Banda

Banda, Dec 11, 2011.

76 km

Chitrakoot proves to be a very nice town. It is a bit of Varanasi light, with a river through town and bathing ghats, but I see no sign of cremations.

There are three other foreigners staying at this MP Tourist Bungalow. One American woman who has an impressive camera and shoots a lot of pictures, and a charming young couple from Portugal. I get an opportunity to drop some words of my very limited knowledge of Portuguese, which surprises them. And as always with native Portuguese speakers they are polite enough to say that I seem practically fluent. I know all too well that this is an exaggeration but enjoy the praise nevertheless.

While cycling I mostly enjoy being the only foreigner in towns where I stop, but realise now that I have also missed the company of people from my own cultural sphere. I decide to have yet one more rest day here. Next day we walk to the ghats and rent a boat for a tour up and down the river. Later I take a very pleasant walk in the poorer parts of Chitrakoot. There are simple and beautiful houses and the poor people as always are very nice. Many kids and teenagers take the chance to practise their English. Even girls come running up behind me to ask what is my name and where I come from.

Next day again I continue my trip. Except for some ten kms in the middle, the road is fine, even though again not particularly wide. It is somewhat rolling landscape but no major hills at all. I stop for excellent dhal and chapatis around lunch. Quite a group of Indians gather around me to ask the usual questions. I am quite overwhelmed with how kind and polite people are. Several times during the day I am asked how I like India. It is so obvious that Indians want to be part of the western world, want to be accepted, and counted.

When I ride in to Banda I just cycle along to see what I will come across, to get some grip of town before I decide on where to stay. Eventually though I have to stop and take out my smartphone with its Google maps. Before I can even get it out people come and ask what I am looking for. When I say 'hotel' a young woman who speaks good English suggest I go to the Sarang Intercontinental. She explains how to get there and then adds that she and her friend are just about to go in that direction on a scooter and that I can just follow them. They take me all the way to a fine looking hotel, where I get a room and a very friendly reception. I can lock up my bike on the hotel grounds which is fenced in and has a uniformed guard. Several Indian guests come to have a look at my bike and ask about it and my trip.

Once again I feel this strong wish to one day have a chance to stand up and take a bullet for these lovely Indians.