Khajuraho to Agra with Dug


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January 19th 2013
Published: January 19th 2013
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Notes From A Dug - Varanasi to Khajuraho to Agra

The Varanasi airport experience was what we have come to expect - here a tip, there a tip, everywhere a tip-tip and toss in a military red alert based on the anniversary of some violent hoo-ha in the past. As much as Varanasi is an assault on so many levels, it did seed an expectation of madness in our next stop, Khajuraho. Arriving there, we had a collective six-jaw drop. A town of about 12,000 situated in the midst of lush farmland. Casual as opposed to crazy traffic patterns and an oasis of a hotel at which we all wished we were staying longer. Organized, efficient service, not mangled excuses and comprehensive ineptitude. We fell in love in six collective heart beats.

In Khajuraho, though, we finally made contact with a fully matured slimy monkey. Unfortunately he was the company rep from the local tour company. Crass and grasping, we were just another jism-burst of tourists that needed deflowering. I think even the hotel staff avoided his aura of contamination. Fortunately, for the immediate moment, this was a glancing encounter. The day's redemption came when we met our guide. Modest, humble and endearing, he was beyond knowledgeable. He took us from what could have been a perfunctory explanation of the local temples to a core appreciation of his Hindu faith. Without rancour, he believes the despoiling of the pre-eminence of women in their culture came with the incursion of Muslim invaders in the 1500's. I think he believes, over time, the male followers of Mohammed have twisted the tenets of Islam and made women possessions and any non-Muslims, infidels. Otherwise he couldn't sleep with the betrayal of his faith that resulted in a bus, six men and a gang-rape.

Our guides have been illuminating gifts to us. Without them, we would just be making sure we didn't step in cow shit or eat Ganges-washed veggies and would have missed the elements of wonder that, until arriving here, have always been just beyond our view. One endearing moment for me was when our guide joined us as we rented five ancient, single speed Raleigh bicycles from a seven year old boy, his eight year old boss and headed out on a whirly-bird tour of the town area. I'm calling it whirly-bird because, with Terry on a bike wiggling and weaving down the road, doing head fakes to the left and turning to the right, it's really a new unidentifiable species of traffic mayhem. Lots of laughter all the way round.

Back to the gift that keeps on smelling. The lard-ass company rep talks us into attending a local dance ceremony that night by saying that, yes, Anna & Lisa will be able to dance on the stage as well. He lied. I don't like being lied to. I yearned for my double-edged sword to remove his forked tongue. I think he has abused his position for so many years with so many men of the same ilk that he has forgotten what he used to be like. He thinks he will get a $$ gift of gratitude when he drops us off that night. Ain't happening. Says he won't see us again. One more lie. He shows up the next morning believing we must have overlooked expressing our financial gratitude. Dumbfounded and left holding his empty scrotum, we leave him behind.

Today is a 4 hour drive across 120 kms of countryside with a stop at a rural "welcome palace" in Orchha before we take a two hour train ride to Agra and the Taj Mahal. Nice young man as our guide in Orchha but he seemed to be talking to us through a mouth full of marbles. Fortunately, the architecture of the palace was quite drab so between the marbles and the ho-hum structure, we didn't feel like we missed much. We passed through a time-out in a street wedding and Lisa took the opportunity to organize a photo shoot with the "boys" in the wedding party. Lots of arm-waving, pointing, hopping and posturing before we got the perfect shot. Unfortunately the poor lad in the pre-arranged wedding looked like the world he had begun to sample was now fading quickly to a distant memory and he wanted to go home to mommy.

On to the train station. Phenomenal experience. Had to be there and hard to comprehend even when we were there. One hundred and ten pound porters, each carrying 150 pounds of our luggage. Two suitcases on their heads with one in tow. Wouldn't allow us to help. Up a 150 foot ramp, across a 300 foot pathway, down a 150 foot ramp to plop us at our space on the platform. Wow, it smells like an open sewer here. Wow, there a lot of rats here. Wow, that's an earthy sadhu (un-holy man) squatting on the platform across from us, pee-pee on display, urinating onto the rats and the pungent rails. Don't worry; I inadvertently have it on video. Don't turn around; Anna is attracting a crowd. Uh oh, the boys have noticed her bare legs and billowing skirt. You know what's going on. Anna doesn't. Gotta cover her up, get her on the train and punt the boys onto the stinking tracks. Anna wraps a shawl around her hips and waits for the naturally late train. We all laugh. Anna laughs. Another universal truth is played out on the tracks of the India Railway Line. The majesty of the Taj awaits and it does not disappoint. So breath-taking and beyond description that everyone should throw out any pictures they have, come here, and stand dumb-founded in its presence.

More to come.

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19th January 2013

Wishing yo the most amazing adventure!
Sending love and prayers as you all travel! What an adventure! Lotsa love Moxo and Greg xoxo

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