Phantom town - Khajuraho

Those who know – this city is full of Kamasutra temples, but they are not as schocking as you might expect. Beautiful, sculptured buildings make impression at least as big as Taj Mahal in all its grandeur. The charm lies in the fact, that those monuments are placed in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by literally nothing. What an idea, what a craft...

Calling it a city is an overstatement. It's a cluster looking like a frame from Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. It's a concentration of a limited number of people, whom you can't understand when you arrive. Rickshaw drivers offer a ride to the city for 50 rupees, then they drop the price 20. Then to 10 rupees for all of us. Burstig with laugh we hear 5 rupees until the price gets down to zero and you go by rickshaw about 7 km for free expecting he will spring you next to a certain hotel. You already know you want accept a bid you don't fall in with, so you think “ah, it makes no sense – for free?”... so you choose a completely different hostel and the driver is happy anyway... heh, magic.

Then, people you meet on your way are the same people you passed by, but they seem like they've gotten changed. A man who offered a rickshaw ride now sells beet. The one who rented bikes now is a hostel owner. Vertiginous. The town has four streets. Full of people who dont want anything from you. They want to chat or what? You don't know – because eventually it is indeed a boring place. For entertainment they invite you to their home – for dinner, supper, whatever. And there you meet a villager who you saw raking cow's dung six hours ago in a completely different place. On the top of that the temperature of 35 degrees, way beyond endurance and this is only the beginning... And I think maybe it's me malfunctioning? Maybe it's me who sees the same faces all the time and it is the time to go back home...?:) Khajuraho is a vague reminiscence from two days ago. Vague but still very pleasant. A night in the company of the locals, local alcohol, night of motorcycles, a road to nowhere. At the end of that “nowhere” a bridge from which one of those views stRetches: millions of fireflies! It's beautiful and unique. Shortly after that vague dream a very hot morning came and our way for the train. A 43 hours long race in a train full of sportsmen at the age denoting retirement. And thus, having survived the precedent when you start to limit your moves to the minimum in order to decrease the pain of the leg torn off the bench you sit on and you spend the whole travel in one position, it was time to get off the rushing train not to become a dummy glued to the upholstery.

Thus we did when we get off in the region called Kerala – heat pours from the sky and we are so unprepared, but twice as much happy. Kerala – green, palms, coconuts and people. These people, when they go home or to work, have to “bear” the view of picturesque channels stretched God knows how far away. Having made first steps on this island living with its own life you have all movies of paradise in front of you like a daydream. I have to mention my first bath in the ocean, because it took place after two days in a train and two hours of marching up with burden half as heavy as I am and a guitar that became a baggage itself. I'm writing about it because it reminded me how much you can desire something, how long you can wait for it and then... how good it tastes. If you manage do get it, and you ought to get it! Three weeks left till the end of the road, and maybe a new beginning... I have a feeling that a lot of sun and moments flowing slowly await us. And I'm thinking... how good it is to go back home, how good it is to carry those kilograms thinking about home and how good it is to experience things when you have someone to share them with. My backpack – my home, my home – my mainstay.