Khajuraho

Khajuraho is a small town- less than 20,000 souls, but it is home to some of the most incredible stone temples this side of Angkor Wat. In fact, Khajuraho reminds one of Angkor in several respects. Both were constucted as a series of temples to Hindu gods at about the same time, and are largely made of similar materials, in particular sandstone. Both have magnificent examples of fine carving but were abandoned (in part) by their respective empires as they fell into decline. At Angkor the invading forces were Chams and Siamese invaders who conquered the Khmers, defaced a few temples and then left them to the jungle (which did the real damage). In India, the invaders who found the images graven were the Muslim Mughal kings, who descended on the subcontinent from Mongolia. They were a little more thorough in their destruction of the temples, so that only a little of the Khajuraho architecture survives.

But what does survive looks like this:The Lakshmana

I spent two days here wandering among the various temples, reading and learning about them. Angkor is of course a tough act to follow, and this isn't on the same scale, but comparisons are inevitable. Here there was a lot less variation between the structures. They were each unique, but even temples built many years apart used very similar techniques and ornamentation. I think a better student of architecture would appreciate the subtle differences more, but I found them much alike. Amy and I had both found that to be the case at Angkor, too, but here the effect was much more pronounced.The Visvanatha

Khajuraho itself is just a sleepy tourist town. Indian tourism seems to be taking something of a hit these days, as I was one of only a few people enjoying the temples, was almost always the only patron of the restaurants where I ate, and for two days was the sole guest at a large hotel of at least fifty rooms. That felt really awkward- the place was fully staffed- doorman, bellhops, waiters in the restaurants, and I could see them all snap to attention when I walked by. It's cruel, but I couldn't help but think of it as a scene out of an Inidan remake of Fawlty Towers: "Stand up straight, Vishnay! Here comes The Guest."

The hotel was about five kilometers south of the town and the main temple complex, but it was a straight shot on a good road, and the weather was pleasant if warm, so each day I would walk there in the morning. This shocked my hosts to no end- as if they'd never seen that before. After five days in large cities, it felt good to breathe cleaner air and stretch my legs, since travelling by rickshaw or car seemed the only effective way to get around Delhi and Varanasi. Finally I was out of the cities and into India. There were lovely little mountains in the distance and more greenery than I'd seen since Chiang Mai.

So here's another view of the temple above, Lakshmana, dedicated to Vishnu in his "Vaikuntha" aspect- many Hindu gods have versions in which they appear for different purposes, and temples tend to focus on one.

The carving is amazing, not least because of its diversity. When you stand before one of the stupas (the large conical spires, like the western one depicted above), you're seeing dozens of bands of different types of sculpture. I was trying to capture this idea in this photo- hopefully you can see what I mean. Each of the different styles are right here next to or on top of each other, and they couldn't be more different, but they dovetail perfectly. Some are abstract waveforms protruding from a flat plane, of course the human figurines, then rows of elephants in bas releif (they do support the universe, after all), then an almost filagree-like layer of convex ornamantation, and on and on as far as you can see up the curve of the stucture.

A couple of the most interesting carvings I've decided not to show, as the photographic part of this blog needs to be kept rated PG. There's a theory that the storm god in the Hindu pantheon was a randy fellow, and that placing a few erotic carvings around the base of the temple to appease his appetites was an early form of storm insurance. As such, each of the temples contains a few beautiful and quite graphic depictions of what can happen between man and woman.

Lightning was clearly a problem for these places. They're the highest things for some distance around, and it's a rainy part of the world. At first, I couldn't figure out what these narrow grey bands were running to the top of the temples, as they obviously weren't original. Some sort of toprope for restorers to get to the top of the highest stupa? Then I touched one and saw it was iron, and ran from the highest point down all the way to the ground. As at Angkor, there were teams of renovators working on several of the temples, dilligently removing soil and vegetation from the cracks.

Here's one detail I loved. Amidst a vast row of elephants dressed for war and soldiers beside them (see the photos above for a broader view), this little six-inch high sculpture could easily be overlooked. But when viewed carefully, it's a tiny self-portrait, one of the sculptors' signature. I know that the creation of these builidings was a vast state enterprise, meticulously controlled by the kings and priests, in fact it's believed that the whole time that construction was underway, huge choruses would chant verses from the Upanishads while the laborers worked. But unlikely as it seems, I still like the idea of this being a rogue carving, something that was done on the sly, meant to look like just another war elephant and his handler when seen from a distance, but in fact a half-carved elephant and its sculptor.

One of the highlights of my visit was getting to eat lunch at a restaurant directly across the street from Lakshmana. Here you can see the small temple in the foreground to Shiva's mount, a mighty bull named Nandi. It would have been supremely disrespectful, of course, but I couldn't help thinking as I sat here, I know I could get a frisbee in there. In the fore-foreground, you see my half-finished galub jamon with coconut. Mmmmm, galub jamon.

From Khajuraho I took a bus to Jhansi, and there caught a train bound for Agra. A long but good day of travel.

The bus trip was surprisingly good- it took about five hours all told but the weather cooperated. I felt like I got to see a bit more of real India. On the bus, the driver chewed betel and smoked bidis, which the conductor would light for him every twenty kilometers. Young families bounced the baby on their knees in an effort to keep them entertained.

Once I got on the bus nobody spoke English, and even in Jhansi I only got to the train station by following a large crowd to a taxi stand where one tout was calling out "Train! Train!" The train service was excellent- serving tea and a snack in second class and bringing us into Agra only about an hour late. My hotel had sent someone to meet me, something for which I was very grateful given the crush of touts waiting for less prepared travellers outside the gate.

Home to Inida's iconic tourist attraction, Agra is tourist hell. In fact, my travel agent had sold me on the extra service of a car pick up because the touts were so bad- and he was right- but it was funny how he described Agra as "the worst place in the world". He was referring very specifically to this one phenomenon, but I still kept laughing to myself all day as I went from rickshaw to bus to rickshaw to train to taxi... I'm spending a exhausting day of travel to get to... the worst place in the world. I'm... struggling... to get to The Worst Place in The World.

Next up: The Worst Place in the World (not really).