Danger in Khajuraho, India

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FEBRUARY 3, 2013

I wanted to Go Galt.  Due to budget constraints I had to Go Gump.

A couple of the hostile locals

The mood at camp has changed significantly.  Our two teachers gave a rather ominous talk two nights ago about the safety of the area.  Though I missed the talk myself, the gist of it was that the locals were restless in a bad way.  With the economy down, they were hoping the rich white folk would come and overspend their money in the village more than we are.  As a result, there were some shady characters lurking around the gate and fence line the last couple days.  As I type this in the waaaaaay pre-dawn hours of the following day, there is a man at outside the property line howling like an animal and shouting at the top of his lungs.  I’m the only one awake (so far as I can tell) in our group of 200 and don’t plan on sharing this fact until long after we are gone.

4 adult men sharing a small grass hut. We're clearly rich!

Safety is always a concern of mine as I travel, though it tends to take a backseat to my primary focus of using common sense.  Up to this point there have been two incidents that gave me cause for concern and both involved theft, not bodily harm.   

The first was back in Sri Lanka when my iPhone was swiped from my pocket while I slept on a bus.  I’m normally better about safely storing my stuff.  In terms of passport, cash and other pocket items, they normally reside in the extra deep front pockets of my jeans.  The jeans were purchased for $80, about $70 over my usual thrift store budget on account of the value I assigned to the deep front pockets.  I figured that if an extra $70 spent on pants would prevent my passport (and cash and hotel key and…) then it was worth the price.  On that particular bus ride in Sri Lanka it was super hot and I made the mistake of wearing shorts and not securing those extras in my bag. 

The second time I was (almost) picked was at the market earlier this week.  In addition to the extra deep front pockets, I run a decoy in my back pockets.  Basically, I stuff a bunch of worthless crap in my back pockets and pretend to reach there to grab cash when I’m really pulling it casually out of my front pocket with my other hand.  At the market I had a big wad of emergency toilet paper and an old museum ticket in my back pocket.  At one point a group of kids got close to me and bumped into me like so many others did in the crowded space.  An adult raised his voice to scold them and motioned for them to go away.  Later I noticed the museum ticket hanging out of my more than half way out of my pocket.  They fell for the trap.

Others weren’t so lucky.  Later I would learn that a French tourist (not from our group) was raped in that same district of Kuhjaro on that same day.

When it comes to the survival response, I was clearly built for Flight, not Fight.  If you exclude about a dozen hockey brawls, I haven’t closed my fist since third grade. At the same time, I would bet that I’m faster than 99.9% of the Indian population for any distance over fifty meters.  So, my basic strategy is to avoid any situation where I can’t get a fifty meter jump on any potential assailant, including any area when I could be closed in.  This means that I avoid generally empty and narrow streets, empty shops/bars/restaurants after dark and anywhere that gives a bad vibe.  On this leg of my trip, that’s not hard to do.  Everywhere we go is totally packed with humanity and if anything were to happen I would just turn on my coach voice and scream like the helpless little bitch I am.

Ballsy little bastards. 

The new safety concern for me is on my runs.  The local jackals are pretty ballsy and have approached, in mass, within feet of our compound’s electric fence.  Individually, a few have snuck in.  When I brought this up to a staff member he said, “It’s no problem.  The jackals are auspicious.”  So is kissing a effing cobra, but you won’t see me putting on extra chapstick anytime soon. 

There are two roads to run out of this place – one left, one right.  Both unpaved.  Both dark (at the hour I’ve been running).  One route is wide open with fields on either side giving me nearly 360 degrees of escape routes.  The other area runs through the little village where they offered me weed and chai tea last week.  As much as I love the interaction, I should probably head the other way toward the fields and be weary of anything with four legs and four wheels.

I don't need to be faster than the criminals.  Just faster than her.

Why worry when you've got a security guard like this?

Alyssa and I ran together today despite the warnings to not leave camp.  We weren’t alone as there were others from our group on the trail (including a woman running alone with headphones in, completely oblivious to our approach).  All of a sudden my safety plan is shot and I’m concerned.  I can outrun danger.  Her?  Maybe, maybe not, and I feel responsible.  I carry a camera in one hand, a rock in the other and really regret not picking up a three inch blade the last time I was in town. 

We return home with no issues.   By then end of the day the mood in camp has turned for the better and the fear mongering has disappeared with talks returning to spiritual development.