Category: Countries

It was only 10:30 in the morning and we had already watched the sun rise over the Taj Mahal, eaten a great breakfast and packed our bags. Packing bags is quite routine now. After two months travelling, we just about have a place for everything. Obviously, we do not have to think about what we are going to pack – we need to pack everything we have brought. That is a great simplification. After a while, you know where everything goes. You can pack quickly and easily spot if anything is missing. This is important because if you leave something in a hotel it is gone forever. Like dropping something off a ship. You will never see it again. I think hotels rarely admit to finding lost items because it is such a pain to try and post it on. Just once, we managed to drive back to a hotel and reclaimed a scarf. More usually, return to the hotel is not an option and they are very unlikely to post something to a foreign country.

We were driving to the Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary and the pragmatically named Birder’s Inn. This hotel is right next to the entrance to the Keoladeo National Park. The area was developed into a duck shooting reserve in 1899. Through the efforts of ornithologist Salim Ali, “The Birdman of India”, it became the Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary in 1956. It then became the protected Keoladeo National Park in 1982. It was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1985 because of the vast number of birds it supports. Over 400 species, including many migratory birds, have been observed there. The wetlands are regulated by a series of dams, dykes and channels. There are even some wells to help in times of drought. These measures also protect Bharatpur settlements from flash floods and provide ample pastures for the locals’ cattle and livestock.

We checked in at the Birder’s Inn, skipped lunch and set off to explore the sanctuary. As usual we needed to have a driver and a local guide. Our transport for this trip was an electric tuk-tuk. I quite like this sort of bird watching. No messing around with hiding places while trying to spot something small and shy. We could just sit back and relax while bimbling along enjoying the view while the guide spotted birds and told us what they were.

Narrow, tarmac roads along the top of the dykes provide good access to the wetlands.

The second type of owl we saw was a Nightjar. These are nocturnal. They often perch lengthwise along a branch, rather than across it, to help with concealment during the day.

The Bronze-winged Jacana was amusing to watch. They have the most enormously long toes and claws. This helps them walk on floating vegetation. Seems to work well but looks strange.

We had seen oriental darters before. They are also known as the snakebird. They hunt fish underwater using its long, straight, pointed bill. Like cormorants, it has semi-permeable feathers and often perches with outstretched wings to dry them after swimming.

The painted storks were amazingly bright. Adults have distinctive pink tertial feathers, which give them their name. Non-breeding adults have duller plumage and bare parts, including a naked orange-red head

In the distance we could spot a black-necked stork. These are endanged and the Bharatpur reserve is one of the few places they can still be found. Adults have a distinctive white and glossy black plumage with a massive black bill and red legs. They build large nests in tall trees or

Late on we spotted a nilgai. This is the largest antelope species in Asia. The name “nilgai” is derived from Hindi and literally translates to “blue cow”.

It was a long afternoon and made for a long day. Very interesting though and I managed to take a few pictures of birds. A good final day in India. Next day we were off to the airport.

We were back in Agra. Arrived at our hotel just after lunch and found a wedding going on. Indian weddings are incredibly lavish affairs. The red carpet was out and traditionally dressed girls were waiting to greet guests. Sadly we were not invited. Just then our guide turned up and we went off to look at the Red Fort.

At 94 acres, Agra’s Red Fort is better described as a walled city. Much of it is still in use by the Indian military. Built in 1500, by the Lodi Dynasty it was taken over by first Mughal ruler, Babur (a direct descendent of Genghis Khan) in 1526. The Sur Empire controlled it for a while. In 1556 the Mughals were back. Emperor Akbar made some serious modifications – 4,000 builders, 8 years. Akbar’s grandson, Shah Jahan not only built the Taj Mahal but also worked on the Red Fort and established its current state. The building changed hands several more times and in 1803 was taken by the British East India Company. After the Indian uprising of 1857 control passed to the British Raj. Since 1947, with Indian independence, the Government of India claim ownership.

It was terribly busy. People everywhere. Often, when we visit old building, I try and take photographs to give the impression that we are the only ones there. In India that is almost impossible. I gave up trying. This may not sound like a big deal but you would be amazed at the kind of photobombing that can happen if you are not paying attention. Random people with random expressions doing strange things. My India strategy is to take plenty of photos so that I can drop the ones with the distracting characters. I know, I could remove excess people using image processing software. But it is time consuming and not always very effective.

Shah Jahan built the Taj in sight of the Red Fort. Then he added some balconies and rooms to the fort just for looking at the Taj. Maybe it helped him settle down in the evening to see the mausoleum of his dead wife. He never remarried. Such was his love. That is how the story goes. He still had plenty of women in his life. Estimates range from a few hundreds to several thousand. This would include wives (4), concubines, female relatives, and a large retinue of servants and guards. Women in the harem provided entertainment (singing, dancing) and fulfilled various roles, with eunuchs guarding them.

Having looked at the Taj from the Red Fort we went off to see the Taj again. This time at sunset. It was as crowded as ever. Fortunately there was less haze so conditions for photographs were much improved. Still far from ideal, I would say in my defence.

We wandered down the left hand side of the gardens of paradise. Took a few pictures with slightly different lighting before. Sadly, the sunset was a bit of a non-event. I was hoping for a brilliantly lit sky, blazing beams of light, glowing clouds and fantastic colours on the buildings. What I got was a damp fizzle. The sun seemed to just give up and sank into a colourless obscurity below the horizon.

Undiminished, we vowed to return in the morning and do the job properly. Opening and closing times for the Taj are based on the sun. It opens 15 minutes before sunrise and closes 15 minutes after sunset. Sunrise was 6:15 am. It was another silly, early start. But there was a chance of getting a better photograph.

We were queuing in the dark. Not just there for opening but at the front of the queue to get pole position for rushing to the optimal viewpoints. The security at the Taj is very restrictive on what you can take in. Too many cameras, tripods, any writing implements, anything that looks political, anything that might cause offence, drinks, food and so on. Men and women enter through separate lines so that a guard can frisk you. Rucksacks and bags need to be thoroughly searched. This can take a while. By now, our third visit, we had got our possessions down to bare necessities. A camera each with a spare battery. No bags.

Skipping quickly through security like old pros, we were at the main entrance by first light. There were few people around and almost no hawkers. This then is my advice if you want to visit the Taj, do it absolutely first thing in the morning. We left after less than an hour and it was already filling up by then. Before then, for just a few precious minutes, we had some space to ourselves.

The morning sky was featureless and bland. Not ideal but much better than the misty morning when we first visited. A little mist still clung to the river. The sunrise was practical rather then spectacular. Gentle water-colours and a pleasing glow to the east. Best of all, some clear views of the Taj Mahal in all its glory. I was a bit unsure as to whether we should visit the Taj more than once but the last visit turned out to be the most gratifying. I got quite enthusiastic about some of the images. This rarely happens when I am photographing buildings.

By half past seven we were back at our hotel enjoying an Indian cooked breakfast. Masala cheese omelette on a stuffed spicy paratha. Oh yes.

We got back to the lodge for lunch and Diane retreated to bed. An upset stomach. The scourge of all travellers. She’d been getting increasingly unwell all morning and now could not face an afternoon of running around fields hunting deer. Sometimes the best thing to do is stop eating for 24 hours and go to bed if you feel like it.

Me, the guide and a driver set off to find deer. Not deer, but antelope. Deer have antlers, antelope have horns. The guide explained this to me. I had to go look it up and fell into a small rabbit hole. What I now know is that deer have branching antlers that are shed yearly. Antelopes have permanent, unbranching horns (or pronghorns) that grow continuously. Female antelopes often have horns too. This answer is not complete without an explanation of the difference between horns and antlers. Both are bony headgear on ruminants. Horns have a permanent bone core covered in keratin (like fingernails) and grow continuously. Antlers are solid bone, shed and regrown yearly, initially covered in “velvet” skin. So, in summary:

• Deer – antlers – shed annually – men only (apart from reindeer)
• Antelope – horns – grow continuously – both sexes

What we were after had horns. In particular, we were after the Indian antelope or blackbuck. They were known to run around wild in the farmland not too far from our lodge.

Blackbuck are herbivores and graze on low grasses. Occasionally they will browse. Grazing is feeding on low-growing plants like grass. Browsing is eating higher vegetation such as leaves, shoots, and twigs from trees and shrubs.

We drove for about 30 minutes and then set off down some rough farm tracks apparently at random. The car stopped and my guide suggested we continue on foot. The driver settled down for a nap while the pair of us went off along the field boundaries. I think the guide may have been tipped off because just round the other side of a farmhouse we first spotted a small herd. One male and four smaller, lighter coloured females. They were quite a distance away, so we started stalking them.

Blackbucks can run up to 80 kmph. If they spooked, they could quickly vanish over the horizon. We moved slowly. Tried not to make any noise. Tried to keep some cover between us. It sort of worked. The herd never panicked. But at the same time, we never got closer than a field. They would graze for a while and look our way. Then, whenever it seemed we were making progress, they would up the pace for a short while and put another couple of fields between us.  Eventually we gave up. The light was starting to fade and we had made ourselves a good walk back to the car. While walking back, I spotted a buzzard perching in a tree. It was too far away for a good photograph but even so I thought it looked good in the evening sun.

Next morning, we were up quite early for the drive to Agra. Diane was feeling a lot better and managed a small breakfast. While sitting outside with our coffee after breakfast we noticed some bats hanging high in the trees. Indian flying fox, also known as the greater Indian fruit bat. At 1.6 kg they are India’s largest bat and one of the largest in the world. They are nocturnal and mostly eat fruit such as mangoes and bananas. We took a few pictures and then we were off to see the Taj again.

The Chambal River is a tributary of the Yamuna River in Central and Northern India, and thus forms part of the drainage system of the Ganges. The Hindu epic Mahabharata refers to the Chambal River as originating from the blood of thousands of animals sacrificed by the King Rantideva. These days it is a safer place for animals. Established in 1982 as the National Chambal Sanctuary it has become important for the preservation of gharial, red-crowned roof turtle and Ganges River dolphin. We turned off the main road and were soon bouncing down a dirt track. Here we spotted a jackal. There were also cows.

Our guide explained that it was one of the cleanest rivers in India because people were not allowed to live along its banks. Further down the dirt track near a bridge we found a couple of tourist boats moored up. The set up appeared to consist of a small group of men living in a tent and taking tourists on the river. We clambered into the boat along with a guide, two helpers and the skipper. For the next couple of hours, we pottered along the river. Heading upstream at a snail’s pace, was all very gentle and peaceful. The river does not flow especially fast here and often had a glassy smooth surface.

The sanctuary has become a significant bird sanctuary. Many migrating birds stop of here on their way from Siberia and other places. I spotted a Black Winged Stilt, recognisable by its ludicrously long, thin red legs. A Greater Coucal and two types of kingfisher. As we made our way to the far side of the river, we started to see the crocodiles. A couple of muggers and a gharial. They like to sun themselves in the morning. We saw several gharials during the trip and some of them had their mouths open. I am not really sure why. They looked almost comical, showing off their teeth.

We disturbed a flock of bar-headed geese. This was a bit clumsy but hard to avoid. Managed to get some nice pictures of them flying. These birds are renowned for their incredible migratory journeys. The geese breed in Central Asia near mountain lakes and typically winter in South Asia. They fly over the Himalayan Mountains at up to 7,000m. To do this they have specialised haemoglobin to efficiently use the thin, freezing air at Himalayan altitudes.

More marsh (mugger) crocodiles and more gharials. These are quite shy. More nervous than you might expect from such an impressive mouthful of teeth. Often, as we got close to them, they would just quietly slip away. Disappearing into the river without a ripple. Male gharials develop a hollow bulbous nasal protuberance at the tip of the snout. This protuberance resembles an earthen pot known locally as “ghara”. It enables the males to emit a hissing sound that can be heard 75 m away, to attract females.

There were cows and rubbish. This is India. Cows and rubbish everywhere. To be fair, there was not an enormous amount of rubbish. The muggers like to lurk in the river with just their eyes and snout showing. To me, this looks wonderfully evil. Apparently, it is safe to swim with these crocodiles. They are not like the big salt-water crocs that will go for you. These are more likely to just move away if you get too close. I would need more convincing to actually test this theory.

On the way back, we spotted turtles. They had come out onto the mud to catch the sun. The larger ones, the first we saw, were Indian narrow headed softshell turtles. They have big, webbed feet and a funny nose. Looks like a little pipe on the front of their head. Next to these were a few red-crowned roof turtles. They had bright yellow and red markings. Possibly because they were male and it is the breeding season. Also known as the Bengal roof turtle, they are the most threatened turtle in India. Populations have now been drastically reduced due to poaching for their meat and shells, accidental drowning in fishing gear, water pollution, hydroelectric infrastructure projects and habitat destruction by sand mining. At the moment, the Chambal sanctuary is the only place they are protected.

On the last leg back to the bridge, one of the helpers on board produced a cold beer. This struck me as being an excellent way to finish the morning. I gave up trying to photograph twitchy birds and sat back to enjoy the beer. In the afternoon we were going deer hunting.

We arrived at the Chambal Safari Lodge mid-afternoon. It had been a five hour drive from Lucknow. Apart from the Indian driving, it was uneventful. Our guide for the next couple of days introduced himself and then showed me some owls. Three of them, sat on a branch, having a snooze. Then we went to see an old village. I am not entirely sure why we went to see the old village. I think, a hundred years or so ago, the village was populated by some substantially wealthy people. They lived in big houses with gun slots. Slots that allowed you, or your servants, to shoot at the bandits when they came. Now the houses are all thoroughly dilapidated. Some of the smaller ones are still used by people that keep buffaloes.

Old village explored, we moved on to Bateshwar. Sometimes called the little Varanasi. Here, on the banks of the Yamuna River are over a hundred sandstone temples dedicated to Lord Shiva. This is quite an impressive site. The lodge own a small building at one of the temples. We could sit up on the roof and enjoy the scene as the sun set. Tea and biscuits were served.

While there was still a bit of light we had a wander round a market area at the back of the temples. I was seriously struck by how much rubbish there was. Occasionally, someone would brush up a little pile and then set fire to it. I am not sure this helped much. The burning plastic gives off noxious fumes which adds to the poor air quality. No body clears up the remains of the fire.

Coming back to the river at the end of the temples, we made our way along the water’s edge. More rubbish. This is a holy, sacred place. Apparently, the lord Shiva once sat under a Banyan tree here. So, very sacred. But they cannot keep it tidy. Even the river is filthy. Bits of paper and plastic. Used bags. Packaging. Food. Food containers. Used flowers. Bits of wire. Many, many unidentifiable pieces. It is an eyesore. To me, it shows a disrespect for the place. It is unequivocally unsanitary. It is just not nice but Indians appear to just not see it. Certainly they are not bothered about it.

Arrived back at the lodge well after dark. Then the naturalist guide collared me again and suggested we go looking for civet. This is a cat-like animal famous for eating coffee cherries. They then excrete the coffee beans which can be collected and roasted. Hopefully they get washed somewhere along the way as well. The beans are partially fermented in the gut of the civet and the resulting coffee, called kopi luwak, fetches the world’s highest price for coffee. This is not done commercially in India but there are intensive farms in Indonesia and the Philippines. Civets are kept in cruel conditions, packed into cages where they do not live for long. Capturing of wild civets is now starting to seriously threaten the natural population. All this is driven by money and the story, the fantasy, about being the very best tasting coffee. The reality is that kopi luwak is not an exceptional taste. Most coffee drinkers would not be able to recognise kopi luwak and the professional coffee tasters agree that the whole thing is just a gimmick. All we were going to do was try and take a photograph of a civet. The guide grabbed a light, I grabbed my camera and flashgun and we dived into the bushes that surround the lodge. Only took a few minutes and we found one. The guide shone his light and I brought my camera to bear. A simple photograph proved a bit tricky in the dense bushes and the civet was not going to sit still and wait for me. After about ten minutes I think the civet got a bit fed up of us interfering with its hunting, so it slipped away and vanished into the night.

Dinner was terrific. Vegetable biryani with an assortment of sauces. There was soup and a desert as well. Diane indulged in both. I had an extra portion of curry with some fantastic naan fresh out of a tandoor. Next day, we set off for the Chambal River. On the way, I tried to photograph a little more about village life in India. It is all too easy to focus on the special things, animals, buildings, temples and things like that but to miss the ordinary. Which is not ordinary in the greater context of the world. Uttar Pradesh is mostly Hindu. They regard cows as holy. The cow is traditionally identified as a caretaker and a maternal figure. Hindu society honours the cow as a symbol of unselfish giving, selfless sacrifice, gentleness and tolerance. Cattle and disrespect for slaughter is a part of their ethos and there is “no ahimsa without renunciation of meat consumption”. Ahimsa is the ancient Indian principle of nonviolence which applies to actions towards all living beings. It is a key virtue in Indian religions like Hinduism, Jainism, and Buddhism. This is why you see cows wandering around all over the place. Many households have buffalo. The milk is richer than cows. The pats are dried and used for fuel. The animals can pull a plough. Many households are small farmers. They grow most of their own food and sell the surplus on roadside stalls. Self-sufficiency is a fundamental of life.

We were dropped off at a very conventional Hyatt hotel. Nothing wrong with it but nothing very interesting either. We were met by a representative of the company dealing with our travel arrangements. He was very friendly. Sat us down. Took our passports to the check-in desk. Checked us in. Brought our passports back and said goodbye. This sort of thing happened a lot in India. It sometimes feels like they have an excess of people looking for something to do. In this case, it also took three porters to bring two cases up to our room. Two did the carrying and the other one just sort of organised things and explained our room to us. “Here is the bed. There is the bathroom”. In a way, it is all very nice and friendly but of course everyone is expecting a tip and it gets up my nose at times.

Nice morning I had an excellent masala cheese omelette with a dosa. This put me in a good mood for being dragged round some tourist sites. First stop was the La Martinière College, an elite educational institution established in 1845 by Major-General Claude Martin of the East India Company. Yes, he was French. Essentially, it was a vanity project. Martin was interred in a specially prepared vault in the basement of the house. Historian William Dalrymple described it as “The East India Company’s answer to the Taj Mahal”. The school is distinguished by being the only school in the world to have been awarded royal battle honours for its role in the defence of Lucknow and the Lucknow residency during the Indian Rebellion of 1857.

Next stop was the British Residency. The Rebellion of 1857 was a major uprising against the rule of the British East India Company, which functioned as a sovereign power on behalf of the British Crown. The flashpoint for the 1857 uprising is often associated with the introduction of the 1853 Enfield rifle-musket into the Bengal Army. These rifles used paper cartridges that were pre-greased to allow smooth loading. A soldier tore open the cartridge, traditionally with his teeth, before pouring the powder down the barrel. Rumours began circulating among the Indian soldiers, that the grease was derived from cow tallow, offensive to Hindus, and pig lard, offensive to Muslims. This caused deep alarm. Biting the cartridge became a violation of religious practice. The Rebellion was also called First War of Indian Independence. These things often depend on whose side you favour. The British Residency was the focus of the siege of Lucknow from June 1857 until the city was abandoned after the second relief in November. Many stories emerged from the incident including tales of bravery and the greatest number of Victoria Crosses ever awarded in a single day. What we could see of it were a series of old buildings in various states of disrepair and peppered with bullet and cannon shot damage.

We went down to the river. Here they dye material and make clothing for weddings and other ceremonies. Diane was strangely interested in this. The final stage is washing. This starts in a plastic lined hole in the riverbank and ends with rinsing and beating the fabric in the river water. How something so clean looking can come out of such a filthy river is slightly beyond me. A big area next to the river is reserved for hundreds of cloths lines where the fabric and clothing dry. The people that do all the washing live in a slum just behind this.  

Our guide took us to a large shopping area. We began the tour with a view from the rooftops. I found this rather interesting and amused myself by trying to take videos of the traffic on a roundabout. In just a few minutes you could spot just about every rule of the road being broken here. The great thing is that nobody seems to mind. They just smile and get on with it.

Back down in the crowded streets we saw the next stages in the clothing processes. Chowk, the city’s oldest market, is famous for its Chikan Embroidery (white on white) workshops. Wooden blocks are used to mark a pattern onto the material. The patterns are ancient. Some are handed down within a single family. Many of the wooden blocks are similarly ancient. Up to 500 years old we were told. After the pattern is marked with ink the material goes to the next shop where it is embroidered by hand. The process continues. Many shops all along the street which together form a production line. The street is like a big factory. It is messy, crowded, disorganised and noisy but nonetheless it works and has been working for generations.

After this we visited an area making perfumes. Came dangerously close to slipping into a carpet shop there. Diane was assured that not only could they make Channel No5 but that this was genuine product, much better and fantastic value for money. The only problem was that the proffered oil did not smell too nice. In another area people mostly appeared to be threading flowers to make necklaces and other arrangements. Our energy levels were dropping. There were several buildings with interesting architecture but their stories went in one ear and out of the other. Rather, I ended up wondering how anyone ever made any sense of all the wires and cables strung above the road. We passed another market for second hand clothing. By market, I mean a lot of people sitting on the side of the road. Finally we returned to the haven of our hotel. I was feeling much more appreciative of the cool, quiet and reassuringly dull hotel by then.

Our last morning in Dudwha began, as usual, very early. Not only was it chilly but also quite misty. First bird we spotted was a Jungle Owlet. I have seen a couple of these before, but this was the first time we saw one awake. That is how early in the morning it was. Very cute but just looks like a stuffed toy when snoozing. I also stalked a parakeet. There are a lot of these around, but they are small and hard to photograph. Tend to be a bit shy and fly off in groups if you get too close.

We pressed on deeper into the forest. There were very few other cars around. Nice and peaceful. Saw a stonechat, a snakebird, a heron and a racket tailed drongo. Another bird we had seen quite a few times but usually hiding deep inside the foliage of a tree. A spotted deer crossed our path looked very quiet and calm.

We came across a few wild boar and then spotted a tiger. Just like that. Again, it was down a track where were not allowed. We watched for a few moments and then it stepped into the jungle and disappeared. Our guide suggested we drive round to a water hole. It was heading roughly in that direction so might have been going for a drink. We got to the small man-made lake and she was already sitting in pond lapping at the water. As ever, she seemed quite unconcerned about our presence although she looked directly at us a few times. Then she calmly climbed out, had a last look around and vanished into the undergrowth. That was the end of our visit to Dudwha but a great note to finish on.

Katarniaghat Wildlife Sanctuary, Kishanpur Wildlife Sanctuary and Dudwha National Park together form the Dudwha Tiger Reserve. We were scheduled to drive to Kishanpur but first I had to do some cooking. Somehow, a message had arrived at Jaagir Manor that I wanted a cooking lesson. After a brief discussion, the owner offered to show me how to make stuffed paratha. I felt that I should not refuse. Straight after breakfast, everything was rolled outside for the lesson and a small audience assembled. The owner was not going to show me himself; he had chefs for that sort of thing. He was, however, going to video proceedings to use on his website. I smiled and hoped I would not drop things on the floor. They equipped me with an apron, plastic gloves and a hat. Paratha is an unleavened bread. The stuffing is a mix of potato and spices. Most of this was already prepared. My job was to wrap some dough around a spoonful of potato mix, roll it out and fry it. Two chefs showed me what to do and carefully scrutinised my cooking. Fortunately, nothing bad happened and we ended up with some nicely cooked stuffed paratha. I was quite pleased with the results.

We ate the parathas for a light lunch and then headed back to Dudwha. Kishanpur was cancelled because it was quite a long drive and no tigers had been seen there for many days. Not long after we arrived at Dudwha we spotted a tiger way off down one of the closed tracks. It soon vanished and we set off in a direction to try and head it off. Coming round a corner we saw one of the other cars. They had spotted the tiger. It was off to one side of the track but they were hoping it might come out. We stopped nearby and waited quietly. Then our guide saw some movement and pointed. I trained my camera on the bushes but could not see anything other than wood and foliage. For several minutes everyone held their breath and peered into the undergrowth. Then something very strange happened to me. The leaves, branches, patches of light and shadows just sort of assembled themselves into the visage of a tiger. It felt rather weird. A random pattern became a picture. I realised that not only could I see the face of the tiger but that it was quite close and looking straight at me. If I had not been safely in a vehicle the moment would have been quite terrifying revelation. There is a saying amongst the guides that for every time you spot a tiger, it has seen you a thousand times. I took a photograph and then it vanished again.

Next day was a short boat trip at Katarniaghat. The normal early morning start got us to the park entrance just after sunrise. The route down to the river took us past several ponds. We stopped to watch the snakebirds fishing. They do not have waterproof feathers and often look quite bedraggled after they have been in the water. A fish eagle flew past carrying a branch with some leaves. Possibly it was building a nest.

Further on, we got to the river and our boat. It was only quite small. Diane and I got in along with the helmsman, a deckhand, our driver, our local guide and a river guide. Bit of a party but that is how it tends to work in India. Even when one person is sufficient, at two will come along. There are a lot of people in India. Despite being classed as a sub-continent, a population of 1.4 billion is an awful lot of people. One in six of the world’s population are Indian. On the ground, it always feels like there are a lot of people around. A lot of people and a lot of rubbish. As we set, we could see a village across the far side of the river. There was rubbish. Plastic, paper, glass, food waste, clothing, all sorts. This right on the edge, or possibly inside, a national park. At times I wanted to will some of the many, many people that we saw just sitting around to go clear some of the rubbish up.

A little further upriver we came across crocodiles. This was mostly what we had come to see. Marsh crocodiles are also called Mugger crocodiles. I like this name. With a broad snout and a powerful shoulders, they squat low to the ground as if they are waiting to mug something. Along side the muggers were some Gharial crocodiles. Slightly odd-looking reptiles. A long, thin snout with a fine collection of distinct, spikey teeth for catching fish. Not as powerful looking as the muggers. Gharials used to be common across the whole of India. Unfortunately, they are sensitive to pollution and by 1976, its global range had decreased to only 2% of its historical range. Fewer than 200 gharials survived. They are now protected and work is underway to try and clean up some of the rivers. There are still only 1,000 gharials in the wild. These days they are considered a good indicator of the quality of the river water.

We turned into a small tributary with rich, dense vegetation on both sides. The leaves rustled and there was trumpeting. Elephants. We could hardly see them. Just the top of their heads above the green fronds. Then, briefly, there was a small parting in the leaves and a big head was looking down at us. This was all quite exciting. I was hoping we could stay and watch the rest of the herd for a while. Unfortunately, our skipper announced time was up and so we headed back.

Right next to the basic dock that the boat used was a small crocodile breeding facility. Here they are breeding Gharials, Muggers and  Spotted turtles. We had to peer through a metal mesh to see the animals and it was tricky to take photos. They were, however, extraordinarily cute. The smaller ones only 10 cm long. Hopefully they can look forward to a better future than their predecessors.

On the track back we spotted a few more interesting birds including a Crested Serpent Eagle. It just sat in a tree looking very aloof and stared at us.

A somewhat dilapidated observation tower gave us a last look across the wetlands.  

We left the Jungle Retreat next morning and drove to the Dudwha national park. Quite a long drive that took us most of the day. Evening was closing in when we arrived. Jaagir Manor is a similar setup to Jim’s. Accommodation is in several lodges spread around a site with a pool and restaurant complex at the centre. Our lodge was bigger than many houses I have lived in. As well as a large bedroom and bathroom there were also three other rooms. Each one a sort of lounge although we never worked what to do in them. One had a kettle which was nice for making tea. The other two we just looked at and walked through occasionally.

Dudhwa National Park is 490 km² of reserve in the Terai belt of marshy grasslands of northern Uttar Pradesh where it borders Nepal. Established in 1958 as a wildlife sanctuary for swamp deer it is now home to a wide range of creatures including tiger, leopard, sloth bear, elephant and rhino. Our introduction began, as was becoming normal, at 5:30am with a chilly drive down to the nearest park entrance. Our driver and guide was attached to Jaagir Manor but we still needed to take a local guide on board when we entered the park. Once in the park, our driver explained that we needed get to a certain place for the best chance to see tigers. We would have to hurry. With this he shot off at break-neck speed along the dusty, bumpy track.

You cannot hear very well when charging along a dirt road. We needed to stop regularly to listen for alarm calls. One stop was by a lake where we spotted a mugger crocodile. In the morning, they haul out onto land to warm up with the sun. Crocodiles are cold blooded. They need to warm up to be able to move and hunt effectively.

A little further on, our car crunched to halt by a seldom used and roped off track. There, in the far distance was a tiger. We could barely see it. Just then, two other vehicles arrived. The tiger looked around and then vanished into the forest.

The vehicles all split up and we continued the search. Following another vehicle is not nice because you get covered with dust and cannot see anything. Much of the reserve, possibly most of it, is not accessible. It is genuinely reserved for the animals. Only limited numbers of vehicle are allowed each day and only in specified areas.

Looking to the right, up a side track, we spotted two other safari vehicles. They were stopped and the occupants were standing up looking at something in roughly our direction. Our driver stopped the car and we waited quietly for a while. Then a full-grown Bengal Tiger simply stepped out of the undergrowth by the side of the road between us and the other vehicles. There was no rustling of bushes or squawking of birds. He was just there. Quiet and deadly. Apparently without a care, he turned and started walking down the road towards us. This was a magnificent thing to behold and I was torn between looking through my camera and just enjoying the experience. He only walked a short distance before stepping across to the other side of the road, strolling through some grass and vanishing into the bushes again. Then our driver explained that we were late for leaving the park in the morning so we would have to drive very fast. If we got to the gate after it had been closed there would be a fine.

After lunch, we set off in the hope of seeing rhinos. Rhinos are even older than crocodiles. 5 million years or more. There were rhinos when dinosaurs roamed the earth. They survived the asteroid and many cycles of glaciation and warming. Man has pushed them to them to the brink of extinction in a mere century. To see them we would need to access a smaller area within the main reserve. Our driver was very keen that we should be one of the first car into the park. We set off early and were, in fact, the first in the queue. When the gate was opened for the afternoon we then needed to rush to the second gate to get into the rhino area where only two cars were allowed. This was on a first come, first served basis. It was oddly reminiscent of a Bruce Springsteen concert I attended several years ago. Queue up early at the main gate and then dash across the arena to be one of the first into the mosh pit. This for a close-up view of an ancient animal doing the same thing it has done for endless years. Pole position at the gate and some furious off-road driving was rewarded with prime access to the rhino enclosure. Our driver waved at the unlucky latecomers with a distinct “eat my dust” expression on his face.

Inside the enclosure we still had to find the rhinos. This proved to be much easier than chasing tigers. Rhinos are bigger, and slower and much easier to spot. We found a mother with a youngster. They took no notice of us at all. We left after a few photographs and went to see what else we could find.

Late afternoon is a good time for spotting birds. Heading back to the main reserve, we spotted two more rhino in a lake but far in the distance. We stopped off to see some working elephants. It was feeding time.

Further along the road we climbed a watchtower to look at a herd of deer in some wetlands. The light was beginning to fade. This makes photography difficult. My camera is pretty good in low light but at a certain point the images start to become very grainy.

We set off for yet another section of the reserve. This one even further away. We needed to pass through a couple of villages on the way. Driving in India is like nothing I have ever experienced before. I can still recall the first time I drove round the Arc du Triumph in Paris. It felt like the wild west. In Marrakesh, we had traffic streaming on both sides of the truck and in both directions. In Lima I saw vehicles short-cutting a roundabout by going the wrong direction and using the pavement. None of this prepared me for India. Here is road life without rules. There are rules but nobody takes any notice of them. Just drive where you want. And use your horn. A lot. Every manoeuvre is a game of chicken. Never give way. Except possibly at the very last moment and then only by millimetres while sounding your horn. Pulling out across a highway with four lanes of traffic bearing down on you? – just go for it, most of them will give way. Motorbikes will always go through any gap even if you are driving into it.  Tuk-tuks will try. On roundabouts, priority goes to the bravest with the best horn. Use whichever direction has most space. Two vehicles confronting each other head on is not uncommon on roundabouts and elsewhere. We stopped at a level crossing. By the time the train had passed both sides of both roads were choked with traffic. Four lanes of vehicles all driving straight at each other. That took some serious sorting out and a lot of horn blowing. Driving is a full-body contact sport. All vehicles bear numerous scars and nobody stops for anything less than a serious injury. Don’t come whining about a dint in your front wing. You need to be a much better driver to survive here. Seriously. In the UK everyone follows the rules and pootles along in their own little world occasionally reacting to something that gets in the way. You would last mere seconds driving like that here. In India you need to be planning and watching, seriously watching, in all directions at once. Relying on anyone doing anything is to invite a collision. There is no right of way. Anyone can and will turn in front of anyone else at any time. Most drivers manage this while also using their mobile phone. Motorbikes typically carry three people. Can be up to six, in which case at least two will be infants. Tuk-tuks may contain eight or more grown adults. And there are cows. Cows are holy and must be avoided. They are allowed to wander however and wherever they want. Even on motorways and sometimes in big gangs.  Also, some of them are very big and have horns. The sharp, pointy kind of horn. Do not pick an argument. You will lose. There may also be monkeys, pedestrians, cyclists, men on donkeys, horse drawn carts, people pushing carts, people just having a chat and people trying to sell you stuff. All directions, all vehicles, all at once. To be a good driver you need three good things: a good horn, good brakes and good luck. It is terrific fun.

After a half hour transfer, the calm nature reserve with elephants, tigers and leopards was a place to relax. Today we focussed on tigers. None seen yesterday so this time our guide was more determined. As far as I can tell, and I am a serious novice at this, there is no way you can spot a tiger in the undergrowth or grass. They are just too well naturally disguised. There appear to be two basic techniques the guides use. The first is to listen for the alarm calls of deer and monkeys. The second is to go to where everyone else is parked up. If you are near a tiger, stop the vehicle and hope it will come onto the road.

First thing we saw was an elephant. A big old working elephant with two people riding it. I thought it must be rather grand riding on top of such a large beast. I think it was a female, no tusks. Hopefully it had a happy life. We also saw a barking deer, some spotted deer, some termite mounds and the elephant people heading home again. Then it was back to Jungle Jim’s for a late breakfast.  

In the afternoon our guide was determined to find a tiger. We were back in the closest section of the reserve but this did not help. We saw a jackal with some sort of skin problem. Looked to me like mange mites. We saw another tusker, some birds including a woodpecker, some deer and a vulture. No tigers to be seen anywhere. I cheered the tiger for being so elusive although a small glimpse would have been nice. Tigers or not, it was still lovely driving around the reserve and seeing the enormous range of flora and fauna.

In the evening, was another fire pit, and a documentary about Himalayan brown bears. Such a bear may well have been Kipling’s inspiration for Baloo in the Jungle Book. Note that the Jungle Book is a book. Not a cartoon by Disney. Get that out of your mind (although the music is pretty good). If you have not read the Jungle Book, then you should. Another terrific meal and then we retired for our last night at Jungle Jim’s.

Jim Corbett, an Anglo-Indian, was born in 1875. A second-generation descendant of Irish immigrants, he lived in Northern India where he worked for the railway companies. In his spare time, he hunted man-eating tigers. A fine hobby for a fit, young man. Across India, as many as a thousand people were killed by tigers and big cats each year. The Champawat tiger, which killed over 430 people in Nepal and India, was Jim’s first man-eater which he shot in 1907. He went on to shoot many more and wrote books about his exploits. As he got older, he became one of the first conservationists. He wrestled with the conflict between his love of the forest and killing forest animals. From 1920 onwards he became increasingly interested in photography. Corbett was fascinated by the work of his acquaintance Frederick Champion, who devised ways of recording tigers on cine film. Jim soon came to appreciate that unlike a trophy, which soon loses its colour and elegance, photographs lasted forever, did not result in an animal’s death, and required somewhat greater skill—because the early cameraman had to get much closer than the rifleman. In 1934 Corbett was instrumental in establishing India’s first national park. Over 300 square kilometres of forest in the Ramganga river valley. In 1957, it was renamed the Jim Corbett National Park.

Our residence was delightfully named Jim’s Jungle Retreat. The general area around here is what I would call a forest rather than a jungle. However, at the retreat, they have made a big effort to plant it up like a jungle. Gravel paths flanked by lush vegetation wind their way between the lodges and the pool/dining area. Gravel is used to ensure that nobody inadvertently sneaks up on any visiting animals. Leopards and tigers have been filmed by the lodge.

We arrived late afternoon. The resident naturalist introduced himself and then took us on a walk round the site. The kitchen gardens were extensive. We saw many things growing that were new to me. Okra, turmeric and others. I took a fresh lime from the small orchard of trees. Later, I squeezed the juice and mixed it with gin. This was remarkably satisfying and very tasty.

At Vanghat, we walked everywhere. Here it was all motorised. Much less effort but also felt nowhere near as close to nature. We still began early in the morning. It was cold and we had not had any breakfast. We sat in the back of an open-air Mahindra. An Indian AWD vehicle similar to a Jeep. With the wind in our face, it was very cold. For the first time in months, I needed a sweater and a jacket. A short drive took us to the park entrance. Here we needed to queue until the official opening time. A few vendors tried to sell us hats and t-shirts, but their heart was not in it. Still too early and chilly.

We finally got into the park, along with a handful of other visitors, all in regulation jeeps. The vehicles soon split up and went in different directions. The pattern for the next couple of days was soon established. Diane had the binoculars. I had my camera. The guide sat next to the driver. Occasionally the guide would spot something. The car would stop. I would attempt to photograph the thing that was spotted and Diane would observe it though the binoculars. We saw birds. An awful lot of birds. I do not know enough about birding to say whether they were rare or special. However, some of them were very cute, or colourful, or both. There are a lot of peafowl around. That is one I knew. The peacock is the national bird of India. We typically would see a group of one peacock with three or four peahens.

The sun came up and very quickly thawed us out. By 10am we were back at the lodge and very ready for breakfast. The food was great. Massala cheese omelette served on a stuffed paratha is becoming my new favourite breakfast. After breakfast, we went back to bed. We had been up since before 5am and had a second safari scheduled for the afternoon.

Early afternoon and we did the same thing again. This time it was warmer. We also visited a different area of the nature reserve. Tigers are the big draw of this nature reserve. All the guides assume that visitors mostly want to see tigers. Other animals and birds are incidental although their warning calls could help us find tigers. Hopes were high of a tiger sighting for the afternoon. We crossed a bridge and saw two Langur monkeys licking the wall. They like the salt that leaches out of the bricks.

Further on, we came across an elephant. A male elephant with large tusks. Locals call this a “tusker”. It was stood in the middle of the track throwing dust over its back. We stopped well back and watched. The tusker was picking up a shovelful of dust from the track and flicking it over its back. The layer of dust acts as a natural sunscreen, protecting their sensitive skin from sunburn in hot climates. It also creates a barrier that deters biting insects like mosquitoes and helps to get rid of parasites and other skin irritants.

While we were watching, a sloth bear slipped across the road in the distance. Sloth bears have nothing to do with sloths. They are a black bear, 100 kg, shaggy fur. Quite a rare sighting and I completely failed to get a photograph of it. We left the tusker to its dust bath and headed off in another direction. Many classic great vultures were flying along a riverbed. I managed to get a few pictures. A few spotted deer and a wild boar later, we came across a whole heard of elephants walking away from us.

Back at the lodge we found that it was film night by the pool. Several couples were sitting around, each with a personal fire pit. We took our seats and watched a documentary about Jim Corbett. We also watched some footage from trail cameras that are dotted around the lodges. The previous night, a leopard had walked past. Very exciting. Dinner, as usual in India, was excellent.  We made sure to crunch the gravel path loudly on the way back to our room.

We were back in Delhi and the city was as polluted as ever. Rubbish everywhere and a smog that you could cut with a knife. I learned that the reported Air Quality Index (AQI) is capped at 500. So, officially, it can never be higher than 500. The morning we left, the AQI was just a shade under 500. Looking out across the city, the limited view was like a heavy and slightly yellowed fog had rolled in. It was a long drive to the Vanghat safari lodge but we were quite happy to put plenty of distance between us and the smog.

Early-afternoon we met Sumatha Ghosh, owner of Vanghat Lodge at a small village for lunch. He explained what we would be doing and drove with us for an hour or so until we arrived at a pedestrian suspension bridge. The car could go no further. We were prepared for this and had packed everything we needed for a few days into our two smallest cases. Fortunately, there were some young, strong men to carry them for us. One of the most remote wildlife lodges in Northern Indian forests, Vanghat is an internationally acclaimed eco-lodge located on a secluded bank of the Western Ramganga River deep inside Kalagarh Tiger Reserve division of the Corbett Tiger Reserve. Crossing the bridge felt like the start of a small adventure. We had a bit of a hike to the lodge where were going to stay in a mud hut. We left the main track and descended down to the river on a small footpath. It was easy going and we took our time while Sumatha pointed out various birds. He clearly had a passion for birding.

After a steady walk of half an hour or so we got to the river crossing. This was a small raft attached to a rope stretched across the river. A little care was needed getting on and off the bamboo platform. In all other respects a perfectly effective way to cross a river. Each year the monsoon raises the river level by many metres making a more permanent bridge quite impractical. A little further beyond the raft brought us to a gate through a high electric fence. This was mostly to keep elephants out simply because they can inadvertently cause so much damage. Tigers on the other hand could easily leap over the fence. We were assured this was unlikely to happen. Finally, we arrived at the lodge just as it got dark.

Our room was quite nice. Mud was used in its construction but it was not the kind of circular thatched affair I had imagined. We had a nice bed and some of the usual facilities except for hot water. That arrived later in a large bucket. Dinner was made, in part, from plants found around the lodge. It was excellent. Then it was an early night ready for a start before sunrise in the morning.

A cup of masala chai and we were off at first light, literally. Soon as it was light enough to see we were trudging off along the riverbank. Further along the valley we came to another raft. We hopped onto this like old hands.  From here the path looped quite steeply up away from the river. Like the previous day, we stopped frequently to look at birds and other things. There were termite mounds all over the place. A sign of a healthy forest apparently.

We came across some tiger tracks. Fresh from the day before. We also found elephant dung. This is easy to spot. It is enormous. No special skills required to identify where elephants have been. A couple of hours drifted past pleasantly and then we arrived at a waterfall. Time for breakfast. More masala tea, hard boiled eggs and wraps with curried vegetables. A variety of birds were flying around the waterfall. Sumatha pointed them out and I mostly failed to photograph them. It was dark in the gulley where the birds were flitting around. And they were very small. That is my excuse.

Breakfast done, we walked back the same way. We spotted a few more birds and an enormous spider. After a light lunch we grabbed a couple of hours sleep. Then it was another walk but this time staying quite close to the lodge. Back just as night was falling. We sat around a fire pit munching freshly cooked pakora and listened to the forest sounds. The alarm call of a Barking Deer alerted the guide to the presence of a tiger. It never came near the lodge but later on we heard its deep roar. Much more exciting than piped music while we were eating dinner.

The next day also started before sunrise. by first light we were crossing on the bamboo raft. This time we headed quite steeply up the side of the valley. The path became narrow and quite precipitous. A steep, loose slope to the river. To my surprise, we found elephant droppings. Despite their great size, elephants are extremely capable on steep mountainsides. An hour further down track we came across tiger prints. A mother with a cub we were assured. Shortly after this we stopped for breakfast.

A long steady climb uphill brought us to a village. We were met on the outskirts by an older villager who was going to show us around. First, he told us that a mother tiger with two cubs had been spotted very close to the village the night before. The village was quite interesting. Lots of kitchen gardens and an impressive spread of plants that can be grown. Everything from potatoes to mangoes. Our guide also showed us the village cannabis plants. Not for smoking but they did make little balls from the leaves that then went into the cooking. We sat around and drank some masala chai with biscuits. Finally, we walked down to the roadhead and met up with our car ready to take us to the next jungle lodge.

When we arrived back at the train we found that the platform was packed with people. Apparently, a train had been delayed. Without making a fuss, everyone just settled down to wait it out. Most people seemed quite prepared with food and blankets. Some chose to have a snooze while others served out food. Small groups sat around with some chai having a chat. Fortunately our train was waiting for us. Jumping on, we had a party to prepare for.

Indian night on the train meant dressing up and dancing. Two of my least favourite things. On the positive side it also meant eating and drinking which are two of my more favourite things. Diane had a sari to wear. Essentially this is a length of cloth which is wrapped around the body to form a dress. There are over eighty documented ways to wear a sari. We did not know any of them. It was fortunate that one of the hosts on the train was prepared for this. In less that five minutes and with a couple of safety pins, Diane was dressed. I was given some pyjamas. Actually, traditional men’s wear. Comfortable but sufficiently pyjama-esque as to remind me of childhood dreams where I would find myself at a school lesson still in my night wear. Re-wrapping the turban was beyond me but fortunately help was at hand. With that, we were ready to party.

We met up with Jo and Franki, two women with an enthusiastic sense of humour that were travelling together. There was dancing which I avoided but there was no stopping Diane, Jo and Franki. Quite a few of the people that worked on the train were more than keen for a jig so before long the whole end of the bar carriage was hopping. I took a few photos and then retreated behind the safety of the bar. Things eventually calmed down when dinner was served. For once, we did not have to be up at a silly early time so we could relax and chat a bit later than normal. Diane also took the opportunity to be photographed with the barman, our new best friend, and her favourite, valet who I suspect she would have liked to take home with her.

Before we arrived at Varanasi, we made a stop at Sarnath. Here are numerous ancient ruins, stupas, monasteries, and temples. Significant to Buddhism and other religions like Jainism and Hinduism. Dhamek Stupa marks the spot where the Buddha gave his first sermon in the deer park. This is one of the four sacred sites for Buddhist pilgrimages. I briefly pondered the problems of where the Buddha spoke becoming more important than what he said.

Then we visited another carpet shop. This one in the guise of a silk weaving factory. The old weaving machines were of some interest to me. They used cards to control the pattern that the loom would weave. At 250 years old, one of the earliest programable machines in the world. The sales pitch in the showroom was exceptionally good. Many of our fellow visitors walked out with a fortune in silk bed covers, cushion cases and the like. Diane and I however have built up a robust immunity to carpet shops now.

As evening fell, we arrived in Varanasi and were taken down to the Ganges. The holy river. This place has a central position in the traditions of pilgrimage, death, and mourning in the Hindu world. Many people come here to die. They can rent a flat or stay at a hospice once they feel their days are numbered.  

We got bundled onto a boat that was moored close to a road bridge. From here we motored upstream. The boat had a top deck with chairs. The lower deck was reserved for a disturbingly young and inexperienced looking lad who was steering and wrestling with the noisy engine. I was a bit concerned as to how stable this arrangement was and tried not to think about it. The river may be holy but it is also filthy. Thousands come here to bathe each day but I really did not fancy an unplanned dip. The river used to be way worse. A serious stink from sewage and all the dead people that are tipped into it. Today, it does not smell too bad but is still a suspicious colour.

The river is lined with buildings and steps. Many, many steps so that there is room for everyone to get down to the water to bathe. We passed old, fortress like buildings and others completely adorned by strings of lights. We arrived at the burning place. Manikarnika Ghat is where funeral rites and cremations take place continuously. This ancient practice is considered a path to salvation, freeing the soul from the cycle of birth and death. The cremation fires burn day and night. Bodies are laid out on open-air pyres. There is constant chanting.

Further on, we came across some sort of ceremony. I have no idea what it was. There were thousands of people crowded onto the steps and into the streets behind. We watched for a while. The tourist boats jostled with each other to try and get a good viewpoint. Just like the car drivers, they thought nothing of deliberately ramming another vehicle. My concerns about the boat’s stability surfaced again. Ultimately, nothing bad happened. I never learnt what the ceremony was about. We headed back and landed safely.

Next day we were done with the train. End of our journey on the Maharajas Express. It was fun for the most part. What I found lacking was the absence of any real progress. We never travelled too far each day. When the train moved, it was usually at night. The experience, for me, was more of a mobile hotel than a luxury journey.

That evening we went into Old Delhi with a local guide in search of food. Street food. Brilliant stuff and ubiquitous. But there is a lot to be said about having someone with a bit of knowledge who can guide you to the good places with the safe food. We began with samosas from a little corner shop that has been trading, selling the same type of samosa, for over 150 years. They were good. Deep fried pastries filled with peas and spices. At the next stop we had fried potatoes with a spicy tamarind sauce. There was a small echo of chips with brown sauce but this was so, so much better. The evening went on like this. Wandering around the incredibly crowded streets occasionally stopping for snack or a cup of chai. We really enjoyed it and came back feeling really well fed.

The following evening, we attended a cooking class. Just us and a wonderful chef called Neha Gupta. Diane decided to step back and take a few photos. I love to cook but can only think of one time, many years ago, where anyone tutored me. Turned out to be fine. I found myself really enjoying it. Spicy paratha. Previously, I had an inkling as to how these were made but it is so much easier to have someone show you precisely. Rotis got finished off on the flames. This puffs them up into balls. Another small revelation. We also made paneer makhani and I discovered how to get that authentic smoky flavour. This involves burning charcoal inside the cooking pot. One day I will really impress someone with that one. Finally, we sat down with our host and ate all the food with a glass of beer. Terrific way to spend an evening.

We got back to our hotel quite late and discovered a bomb had gone off in Old Delhi. At least 15 people were killed and 20 seriously injured. It was a car bomb. Definitely a terrorist attack although responsibility to a specific group has not been declared yet. Big, homemade explosive in car with at least two suicidal occupants. The previous night, at about the same time in the evening, we had been dropped off there. At the lights, outside the Red Fort. The exact spot where the bomb went off. This was very disturbing. Obviously, we were shocked and saddened for all the people killed and injured. I don’t think it scared us or made us worry about our safety. Reality is these things happen very rarely. It did make the incident feel very real in a way that just reading of an event in the news does not.

The evening after visiting the Taj, we went to a show. This was a very Indian show of the story of the Taj Mahal. Lots of dancing and bad acting. It was not particularly good. The focal point of the whole show was a scale model of the Taj. Clearly a lot of work had gone into the remarkably detailed construction. It was impressive. Not impressive enough to save the show but a good effort. No photographs allowed.

During the night the train sneaked down the track to Orchha. In the morning, we were whisked off to Orchha Fort in tuk-tuks. This was one of those situations where we lost contact with the guide completely. I mean, we tried to follow him but he was noticeably quiet with a strong Indian accent. I just could not work out what he was saying at all.

Work was started on Orchha Fort in 1501. Various by successive Maharajas expanded it over the following 150 years. Ultimately, it was abandoned in 1783. Left to our own devices, we wandered around at random. There were a lot of impressive carvings. I particularly liked the elephants used to hold things up.

The surrounding countryside seemed especially jungle like. This gave a wonderful feel to the place. A lost fort deep in the dark forest. We found several buildings. All quite similar and all echoing an age of opulence. Off to one side, was a high-ceilinged stone shed originally constructed to home camels. Inside we found some cows.

Back into the tuk-tuks we went off to see a traditional village. I found this a bit weird. It was, sort of, a traditional village but one that had set itself up to receive scores of tourists. There were a few visits and talks. I was impressed by a potter working on the floor outside a house. He span a heavy stone wheel balanced on a point by using a stick. Once the great lump of heavy stone was spinning like a gyroscope, he proceeded to throw small clay pots and cups on it. Impressive skills.

Back on the train for lunch we proceeded to Khajuraho. This is one of the most popular tourist destinations in India. The country’s largest group of medieval Hindu and Jain temples are here. They are famous for their erotic sculptures and are listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We arrived there late afternoon and were shown round by a particularly boring guide. I could understand him fine. He just didn’t seem to have anything interesting to say.

Most of the Khajuraho temples were built between 885 CE and 1000 CE by the Chandela dynasty. By the 12^th century, there were around 85 temples although only 25 now survive. The complex was forgotten and overgrown by the jungle. Their “discovery” was in 1838. Captain Burt, a British engineer, visited the complex and reported his findings in the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal.

Again, we ended up wandering around on our own. There are a lot of temples here. We just focussed on the most famous one. The walls are covered with intricate carvings depicting many types of human behaviour. Some quite lewd. While they are famous for their erotic sculpture, sexual themes cover less than 10% of the temple sculpture. The erotic scene panels are neither prominent nor emphasized at the expense of the rest. They are in proportional balance with the non-sexual images. It was fun to spend a while spotting the X-rated carvings. Eventually, the sun was setting and it was too dark for photographs. We headed back to the train for an “Indian Evening”. More of that in the next post.