What do you want from me?

There's something in the air at Khajuraho and it isn't sex...whatever the locals tell you about Shiva's penis in the lake, and therefore the increased prowess of everyone in the vicinity.
Apparently if you come to this little town single you are almost certain to have some kind of affair. If I wasn't fake married I'd be in trouble, huh?!
No, apart from the glorious temples with their medieval porn (beautifully crafted porn at that), the thing that strikes me most about Khajuraho is...unease.
You see, all over India so far, people are constantly wanting something. Photos I don't mind, even if it is a bit weird. Talking English with children I obviously don't mind- I know the value of language practice. Just plain curiosity is never a problem.
But then there is the constant symphony of:
"Excuse me Madam...you come see my shop....?...But you, but you are my friend. I give you good price...You want boat? Hashish? Banana? Pashmina...real silk."
Its exhausting. And so difficult making them accept no.
But in the cities you can just walk by and pretend not to hear. You can hide somewhere else for a breath and your own thoughts and company.
Here in Khajuraho its different. Everyone knows everyone else it seems and they all have different advice. The hotel says we shouldnt trust people on the street, they are just trying to sell us stuff. The people we meet on the street say not to trust the hotel as they mark up prices. And they all seem so helpful. And yet...
It now feels like the hotel are monopolising us. They didn't even let us escape for breakfast this morning.
As for our friends we've made around town, they seemed nice. They didn't even try to sell us anything and got us the secret cheap menu at a restaurant. But yesterday we met Uncle Babu: an impressively moustached diamond exporter who invited us to lunch, and to stay at his house in Delhi, and was not happy unless he was telling a moving story about his tragic love life, or his money. If he wasn't involved in a conversation he'd click his fingers until attention was back to him. He was funny but this all seems a bit Don-like. And we found out their angle... you know on a tourist visa you can carry £5000 of stuff out of the country..and if you want to earn some extra cash, just sell it back to the exporters.
Hmmmm....
So we're being sweetened up, but I ain't taking nothing home except the one silk scarf I couldn't say no to. Especially not for a man who hugs you unexpectedly for rather too long.
Shudder.
So now we gave to hide. But that's easy...the hotel won't let us leave anyway.