Mathura

The next morning breakfast at the hotel in Delhi. Ironically, that was the best breakfast I had had so far. In Bangalore, I tried coconut chutney and found it too spicy (not that I have a problem with spices, I don't, but coconut chutney is not supposed to be like this), the paratha too chewy, the idli ok (but then how can you ruin idli anyway?), the vada too hard. But in Delhi, it was perfect with a capital P ;-). 

After having stuffed myself at breakfast (and having answered a call from R. who was running late because his poor dog had suddenly decided to fall ill), I went out in search for an ATM. Asked in the hotel, they pointed me into the general direction, asked two guards of a nearby firm and eventually a policeman who told me to "go strrraight and then rrright" while pointing vigorously to the left. When in doubt, go by gestures rather than words and so I found it, returned and settled for a little nap in one of those comfortable chairs in the lobby. Next thing I remember was a male voice, asking "Sol?". Slightly startled, I opened my eyes to look at the guy mustering me from above. For the fraction of a second, I couldn't place him but then it dawned on me and yelling his name, I jumped up to hug him.

And with that, we were on our way to Mathura, a destination M. had picked and that I never even heard about before this trip. Legend has it, that Krishna was born there in a dungeon opposite of the temple that is dedicated to him now. Until then, I didn't know that gods were born - in my understanding, they just materialised out of thin air but well, apparently not. 

The temple itself is undoubtedly beautiful and impressive and gives the entire town its purpose of existence. Because other than that, the city resembles a holy place much less than a (not very elegant) touristy rip-off. But back to the temple. Large area, big crowd of followers, believers and spectators. Beautiful wall and ceiling paintings, depicting Krishna at various stages of his life, interesting architecture. The downside for a photographer is of course that you couldn't take photos. And to me, beauty that cannot be captured in an image is just wasted. So temple visited, prayer done (M.), spectacle watched (me), stories told (R.) and stories heard (K., a lone traveller from the Netherlands that we came across), we were back in the car, left the locals and their not very pleasantly smelling streets behind and moved on to Agra.