There are certain cliches about traveling in India. Getting off a plane in Delhi, for example, is almost always described as "walking into an oven."

Agra, on the other hand, is always described as "a dump." Claudia and I have been in Agra for 2 days (her second visit, my first), and you know what? Agra's a dump.

It used to be capital of the Mughal empire. If it weren't for the Taj Mahal, no one would come here. Even with the Taj, the scam artists, touts, and pollution are enough to keep some people away. No, I take that back: the pollution alone can scare you off. This isn't just air that you can chew, this is air that can kick your ass if it doesn't like being bitten.

Now that there are no emperors building elaborate tombs for beloved yet dead second wives, Agra's chief livelihoods are: 1) Extorting foreign tourists on entry fees to said tombs, and 2) Building as many coke-fired plants as possible to spit out as much dust, smoke, and general airborne crap as possible. I'm not sure which enterprise is more successful. Judging by the 750-rupee "foreign tourist" entrance fee (as opposed to 20 rupees for Indians) and the 7.50-meter visibility that you have in Agra, I'm guessing they're neck and neck.

Yet the Taj makes up for it all. I still don't like the touts (you gain 1 tout for every 3 steps you take), and the pollution is absurd (but that's what happens when the livelihood of pocket-lining is more important than, well, livelihoods). But the Taj... Agra just doesn't seem to deserve the place.

But that's perhaps harsh. Claudia and I got up in time to see the Taj at sunrise. They say the Taj changes throughout the day, as the sun moves across the sky. It's true — except for one thing: the Taj never quite looks real, never quite looks here.

The sun hadn't quite risen when I first saw it. Haze gauzed the place over so that it didn't look solid, more like part of a dream now momentarily in your conscious sight. As the sun rose, the building's lines became crisper, the domes and minarets more distinct. The white brightened, but still, the Taj looked more like a vision than a monument.

I was also still sleepy. Claudia thought I was crabby (I don't blame her), but really I was just overwhelmed. For all the crap and dumps we humans are so capable of (and talented at), now and again we prove ourselves wrong and show that we actually can achieve things that are beautiful and creative. Looking at the Taj — a monument to love and architecture — stirs up your insides. I wanted to scribble the finest words I could drum up from inside; I wanted to talk about how amazing this place is. I stood in one spot for 5 minutes, and could barely say a word. Writing these notes and observations, at best I'm fumbling for what to say.

Awe is a good thing. Though it leads to overwriting in blog posts later.

Outside the Taj gates, the usual touts awaited. The pollution, of course, was everywhere. (All over the Taj dome, in fact, there are little metal loops for scaffolding, since every few years they have to clean all the crud off and turn the place from brown back to white.)

Agra is a dump. So's a lot of life. You finish the metaphor:

The Taj reminds us that there's more to life than dumps, even when you're in the middle of one.