DAY EIGHT - SAGAR TO KHAJURAHO - 208km

Tomorrow we shall be learning some new sexual positions. In the meantime, this evening we’re sitting on the roof our hotel in Khajuraho gazing at a sun setting behind a horizon dotted with temples. These are the temples famed throughout the world for their erotic sculptures, which we’re assured, leave nothing to the imagination. Gordon is very excited.

It’s the perfect end to what the entire crew agrees has been the best day so far of our fourteen day odyssey from Goa to Nepal.

Today, nothing went wrong and everything went right. The scenery changed from flat open plain to mountain roads, which snaked through jungle, before bursting out into a landscape strewn with piles of smooth sand coloured boulders the size of Smart cars.

Naked children waved from the doorways of whitewashed cottages covered in large blue script. Sadhu Babas stood barefoot at the entrances of bright orange Shiva temples with flags rippling in the wind, waving to us as we flew by. All this contrasting against the biggest blue sky I’ve seen.

Everything felt different, but most noticeable of all – it was clean. For the first time since leaving Goa there were no smells of rotting flesh, no piles of rubbish to drive through and no shit to avoid stepping in by the side of the road – human or otherwise.

We filmed a series of some of the best driving shots of the The Shaw since we left Goa. Somehow our leap-frogging system worked like clockwork, one car remaining behind the rickshaw at all times for safety, the other racing out in front to look for the next bridge, series of tight turns or wide panorama, setting up in time to capture the rickshaw as it emerged over a brow or around a bend.

As usual, we let the rickshaw define the pace. This is one thing we’re proud of on this shoot, that almost all the shots, are real – we rarely call the guys back for a re-take. It’s the only way we can stick to our tight daily schedule and make it to Pokhara by the 26^th.

At one point, the rickshaw skidded to a stop and Shelley jumped out, camera in hand. Water buffalo, which she’d been so excited about seeing when we met back in Goa, were right next to us by the side of the road, wallowing in a pool of thick brown water.

From the road, we spotted a deserted fort high up on a hill. A local kid on a bicycle led our convoy off the main road and up through the narrow alleyways of a pristine village. At every turn, more and more kids ran alongside until, by the time we reached the path up to the fort, we had a trail of fifty people leading the way, asking us questions and peering into our viewfinders. The fort itself was immaculate, but there wasn’t a security guard, ticket booth, post card stand or ice cream stall in site. We stood on the ramparts, with a clear view back to where we’d come from and on to where we were going.

We’ve made it to northern Madhya Pradesh. A stone’s throw to the north is the border with Uttar Pradesh, our fifth state. Beyond that, the mighty Ganges flows past on its way east to the Bay of Bengal. This is the first time I can picture what we have left to do. I’ve studied our maps, trying to imagine what it will be like driving north, leaving India, the country we will be so familiar with, and driving on into the unknown.

In just a couple of days we’ll be standing next to our orange auto-rickshaw at the ghats on The Ganges in Varanassi – what I imagine, for me, will be the highlight of the trip. Another city, another hotel and another crowd to gather round, check out our ride, examine our maps and grope and feel Shelley and Katie.

Meanwhile, tomorrow morning at sunrise, our imaginations will hopefully be captured once again, by the sculptures here at Khajuraho.