Abhaneri and Bhandarej

We’ve begun a journey away from the big city centers and into more rural parts of northern India. Lazy hours sitting on the coach have been spent switching from conversations to naps to listening to music.

On our way to the remote village of Bhandarej we stopped in Abhaneri home to a well preserved “step well.” It looks like nothing much from the outside, frankly I wondered why we were stopping at this spot but once inside I was confronted with a massive structure that cracked the earth open in a way that would make M.C. Escher proud.

The step well is a deep man made pit with shallow steps leading downward in layers toward the bottom were the water seeps in. Rain collects in the pit as well. This meant that the people of the village could always come and collect water no matter how much the level would raise or lower.

Also acting as a temple, one side is built up with viewing platforms and audience chambers. The structure is lined with ornate sculptures.
The well is situated on the edge of what could barely be called a village, not much more than a handful of small structures on a crossroad, but I think the race is on to start capitalizing on this forgotten marvel as a tourist destination. The place we had lunch was a plush dining room in a resort that was still being built. The tourists will be coming soon, and in droves.

Bhandarej was significantly bigger but still very much a village. The bus barely managed to navigate its narrow streets to transport us to our accommodations, a modest palace, converted for guests. I felt just a little like Indiana Jones in Temple of Doom as we basked in luxury behind the walls as simple village life went on outside.



After getting settled Perry took us on a walking tour through the town. We were as much a source of curiosity to them as they were to us. As touristy as it felt for a gaggle of westerners to travel in clump with our cameras clicking away it also felt like we were having a glimpse into a more authentic portion of India.











Although the school kids were all over us for pens and chocolates, the constant hawking and salesmanship were at a near silent minimum. Then as quickly as we had invaded, we disappeared again behind our high palace walls.











That night was Christmas Eve so the courtyard overlooked by the dining room was strung with lights and decorations, which didn’t quite say Christmas, but they were festive.
Dinner was accompanied by musicians playing traditional local music.

The music was good but the vocals were sometimes actually quiet grating and the songs went on at quite some length.

There was also a lone male dancer, a slight, twisty little man who moved emphatically. I hesitate to call his dancing girly, but it really was. After dinner was done he and the band try to get us to get up and dance around with them. Everyone was resistant at first but soon enough even Lauren who swore they couldn’t get her off her chair was up and moving.



The entertainment ended with a “Christmas Cake” whish was heart shaped, kind of tasteless and said “Happy Xmas” on it. Which, I found much more entertaining than a successful simulation of a western Christmas.

For most the night ended there but I decided to take the stairs to the rooftop and enjoy the view. Tatiana, a medical worker from a small island in Denmark, joined me for star gazing and quiet conversation.

The music in the distance just seemed to punctuate that for the first time in a long time the night sky was open and the world seemed … calm.