid it was going to tilt right over - plus it was very cold now, so I was very glad when we made it to Hotel Surya, the budget place I had earmarked for the next two nights - provided there are spaces.

There were, and it didn’t look too bad: a bit barrack like, but cheerily efficient. I asked for a room in their bottom category: 300 rupees and was offered one at 350 rupees a night (just over 4 quid) because it had a balcony looking out on the garden (and unfortunately a squat loo and the requisite dripping basin, complete with inadequate bucket to catch the drips).

Just dined at a dive next door to the hotel. I wa a bit worried because I was initially the only person there - not a good sign. But I had a huge, delicious thali with raita and popadum, rice pudding and a glass of chai, for 65 rupees (about 75p). I hate leaving half the thali. I get the same size portions as presumably couples would, which is yet another reason why travelling alone is not really economic.