| Submitted by: Mark R. Leeper and Evelyn C. Leeper United States |
| Submission Date: 07 February 2005 |
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We also saw Tulsi Manis Mandir, after convincing our driver that we did
not want to stop at the Durga Temple, also known as the Monkey Temple due to
its resident population. It might have been worth a look, but 1) it is
closed to non-Hindus and could be viewed only from a walkway above, 2) the
monkeys are reported to be very mean and sometimes snatch the glasses off
your face, and 3) we were running late, as we had to be back to check out by
noon. It's a good thing we saved time for the Tulsi Manis Mandir, because
there was a lot to see there. It has scenes and text from the Ramayana
story (as written by the poet Tulsi Manis) all around the first and second
floors. For Rs1 you can go into an upstairs section that has action models
of scenes from the Ramayana. The figures are animated to the extent that
figures are animated in a shooting gallery. There are one or two moving
parts. One woman shakes a tambourine and moves back and forth on a track.
The whole thing was charming, but to Western eyes incongruous for a temple.
Evelyn says, I can't help but think that I'd never seen a Catholic church
with circus-like mechanical displays of scenes from the New Testament. It
would certainly pull in the crowds if anyone built anything like this,
though. (The closest we've seen are those mechanical clocks in towers such
as Prague's, where the twelve apostles march out every hour or so.)
On the way back to the hotel the driver pointed to the Cottage
Industries store, as had the driver yesterday. We have heard that these
are good places to shop, but we have absolutely no desire to shop yet.
We returned to our hotel in time to check out by noon. The man behind
the desk asked if we had paid the taxi and we said we had. But something in
how he asked made Evelyn realize that he had expected us to pay him and he
would pay the taxi after taking his share for arranging it. Sure enough,
when he arranged for our taxi to the airport at 1:30 PM for Rs150, he said
we should pay him and he would pay the driver.
Before then, though, we sat for an hour or so until it was time to go
to the airport. Somewhat dehydrated while we waited, we went into the bar
to drink Pepsis. Mark is not a big cola fan at home, but he said it did
taste mighty good. Then it was off to the airport. We had put almost all
our spare batteries into Evelyn's suitcase and then checked it.
Well, once more into Indian airport security. This time they rejected
two spare batteries of Evelyn's. From Mark they rejected a bottle of iodine
water he was holding for Evelyn and a Swiss Army knife. Mark had to go and
find Evelyn's checked bag and put these dangerous articles into it. Note
that Evelyn's identical Swiss Army knife was acceptable and neither knife
was rejected last time. So Mark had to scramble to find Evelyn's bag
including a stretch of about twenty feet in which he could have taken
anything from anyone who'd just come in the door and put it completely
unnoticed into Evelyn's bag. Oh, they did make both of us take a picture
with our cameras. Mark says he would be much happier with all these
precautions if they weren't leaving such holes in the system, but guesses
they are just sick and tired of us Americans coming over and hijacking
Indian domestic flights. (An explanation we got later said that the
military was really just trying to get baksheesh, which is why they were so
much stricter with Americans.)
After the high pressure of the porters, taxi drivers, and hotel
representatives at Varanasi, Khajurao was almost laid back. Anywhere else
it would have seemed like high-pressure, but there were far fewer avid touts
in Khajurao, perhaps because there were fewer tourists off the plane. For
most countries it would have been bad, but there was much less pestering
than Varanasi, Delhi, or (by all accounts) Agra. We made arrangements for
the hotel (using the phone in the Indian Airlines office because there was
no public phone--and they didn't even charge us for the call) and got a
taxi. There is apparently a set fare of Rs50 from the airport to town (not
counting the Rs1 per person airport tax which the Lonely Planet guide
doesn't mention).
The Hotel Payal (at Rs495) turned out to be decent (though being of
somewhat open design they have a problem with insects coming inside). It is
considered top-end by the Lonely Planet guide, but considering all the bugs
(flying and crawling), we would hate to see the lower ones. It is also
located outside the main village area on a side road, which has the
advantage of quiet but is a bit isolated if you want to go out in the
evening for dinner. The bathroom is also odd by Western standards, though
it turned out to be fairly typical for India. There is no shower stall,
just a shower head in one corner. There is also a hot and a cold faucet on
the wall (for filling the bucket provided for a sponge bath, though we found
these buckets convenient for doing laundry in), and a fifth and sixth knob
that we couldn't identify. There is an electric hot water heater that has
to be turned on about five minutes before you want hot water and off when
you're done. (The hot water tap on the sink didn't work at all.) There is
also a tap and a small pail next to the toilet for those who prefer that to
toilet paper.
One thing Evelyn noticed that might be mentioned as well here as
anywhere is that trucks in India are much better decorated than trucks back
home. (By trucks, she means cargo trucks.) They all seem to have artwork
painted on the sides and interesting metalwork ornamentation. They also
have painted on the back Honk Please--if other vehicles are passing a
truck, they need to warn the truck not to change lanes, which people do very
erratically.
We waited an hour or so writing and reading about Khajurao. At sundown
we went walking and to dinner. Khajurao is a very small, peaceful-looking
village and this beguiled us into thinking a walk into the center for dinner
would be nice. Wrong! Khajurao is based entirely on tourism. Immediately
a taxi driver fastened on us, wanting to sell us a tour for the next day.
We hold him we thought not. No, that makes it sound too easy. It took
about five minutes to shed us of him. We actually wanted to go to a
specific restaurant, so we knew which way to go. He suggested the other way
was good but according to our maps there was nothing out that way. (In
fact, there was nothing in that direction but a long way around to the
center of town and a chance for a padded taxi fare.) We went our way; he
went his. We thought we were rid of him. We found our restaurant (the New
Punjab) in a small set of shops. Touts out front tried to get us to go into
their various stores or take cycle-rickshaw rides. No, we knew where we
were going. We went to the restaurant and who should pop up but our taxi
driver from our hotel. He claimed he did not follow us, and in fact Mark
doesn't see how he could have (though Evelyn is still suspicious). We
chatted a little. Mark asked him if he knew what a mandapa and a sikhara
were. He had a vague idea that there was a mandapa in a temple (but clearly
wasn't sure exactly what it was). He totally struck out on sikhara. Mark
told him that one requirement for a guide to be able to tell him about the
temples of Khajurao was that the guide had to know more about the temples
than Mark did. He completely missed the point, saying that he could find
out for Mark what a sikhara was. Well, Mark already knows it; it was the
guide who didn't. Evelyn thinks that most of the people who want to be
guides just want to be taxi drivers, but guides makes it sound like
you're getting more for your money. You would think that taxi drivers would
have found time after all these years to learn about the temples in their
own town, but they apparently don't want to go through the effort for their
customers.
By the way, the one thing that all these temples have in common is a
large spire at the top. It is very characteristic and is known as a
sikhara. Typically, the temples are made of five components. There is an
outer hall called an ardhamandapa, an inner hall called a mandapa, and a
great hall called a mahamandapa. Then inside the great hall is a smaller
room with a doorway called the antaraia and in the center of this room is
a garbhagriha where the image of the god of the temple is displayed.
What our aspiring guide said was that his uncle knew all about the
temples. But his uncle wasn't the guide--he was! His livelihood was
guiding people to these temples and he never made the effort to learn much
about the temples themselves other than the car routes to get to them.
After dinner we went to see what was supposedly a Hindu festival. We
got latched on to by someone trying to get us to his shop. We started back
to our hotel and could not shake him. We had to walk down a dark road to
get back and Evelyn was nervous enough with just him there, but when two of
his friends showed up, Evelyn decided this was dangerous and we did an
about-face and headed back to a well-lit area. Everything we had heard
about India convinces Mark that we were not in any danger. We did know the
store the boy worked for--he'd given us his card. He would be easy to find.
But perhaps Evelyn did the right thing. Anyway, we popped into a bookstore
to shake our followers and found a copy of the Mahabharata for Rs25, so it
wasn't a complete loss. We took a cycle-rickshaw back to the hotel. We
spent the evening reading and log-writing except when we went out for a
drink. Mark had a Pepsi and Evelyn had a sweet lime fizz. Now Mark is
finally caught up in his log except to say, At midnight I concluded the day
by saying, 'At midnight I concluded the day by saying, At midnight I
concluded the day by saying, 'At midnight I concluded the day by
saying....''
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Keys are a real problem here. Both the last hotel
and this one have skeleton keys. Mark is pretty sure each must fit any
door. But also they are much smaller than the keyhole. You have to know
just how far in to put the key since the hole is big enough for it to go all
the way through. Judging exact depth is difficult.
There is only one temperature of water in the sink. There are two
faucets with handles, but one is one solid piece and just for show. The
toilet does flush--which it did not do in our room in Varanasi--but it also
leaks. The whole bathroom is effectively one shower stall and the whole
floor floods. That actually seems to be a fairly common design worldwide.
This room is, however, air-conditioned and quite comfortable except for the
number of garden insects that get in attracted to the light.
For breakfast the only thing exotic on the menu was a vegetable cutlet.
It was just okay. We had mango juice but it was warm. The bad weather
seems to be following us. We have a rather gray and dismal day. Perhaps it
will be cool, however.
Well, eventually the clouds went away. We walked up to the nearby
temples. (It's much less intimidating walking in the daytime.) With us
went a cycle-rickshaw from our hotel. The driver sort of latched on to us.
We sort of agreed to remember his number. And once you are riding with one,
the others sort of leave you alone. We walked to the Archaeological Museum
about 9:15 AM, but it was not open yet, so we went to see the temples first.
Oh, yes, we should tell you about the temples, which have been declared
a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. Khajurao is on the map for one thing:
majestic temples a hundred feet high, legendary temples carved from
sandstone in the 10th to 12th Centuries and most famous for the fact that
many of the carvings are erotic. |
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