I was gone for a couple of days and had to search for my own report!

Dogster: Thanks again for your kind words and support. It means the world to me. Thanks also for your kind offer: I would LOVE for your input on my next trip to the subcontinent. Your adventures sound right up my alley! I was thinking south and/or east next time, but I don't know when that will be. I may have to do it alone, as my DH just started a new job and he is only accumulating one day of leave per month (total crap!) and my DD will be finishing up university in June and will either be starting grad school (in which case I *might* be able to get her to go with me) or will also be starting a new job. None of my friends seem in the least interested -- some have even told me they think I am crazy to go to India. I don't mind going by myself, but I'm not sure what it will be like as a lone female. Will let you know when I'm ready to embark -- I'll definitely want your input.
Aishwaria Rai! Kingfisher presents: Beauty and the Beast!!!

Marija: You've been so wonderful to stick with me. Thank you! You have a great sense of humor too! I appreciate it. I can't say I am surprised that you almost fell off the elephant -- it felt pretty precarious to me. Yes, its all dracula's fault.

Clark55: Thanks so much for reading my report. Let me know if I can help you with your trip plans in any way. I know you're in for an adventure!

msmango: You only have 8 days, so Choki Dhani may be a good place for you. We really did have a good time, even though it was a bit touristy. How many days now till you go? You must be getting excited!

patlanta and tangata: I was impressed with the guys who followed us on the motor bike, but your experiences were even more impressive! Those guys are amazing! Thanks for sharing your tales of the photo wallahs!

Jaipur to Agra: "O-Ee-Yah! Eoh-Ah!"

Another day in the car and Ram has surprised us this morning with breakfast – fresh lassis in traditional clay cups and somosas. I comment that the lassi is the best I’ve ever had, and Ram proudly tells us that his family supplies milk to the lassi shop. They are absolutely yummy.

Just outside of Jaipur on the road to Agra is Galta Kund, also known as the Monkey Temple. The temple complex is located in a rock gorge amidst springs and reservoirs. We are met by a v-neck-sweatered Colin Farrell look-alike – slicked back shoulder-length brown hair, furry eyebrows, intense brown eyes, scrubby beard – much like this: http://www.upi.com/Entertainment_New...4111215656636/ -- minus the teeth. He takes a white scarf from his shoulders and wraps it around his head.
“Would you like a guide?”
“Are you a guide?”
“I am the Monkey Master. I will show you.” He grins.
Just then a white delivery van pulls up to the front of the complex and dozens of monkeys come running – as do some cows. (Ever see a cow run? They can put on some speed!”)
The Monkey Master explains that this truck comes every day – its filled with food for the monkeys, a devotional gift from a patron of the temple. The truck pulls up next to us and we are surrounded by rhesus macaques. The driver opens the back and pulls out a box of fruit – they look like apricots – and tosses it on the ground in front of the Monkey Master. The monkeys go wild and start tearing at the box.
“Heh!” The Money Master shouts at them – and they back off. “Don’t be greedy!”
He turns to us: “They listen to me,” he says. “I am the big boss.”
He starts tossing apricots to the monkeys who run away one at a time as they get a piece of the fruit in their paws. A couple of the monkeys try to hoard more than one – stuffing an additional apricot into their cheeks – which the Monkey Master notices. He yells at them and they give him a guilty look and scamper off.
After the box is empty, we head toward the turnstile at the entrance.
The Monkey Master opens the main gate for the truck and it goes zooming past us toward the other end of the complex. He scurries after it on foot.

The palatial temple buildings look like rundown manor homes – at one time they must have been exquisite – pinkish stone with colorfully painted frescoes and domed roofs. I can’t help but think of the plight of the city pavement dwellers, and here the monkeys have mansions.
I don’t know how many monkeys live here, but there have got to be several hundred at least. We saunter past the huge temple edifices and come across a garden where a gang of monkeys munch on fresh greens – occasionally engaging in a tug of war. The garden is in full bloom – yellow, orange, purple and pink flowers abound. Just up a few steps we find a large pool of dirty water in front of another temple mansion. More monkeys sit in the windows and a few swing down from the roof to the surrounding terrace. Several groups of devotees are picnicking by the pool.

Suddenly the Monkey Master reappears at my elbow.
“You like?”
“Yes, very interesting.”
“Water comes from same places as Ganges. Very holy.”
“Come!” He beckons me to follow him up a long staircase to the top of the temple complex. Periodically a skirmish breaks out between a couple of monkeys and the Monkey Master steps in to break up the fight and scold them. They do seem to obey him. A very old sadhu is camped out on the steps and reaches out to me as I walk past. I look around to make sure I’m not going to be descended upon and pull 50 Rs out of my pocket. He blesses me with an incantation I don’t understand, but I know it’s a blessing all the same.
Midway up the staircase is a landing with a smaller pool. Pilgrims are bathing, shaving and brushing their teeth here in the filthy-looking water. Indians must have very strong constitutions . . .
At the top of the steps is another pool, surrounded by more monkeys – some of them dive into the water for a swim. Overall, the monkeys look pretty mangy and have quite a few scars – the little ones look to be in better condition. It seems they love to groom each other as I see several laying on their backs while they let other moneys pick and scratch at them. The Monkey Master tells me the monkeys are very smart.
Beckoning toward the temple at the top the Monkey Master says, “Eighteen Century!” He tells me that the original paintings on the temple were ruined by bad rains about fifteen years ago.

There’s a beautiful view up here – you can see all the way to the city of Jaipur. Several groups of ladies in brightly colored saris join us at the top for the view. The Monkey Master reaches in his pocket and pulls out some treats to feed some of the baby monkeys who are following us. They look adorable, but I am wary, so I give my treats to DD, who is enjoying feeding the little creatures. They aren’t afraid to snatch the tidbits right out of her hand.
The Monkey Master beams as he tells me that National Geographic has recently filmed a documentary here about his monkeys. I’m not sure if he is just telling me about it or whether he wants me to buy a copy. DH and DD, who are standing behind the Monkey Master, give a little smile and wave and head back down the long staircase, leaving me alone to fend off the sales job. Just then another quarrel breaks out amongst a group of the monkeys sitting on a wall by the pool.
The Monkey Master looks up.
“Ut oh!”
“What?”
“See monkey who just came? He is boss of another pack. It is trouble.”
“Trouble?” The growling, hooting and hollering reaches fever pitch.
“RUN!” the Money Master shouts into my face.
I see saris flying in all directions.
“RUN – it’s a war! Very dangerous! GO!”
He runs toward the battling monkeys yelling at them to stop.
I glance up and see monkeys pouring in from all sides, flying through the air, fur flying.
And run I did -- as fast as I could -- down the steps, through the turnstile and into the car.

I wish now I had been able to take some photographs of the commotion.
BTW, here’s a link to the Monkey program: http://www.natgeotv.co.in/Programmes...in.aspx?Id=195

We catch our breath and head back out on the road to Agra. It’s a pleasant drive past endless yellow fields of blooming mustard plants. A few hours later we pull into the parking lot below Fatehpur Sikri. Ram warns us about the touts, and he’s not overstating their aggressiveness. Tip: Ask your driver the going rate for the rickshaws that take you up to the site. I can’t remember what our driver told us, but I do remember the rickshaw drivers asked at least 2 or 3 times that amount. We stuck to the price he advised and one of the drivers finally agreed to it.

The guides are aggressive here and we decide we don’t want any of them. At some point you get sick of the constant nagging and badgering and finally tell them all to go to hell. We were at that point and decided to rely on the guidebook this time. It was a relief to get to the other side of the ticket booth and away from the harassing mob. As we meander through the site, an old man sidles up to me.
“I caretaker.”
“Hello.” I smile and move off, trying to dump him. He doesn’t give up. He follows me.
He mutters in my direction and tips his head toward the next building over.
“Money building.” He points.
“Treasury?” I guess.
He puts his index fingers and thumbs in a square.
“Good photo! Here!” He grabs my elbow and places me in position. It is a good angle, I must admit.
The caretaker darts to another spot: “Good photo!”
“Okay.” He plants my feet and points.
And another spot: “Here!”
DH shoots me a look and shakes his head.
What the heck, I think – I’d rather tip this old chap than one of the guys outside. So, I spend the next hour or so with this “caretaker” showing me all the best photo locations. In between, he does his best to tell me what I’m looking at, which I supplement with the guidebook. Its undoubtedly not the best way to see Fatehpur Sikri, but I enjoyed it.

I’ll also mention that I liked the Jama Masjid area better than the old royal city. While the old city probably would have been more interesting with a good guide, and it certainly had some intriguing architectural elements, it was just a bunch of old buildings in a ghost town. The Jama Masjid was vibrant and active with the vignettes of life: children playing tag, women tying strings around the marble screen in the tomb of Salim Chisti, men worshipping and reading their Korans, and families chatting it up in the quadrangle. BTW, if no one points it out, take notice of the beehives up in the top of the mosque archway. They’re huge!

I am really enjoying your travels....it amazes me after 30 years how the country has not changed much. When I stayed in Cochin (by myself), I went to an island off the coast where I had stayed at an old "government hotel", took a walk into the village where I was followed by tons of children, then made the mistake of giving one of them a rupee or so, next thing I know I was surrounded by old and young alike.

Fortunately, the village teacher rescued me, he at least spoke English (which none of the villagers did). I was 19 at the time, didn't know any better, I'm also 5'9 and blond, so I was stared at and followed around a lot. I kept a journal of my travels and from time to time, read them again.

Keep it coming and thank you again.

A monkey war? Wow, you see the most interesting things! Thanks for the tips on Fatehpur Sikri. We leave on Thursday!!

Thanks for another great episode. I found the monkey temple scary and got us out of there quickly! Your extraordinary report brings back so many memories. I'm eagerly looking forward to more.

msmango--have a great time in India. Can't wait to read about your adventures. We got to Fatehpur Sikri early in the morning and had the place to ourselves.

I'm keen on seeing Jain Saint Bhahubali & climbing those steps (barefeet?) & doing the ancient temples around Hassan/Mysore.
Fy to Mysore & take it from there?

What's the best travel mode?

Agra to Orchha: Agravation.

Nothing in Agra turned out the way I expected. We checked into our Agra Taj view room to no view at all. A deep fog had rolled in and not only could we not see the Taj, we could not see anything at all from our hotel window. Still, the next morning we woke up way before dawn and hustled over to the Taj Mahal, hoping to experience it at sunrise. There was no sunrise. In fact, it was almost as if there was no Taj. We stood in the Darwaza-i-rauza, the gateway to the Taj, to gaze on the pure white monument and saw nothing BUT pure white. It was a huge disappointment. I was hoping to feel that leap in my heart, like so many others have said they experienced upon first sight, but, alas, I didn’t. An optimist standing next to me said, “Don’t worry, it will burn off.” But, alas, it didn’t. Instead of “one tear-drop . . . upon the cheek of time,” it was more like “one tear-drop . . . upon the cheek of mine.” Crestfallen, we picked ourselves up from our dashed expectations and spent the next few hours caressing the marble, gazing at the delicate and exquisite stone inlay, and marveling at the soaring archways.

BTW, another old “caretaker” offered to show me around the Taj. Ha! These old guys have figured out a way to lure in the gullible tourists and scoop the “guides” for a tip! If a “caretaker” offers to show you around, keep in mind that he’s just another tout with a clever hook.

We did the usual sites in Agra – the Agra Fort, the “Baby Taj” – but otherwise spent little time wandering around the city. I don’t know if it was the fog or the pollution, but I found it hard to breathe. Plus, DD got sick in Agra. We made the mistake of letting the driver talk us into eating at a place that he advertised to us as having a “different,” “Mughal” cuisine. It was just a run-of-the-mill tourist-trap restaurant geared toward tour groups – which I truly loathe. I would rather eat at a hole-in-the-wall local place, or a restaurant recommended by one of my guidebooks than go to one of these places where the driver gets a free meal if he brings in his clients. When we realized this, we should have gotten up and left, but we were already seated and, frankly, tired and hungry. So, we let it slide. Bad move. This was very unlike our experience with the driver to this point – he had not offered to take us to his “cousins” shop, or to places which we didn’t ask to go. It was the one time he pulled this on us and we let him know how unhappy we were about it. I actually think he was talked into it by another driver, who we saw him run off with up to the driver area of the restaurant. To top it off, DD got sick from the coffee there, which was the only thing she had that we didn’t. Needless to say, she had a very rough night. I blame myself for not listening to my instincts.

Next morning we decided to take the train to Jhansi instead of driving there, as we were advised that the road is very rough. Our driver drove ahead with our baggage and we caught the train from the Agra Cantonment Station. If you have a chance, do try to experience at least once a train in India – or at least visit a train station. The people-watching is fantastic – chai wallahs, porters with unbelievable loads on their heads, businessmen, women in colorful saris, rich, poor and people of every stripe and background. It is a vivid and lively dynamic. According to DD, the toilets, however, aren’t as interesting, as poor thing was still dealing with her Delhi belly. We wondered how she was going to manage the train, but she toughed it out and we made it to Jhansi, where our driver met us and drove us on to Orchha.

Orchha to Khajuraho: Sex, lies, videotape – and an accident.

We immediately notice a difference in the little town of Orchha that we saw no where else - it was clean! The streets were swept and the front of every store and house looked tidy and orderly. It felt as if we had been air-dropped into a corner of Germany. We checked into our hotel, a spacious place with polished marble floors, a central courtyard garden and views of some of the cenotaphs, for which Orchha is known. Once we get to our room, DD collapses into bed, still trying to recover from her affliction. DH and I wander the grounds a bit, check our email and then unwind from the trip with drinks in the garden.

We had planned on going out for dinner, but with DD still sick in bed, we opt for the hotel restaurant. After ordering we are chatting away when an older gentleman, a blue-turbaned Sikh, strides over to our table.
“I can hear from your accent that you are from the United States.”
“Yes?” we are a bit mystified. Who is this and what does he want?
Our apprehensions are immediately alleviated.
“My wife and I are from San Francisco. Would you mind if we joined you?”
“Please do!” we enthusiastically respond.
Maybe this happens more when you are traveling alone, but we’ve rarely come across such protocol from travelers who are from the States, ourselves not excepted. Too often, we stick to our own little group, fiercely guarding our private little adventure from being polluted by fellow tourists. We delude ourselves into believing that we alone are brave enough to experience this exotic and faraway place – its nothing more than traveler’s pride – and I am as guilty as anyone. We find it refreshing to break through the pretense and enjoy the company of our fellow expats.
The Singhs are a lovely couple who emigrated to the United States about thirty years ago who travel back to India every year to visit family. They spend some of each trip back exploring the country of their birth. This year, its Gwalior, Orchha and Khajuraho. We catch up on news from home, traveling to and in India post 26/11, terrorism in general, and the U.S. election results.

After dinner we order room service for DD. We go wake her up and are glad to find her feeling well enough to eat again. You know how it is, after not eating for a day she savors her spaghetti noodles and tea. We had originally planned on spending two nights in Orchha, but decided that we could see what we wanted to in a day and spend an additional night at the Taj in Khajuraho.

The next morning we check out of the hotel to find out we have to pay cash for our room – supposedly their credit card machine is not working and has not been working for several days. This sends me ballistic. I ask why they didn’t tell me this when I checked in?!! Their response was a shrug. I suspect they didn’t tell us this on check-in, because we probably would have opted to go elsewhere -- if it was even true. They probably didn’t want to pay the merchant fees. The result is that we are wiped out of cash down to our last Rupee. After we leave the hotel, DH reminds me that he has a bad 1000 Rupee note that was passed off to us at the Lallgarh Hotel. FYI, check the security strip on your bills – if it is broken, it won’t be accepted anywhere. We found this out too late – I wish I had remembered that we had the bill, because I would have tried to use it at the Amar Mahal – it would have been just desserts for their little maneuver.

Fortunately, there is an ATM in Orchha and we are once again flush with Rupees. We cross the bridge over to the fort and spend a good bit of time there. The palaces are not in the best condition, but there are few visitors so we savor the solitude as we roam through the rooms.

We hiked up to the Laxmi Narayan temple, which is an interesting mix of both temple and fort architecture. The walls and ceiling are adorned with extraordinary murals of religious themes and war scenes. While this temple is dedicated to Laxmi, the Hindu goddess of wealth, many of the sacrifices made here are in the Tantric-cult style. Tantrics devote themselves to gaining the maximum pleasure out of worldly pleasures, especially sex, but also yoga and altered states of consciousness, the belief being that the energy attained at the peak of pleasure (trying not to get too x-rated here!) will propel the believer to enlightenment – reaching ecstasy allows them to attain the divine.

We are alone here except for a young couple sitting lotus-style on a blanket and pillows that they’ve spread out next to the steps at the front of the temple. There is a sweet, pungent scent in the air. In front of them are a cooker and a pestle and various piles of leaves, nuts and spices. I walk over to find them grinding up the leaves with opium into pea-sized balls, which they are apparently in the process of smoking (I don’t see a pipe). They look very relaxed and are grinning wide as I greet them. Conversation turns out to be pointless – what they mumble, I can’t understand. I have no idea where they’re from . . . are they here because of the tantric reputation of this temple? I don’t find out, but as I walk away they giggle and snuggle closer.

We stroll back down into the town and do some low-pressure shopping. Orchha is a wonderful little village to wander around and the people there are very friendly. Its a photographer’s dream – not insanely crowded like most cities and towns in India, and there are lots of interesting people around – fruit and flower sellers, street vendors, kids, families going to temple and even a picturesque sadhu band. The cenotaphs and temples in Orchha provide plenty of opportunities for exploration. Orchha is worth more time than we spend here – and I wish we had more time, because it would be a good place to kick back and slow down for another day or so.

Back on the road, we leave Orchha and head for Khajuraho. After about a half hour of driving we come up to a traffic jam. Our driver weaves his way up close to the front of the problem. Turns out, there has been an accident on a small bridge over a dried up creek. A goods carrier truck is turned on its side, blocking passage, and another truck is hanging over the side of the bridge, where it has knocked out the concrete siding. It looks like it’s going to be a long wait, so we ask the driver if there’s another route, but no, he says this is the only one. He gets out and wanders off, seeking whatever information he can.

After about ten minutes, some of the cars are attempting to forge a crossing down the steep incline next to the bridge. We get out to watch for a bit, as it becomes pretty amusing to see the cars and rickshaws speed down the hill fast enough to propel themselves up the other side. Most of them fail, and it starts looking like a demolition derby. After that gets old, we go back to the car -- nothing for us to do but kick back and relax. We get out our books to read. In the meantime, we’ve attracted a crowd – mostly young men – who are pressing their faces up to the windows of the car to stare at us. At first I smile at them, but I get flat stares back. We decide to ignore it, but after about twenty minutes or so it starts grating on our nerves and I motion for them to scram. That doesn’t work, so I start shouting, “Go away!” Again, no effect. DD hangs her jacket over her window, but it does nothing to dissuade them – they just move to the other side of the car and start peering in through the windshield. I have no idea what makes us so intriguing – we’re doing nothing! Ok, yeah, we are light-skinned, but even that can’t be so interesting after a while! Thank goodness the driver comes back and tells the kids to scram.

Eventually, a giant crane works its way through the mass of accumulated traffic to the bridge and frees the trucks. We’re finally back on our way to Khajuraho.

You didn't see the Taj? I am so so sorry for you, when I first saw it in 1991 I just sat there and thought "If I never do anything else I will be happy just to sit here and look at this."

To come so far and not to see it must mean that you are fated to go back to see it.

Loving your report!

aaaah my India desire is satiated. :D

What a wonderful report this is. I am late in catching up but thank you travelaw

Thanks Wayne! I very much appreciate your encouragement. I'm glad you found my report.

Yes, Tangata, it really was a disappointment to not be able to gaze on the Taj -- especially after seeing so many famous photos of it, but we appreciated being there anyway. Maybe one day we will return.

msmango: Your trip is getting so close now!!! I wish it was me. I can't wait to read your trip report when you get back.

Thanks also to you owlwoman and Marija, especially for keeping me motivated. Ya'll are wonderful.

Khajuraho: Temple tales and a Christmas story.

The exotic temples at Khajuraho are quite impressive – well worth the time and effort to get here. We start at the western group – the largest and most spectacular of the three temple groups. We hired a guide for a short tour only, as I find that once I get to a certain saturation point, having a guide along gets irritating and I just want to meander on my own. DH also hired the audio-guide, which he says is skippable.

Sanjay, our tour guide, gives us the background of the Chandela dynasty, an explanation of the architectural aspects, and he also points out some of the more interesting carvings and their, ahem, details. In reality, the temples are a great mystery and the meaning behind the erotic sculptures (which account for only about 10% of the temple carvings) is unclear. In spite of that, as we wander around the complex and eavesdrop on other guides, we hear all sorts of explanations, including iterations of the following:

--The Chandelas professed a tantric philosophy and that the carvings portray the prevailing sexual practices of the times.
-- The sculptures were a how-to manual for young men – essentially sex education before getting married.
-- The carvings instructed devotees to leave their sexual proclivities outside the temples – indicating that the inner temples were to be used for spiritual purposes only, and that the physical self was to be left outside.
-- The sculptures were an expression of the belief that sex, as well as all other aspects of life, comes from the gods.
-- They show that fertility is secondary to gratification.
-- The erotica was there to appease and distract bad spirits – the spirits would focus on the sexual carvings and forget about their mission to disrupt the lives of the worshippers.
-- The king ordered the inclusion of the erotic sculptures to ensure he would be portrayed as a virile ruler.
-- And, most amusingly, that the sculptures were there to show people what they shouldn’t do.

We get a big kick out of the disparity of explanations. DD suggests a new reality show – the premise would be to go to famous tourist sites, hire different guides and record their spiels. Elimination would based on how much they bs. They could get points for creativity, imagination and accuracy.
It might be kind of fun!

Sanjay complains that all the tourists want to do is gawk at the sexual images, but it seems to us that’s what the guides hone in on and explicitly (ha!) point out. To stay in business, ya gotta give the people what they want, right?

At the temples we run into the San Francisco Sikh and his wife once again, and he gives us probably as good an explanation as we’ve heard about the temples. Mr. Singh explains: Most of the temples are dedicated to Shiva. Shiva is the creator – and Shiva is the destroyer – in essence, Shiva is the circle of life. And, the most important act at the center of the circle of life is sex. Sex results in procreation for the sustaining of life – and also in the destruction of innocent life. Once we engage in sex, we share our flesh, our inner sanctum, and we lose our individuality – our self—which leads ultimately to our destruction. He believes that the sexual images are there both to honor Shiva and to encourage sex . . . after all, sex is necessary to the survival of the culture. Interesting!

We come across a tour group of American senior citizens. As we pass them, we hear one old guy loudly announce to the group that he needs to get back to the hotel right away. Ugh! Then their tour leader jokes that she will be happy to arrange partners for anyone who needs them. Double ugh! Then an old biddy cantankerously states that won’t work because her dead husband might be watching her from heaven, and he would never approve. I’m no prude, but I have no words for that group dynamic, except to say, old people should not talk and joke about sex publicly – it creates images I don’t want to think about!

Oh, and for anyone planning on visiting, a warning: beware of the monkeys at this group of temples. They are aggressive. We were minding our own business when a troop of monkeys came near us, and one of the mama monkeys, baby following her, walked right over to DD, hip checked her, and purposely stomped on her foot! DD was fine, and fairly amused, but I definitely wouldn’t tangle with those guys! It could get ugly.

We wind up our tour of the western temples and brave the touts to go get lunch. We ate at Mediteranneo – which advertises on the side of its building that its chef is from Rome. Actually, the food was pretty good – we ordered pizza and pasta – just the ticket for travelers who are a bit tired of the local fare.

After lunch we go to the Eastern group of temples. These temples are more a mix of Hindu, Jain and Buddhist traditions. In addition to the erotic sculptures, at these temples there is a fair concentration of the naked form of man – posters of famous skyclad (naked) Jain monks and many statues of naked gods. As we are standing in front of one statue, an Indian family with a couple of little kids walks over. A little boy, who is carrying a ball, stands in front of the statue in wonder – looking at his face, I could see the light bulb go off in his head – he suddenly drops his ball and pulls out his little sausage with pride. I don’t understand what he says, but I’m sure it meant, “Hey! I’ve got one of those, too!” Everyone breaks up laughing. Happily, the parents didn’t scold the boy, but also enjoyed the moment as well. The boy was well pleased with himself and dad gently encouraged him put it away.
Innocence is a precious thing to behold.

We are templed out, so we return to our expansive suite at the Taj and take tea on our private terrace overlooking the pool. Unfortunately, it’s too cold to swim, but it’s great just to be poolside in the middle of winter.
About an hour later, our telephone rings. It’s the front desk.
“Please come to the lobby in a half an hour.”
“Why?”
“We have a Christmas presentation for you.”
DD wants to skip it – “If I have to sing or dance, it’s not happening!” she proclaims.
But, we manage to convince her to come with us and a half-hour later we are sitting in the lobby.
Alone.
In the middle of the lobby is the most pitiful little Christmas tree you have ever seen – about 5 scrawny branches decorated with garlands and lights, surrounded by sacks of seeds and flour. (DD: Is THAT what I would get for Christmas in India?!!)
No one else is here. Is this it? Did we misunderstand? Should we leave?
A hotel employee comes over and tells us the presentation will begin in five minutes.
Hmm. What are we in for?

As promised, a few minutes later, a rag-tag band of about twenty teenagers, chaperoned by a couple of nuns, a priest and a most disturbing costumed version of Santa Claus that you can imagine (really – his mask was horror-movie worthy!”) file into the lobby of the hotel. Other than the staff, which has wheeled in a beverage and sweet cart, we are the entirety of the audience.
A sweet-looking girl lovingly places a cradle with the Baby Jesus under the Christmas tree.
She rejoins the group and the Santa leads them in Hindu-language Christmas carols for us. We recognize some of the tunes and hum along. What a lovely gift! They must have come to the hotel assuming that there would be Christians staying here, and apparently, we are it.
They break into “We wish you a Merry Christmas” in English.
It’s really quite touching.
The hotel staff, obviously delighting in the spirit of the evening, serves us all goodies.
Afterward, each of the carolers comes over to us in turn, shakes our hands and says, “Merry Christmas, and God bless you!”
Truly, we ARE blessed.
It’s a Merry Christmas in India.

Thank you, travelaw, for your amazing report. I am even reliving parts that I didn't visit at all---which is a pretty neat trick and due to your wonderful eye for detail and reporting. Yay for Christmas in India!

How unfortunate that you didn't get to see the Taj Mahal. Is there a reason you didn't stay another day? We did the trip in the opposite direction from you: Varanasi-Khajuraho-Bandavgarh-Orchha-Janhsi-Agra. The train station in Janhsi was indeed unbelievable. I was so sorry that the porter had the bag with my camera (and computer) on his head, together with our other two bags, and I couldn't get a photo. I was terrified that the cameras and computers would fall off but those guys are real pros.

Thanks so much for writing. I eagerly await the next episode.

Wonderful report, and a great writing style, travelaw.

I have been reading and enjoying and following your trip report. Too bad you did not get to enjoy the Taj in it's full glory because of the fog. This means you are going to have to go back to India for another trip!

Great planning and right length of time to do justice to a country like India.

Eagerly awaiting the next part of your report.

Oh what a lovely Christmas present! And thanks again for the wonderful descriptions of all those places (which I can't fit in on this trip but maybe on another )Your writing brings them all to life for me.

Amy: So glad you are enjoying my report. I hope someday you get back to India and visit some of the other parts. Yes, Christmas turned out to be so sweet!

Marija: We stayed in Agra for three nights -- but the fog stayed heavy that entire time. We were hoping that it would let up for at least a little bit, and thought about trying to go back to the Taj, but to go back and pay the entry fee for three of us for another visit seemed expensive and possibly pointless because there was no change in the weather. Those porters were something, weren't they?! I would have been nervous too, waching my camera and computers balanced on top of someone's head!

magical: thanks so much for your kind words. I would like to go back to India soon -- and I might even venture back to Agra one day. It was a stretch for me to get a big block of time off to go -- its very difficult to do, but you have to take what you can get. I think I would enjoy India no matter how long I was there.

msmango: Only 3 days!!! This will all be real life to you very soon. Thanks for continuing to follow my saga!

Varanasi: Easy as Pi and a biryani bonus!

We arrived in Varanasi and are met at the airport by a driver and guide sent by the hotel. Varanasi strikes us as crowded, dirty, and very busy. After we drive into the city, because the hotel is down on the river, we need to walk the last bit through a pedestrian area past smoke-spewing electricity generators and down an alleyway to the ghats. Palace on the River looks to be one of the few half-way decent hotels on the river. We have the front two rooms on the second floor (third floor was booked dogster – we tried!), which look out on the water and ghats through a tree that is directly in front of our windows. From our bed, we watch the monkeys swing and climb on the branches, as well as a parrot or two. DH suggests that it would be cool to have a zoo/hotel – rooms would be located right in the animal dens with huge windows. I’m not so sure about that idea, though it is pretty cool to watch the animals up close. We’re pretty tired, so we decide to just head up to the rooftop restaurant and hang out there for the evening. The Dolphin restaurant is pretty good -- and pretty inexpensive. We enjoy listening to the sounds of the river – the aarti ceremony (lots of chanting and bells), the cows mooing, monkeys screeching, dogs barking and kids shouting to each other as they fly their kites. It’s a magnificent sight to see the hundreds of kites being flown all over the city at sunset.

The next morning we decide to walk along the ghats to the South. There is plenty of action to behold – sadhus wandering or sleeping near the water, touts hawking postcards, and kids selling diyas. Boatmen constantly nag to be hired – which we’ll do later – right now we just want to walk and take in the panorama. We walk past priests sitting under bamboo umbrellas, sheets and saris drying on the pavement, the dhobi wallahs smacking wet clothes on concrete slabs, and cow patties drying in the sun. We take it all in. Varanasi is colorful, bizarre, fantastic, peculiar, wacky, foreign and familiar all at once. It’s remarkable.

We wander up to the street and eat lunch at Bread of Life. It was okay, nothing spectacular, but we did like the Western music selections they were playing. Unlike most other countries we’ve visited, we haven’t heard any rock n’ roll while we’ve been in India. After lunch, we grab a rickshaw and head back to the hotel, because we have hired a guide for the afternoon.
We arrive back at the hotel just at the arranged time to meet a thick, lumbering fellow who introduces himself as “Pi.”
“Easy as Pi!” He says. “You won’t forget my name!”
We tell him we want a tour of the temples in the old city and off we go.

First stop is a tiny Shiva temple right near the hotel. Pi explains to us the basics of the now familiar story of Shiva and in fragmented, somewhat incomprehensible pieces, tells a legend about the god. We have some trouble understanding him, but we cut him some slack and politely attempt to follow his narrative. We wander down some alleyways, where Pi points out all the Shiva lingams along the way (and there are a lot of them!). He shows us that every house has a small icon of Ganesh on the door lintel, and informs us that the doorways aren’t low because Indians are small, but because it forces them to bow to Ganesh every time they enter the house.

Pi points out another twenty or so Shiva lingams (phallus worship is rampant here) and every Ganesha over every doorway on our route, and acts as if we should get excited at the sight of each one. We’re starting to get a bit irritated and wonder if we are going to see anything else. We do – Pi shows us some old buildings – we ask him how old they are, but he shrugs and says, “don’t know. They are old.” Yeah, we figured that out Pi! But he does tell us that he disapproves of the old buildings being painted – he declares, “paint is sh**!” We whisper to one another, “What did he say?” “Did I hear him correctly?”

We move on. More Shiva lingams, more Ganeshas on door lintels.
“How about showing us some temples Pi?” I ask.
“Okay,” says he.
More unidentifiable old buildings: “Paint is sh**! Should be natural!”
I guess we did hear him correctly. Does he think he is being cool using curse language with us? I’ve never, from any of probably a hundred guides over years of travel, heard such language on a tour. Maybe a slip once or twice, but never during an explanation. I am not Miss Prim and Proper, but I find it very inappropriate to use such language, especially when you are conducting a tour with a family. (Not that DD doesn’t hear enough of it at university!)
An hour and a half later and we have yet to cross the threshold of a temple.
“How about some temples Pi?” I ask again with increased firmness.
Pi raises his ample arm and points. “Look here – that side old building, this side new building. Paint, sh**!”
Now we are discussing between ourselves firing Pi. I decide we should hang in there and continue to give him a chance.
He takes us into a courtyard to show us yet another Shiva lingam.
“Shiva is wind, Krishna is earth and you know what is Ganesha?”
“No. What?”
“Cow sh**! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! All the Spanish, Germans, Italians, French, all understand and they step in cow sh** for good luck. You know, some people, they take cow sh** and take it to their houses and spread it all over the floor for good luck . . . .”
“Hey Pi, when are you going to show us something or give us some information that is worthy of a guide? If you don’t the tour is over.”
“Okay, I will show you temple. First an old one, then the Golden Temple.”
Pi takes us to what appears to be a very old temple – very intricate sculptures are on the stepped pyramid, each one different.
“How old is this temple Pi?”
“I don’t know, but very old.”
THIS is getting old.
“Where is the Golden Temple Pi?”
“Yes, I show you next.”
Next was actually a temple to Krishna: “Paint. Sh**. I don’t like paint.”
No sh** Sherlock! We’ve heard you say this now at least a dozen times.
“Golden temple or we are done Pi.”
“Yes, yes, right now, Golden Temple.”
So, we head up an alleyway toward what we hope will be the Golden Temple. Pi suddenly stops and strikes up a conversation with a shopkeeper – it was the dustiest, dirtiest little shop on the alley. A boy in the shop goes digging through a drawer of an antique chest and pulls something out. He hands it to Pi, who hands the shopkeeper some Rupees.
Pi smiles widely: “Each time I work I smoke one cigarette.” He lights up and grins again.
Now we are discussing out loud that we are just being fools and try to figure out how to handle this. DD suggests that running away is an option. We seriously consider it, but we really don’t feel like getting into a tussle over this at the hotel where he will surely show up later for payment.
Finally, we turn a corner and there is the entrance to the Golden Temple.
“Just outside or do you want to go in?” Pi asks.
At this point, just outside is okay with us, until we realize that “just outside” is just a view of the metal detectors – you can’t really see anything from “outside.” Okay, so inside –
“You need to leave all your belongings with this guy,” Pi says, nodding his head toward a smelly, toothless, slight little man dressed in dirty clothing.
“He’s my friend.”
Hell no, I think – and from the look on his face, I can see that DH is thinking the same thing. I have no idea who this “friend” is and I can imagine our cameras and phones being enjoyed by others in the future. We decide that one will stay behind with our stuff and take turns.
I go through the metal detector, down a colorful alley where shopkeepers are selling all manner of religious offerings and basically stand on the step of a shop outside the temple area – if you stretch up and turn slightly, you can see the golden spire. That’s about it.
We are finally done. We walk back to the hotel and reluctantly pay Pi something – the minimum – at this point we are willing to pay just to never see him again. Sigh.
This was a true and accurate account of out time with Pi. Easy as Pi. He’s right, we won’t forget his name!

It’s hard to describe the atmosphere in Varanasi -- the commingling smells of burning flesh, diesel, spices and dung – and the constant din of prayers, sales pitches, motorbikes, and shouting -- life either in the city or on the ghats is never boring. The next few days consist of boat trips on the Ganges at various times o the day, walking up and down the ghats, watching the cremation rituals, shopping for saris, day tripping to Sarnath, taking rickshaw rides around the city and witnessing the aarti ceremony at night. We eat almost all our meals at the hotel restaurant, which has become almost as comfortable as home. One day we decide to try lunch out a restaurant recommended in a travel article about Varanasi by a famous New York newspaper – and also reviewed in one of our guidebooks (not Fodor’s!) called Keshari. As promised, the place is full of locals, and there is a stern looking man counting Rupees at an elevated desk at the front. After a delicious dosa for an appetizer, we order up a bunch of dishes. The waiter brings our spread and we dish out our food. I am about to dig in to my overflowing plate when I notice out of the corner of my eye that something is moving on top of the biryani dish.
“Stop!” I yell. And everyone’s forks come to a halt. They look up.
“Don’t eat anything. I just saw something moving in the rice.”
Sure enough, on closer inspection, the rice is indeed moving.
Maggots!
(An update to my squeamishness list: it’s now cockroaches, rats, and . . . maggots!)
We call the waiter over – he looks at the dish and with absolutely no concern and no apology whips it away.
I can’t eat at all now.
DD, now inspecting all the food, finds a hair in the kofta.
“They don’t have a clean kitchen,” she says. “Let’s go.”
The waiter arrives with anther bowl of biryani.
“No, thanks,” I say.
“Why? This is new bowl – fresh!”
Maybe (hopefully) they just had a bad day. We decide to pass. We pay our bill and leave. For now, we’re sticking to the Dolphin at the Palace on the River. Hopefully my appetite will return by dinner.

bad luck all around it seems on this stop.....where did you get the famous PI from??

rhkkmk: it wasn't all bad luck -- I probably should have put in some of the good experiences as well. Pi was a recommendation of the hotel -- which I hesitate to tell everyone, because other than that, we had a very good stay there and excellent and friendly service. I have no idea where they got him. I can't imagine they knew what this guy was like, because if they did, I don't think they would have suggested him. I'm wondering now why we let the situation go on as long as we did. That was our own stupidity -- and we should have told the hotel that he was bad -- I don't know why we didn't. As a general rule, I can only go so far with guides -- this was probably one of those times where we just should have wandered on our own with a good map and guidebook. Thanks so much for continung to read along!