The smog choked my lungs. It seemed hard to believe that anyplace could be worse than Jaipur, but already Agra gave it a run for its money. The stench of deisle feul mixed with manure assaulted my stuffed nose. Although my cough had been much better during the drive from Jaipur, it now flared up violently. I had thought my nose too stuffed to smell, but unfortunately I found that not to be true.

I had to close my window to protect myself from the brunt of the odor. This disappointed me, because I didn't want to miss the sounds of the street, horns honking (constantly in the rush), people talking, music blaring, calls to prayer from the temples. dogs barking, brakes screeching all mixed to a fine din.

Once we left the traffic behind, things broke up quickly. In fact, it almost seemed like we'd driving out of the city traffic became so sparce and the streets so dark. It remained very difficult to see the pedestrians and animals on the street. For all the money tourism brings to the city, none of it seemed to make it back into the infrastructure.

Sureg looked around nervously muttering to himself. I'm quite certain he had no idea where my hotel lie. In fact, I'm not sure he knew where the Taj Mahal was located. Finally he pulled over and asked a policeman for directions who steered him to an autorickshaw driver. He had to pump the guy for information beyond the wave of a hand in the general direction of the Taj, but he got decent directions in the end.

My reservations were with a small budget hotel, the Hotel Sheela, inside the no traffic zone. I had hoped it would be quieter there. However, once on the street to my hotel, it became quite apparent that confusion ruled the night rather than common sense. We saw the Sheela Hotel in the distance and pulled up in front of it. My insides warmed because it appeared clean. However, when I went inside I discovered that the Hotel Sheela and the Sheela Hotel sat on the same street. They told me I'd have to walk from this hotel to the other and suggested that I stay for dinner to relax before the long walk.

I thanked them and went back to the taxi. Sureg seemed mightily unhappy that he'd have to continue to search for the hotel. I too struggled to keep it together. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, seemed to have been revisited upon nightset by my fever and still felt the remains of trauma from the malicious chaos in Jaiper and Fatapur.

We drive a couple of blocks further along the road before we reached a set of gates guarded by a policeman. He insisted we could drive no further, that I'd have to walk. I actually looked forward to walking. Sureg made a feeble offer to assist me, but I gave him a tip and shooed him away. It felt good to be on my own. However, despite the almost pitch black bicycle rickshaw touts hounded me every step of the way to the hotel, a good 15 minute walk. Again, I got the refusal to take no for an answer. I snapped at a couple of them, "I said NO!! Do you understand NO?! When I say no, I mean no the first time! Now go away." I think perhaps they thought me unfriendly. I can't imagine why. Its always seemed clear to me that when someone crosses your boundaries rudely that you have a green light to turn the tables and be rude right back once you've used all fair and reasonable tactics. I figure that once you've said no politely over five times, fair and reasonable just isn't going to work. So, I loaded the canon and let fire. I can't say it didn't feel good to fire, but it also left me feeling disquieted. The last think I'd wanted for my vacation was the need to snap at somebody.

I found the gate to my hotel in the dark and happily registered in the back of my mind that an internet cafe sat directly across the street. I passed a few cattle that chewed their cuds at the entrance to the hotel, dodged a couple of would be touts and found the office soon enough, just beside a large garden. After a very long day of travel, I didn't completely register everything he said. The room rate came through clear, 400 rupees or about $8.50 a night. I could deal with that. The room seemed clean enougg to me although a bit cold, so I took it and paid the first night up front.

I dropped my bags on the bed in the slightly small room, noted the tacky wallpaper, a plastic embossed glue on with brown stipes undoubtedly to hide the dirt I now discovered. I decided to take a shower and then head out to eat. I undressed and negotiated the shower. A whole host of nobs greated me and another shower head with green growing on it. I ignored that, at least the bed seemed soft. I turned the likely knob and heard the water rush through the pipes. A fine mist blew out one of the many holes of the shower head. Apparently all the others were clogged. I sighed heavily not wanting to get dressed and head to the front desk to fight yet another battle. I'd already had to ask for a top sheet, a towel, and soap. After staring at the other knobs for a bit, it seemed like the general faucet jutted out of the wall in a rather high place, just between waist and chest high. I turned a couple of other knobs and water with good pressure shot out. I took a squat shower, but it did the trick.

I dressed in clean clothes and walked back to the other Sheela hotel for dinner. A bicycle rickshaw boy folloed me from my hotel, first offering a ride and then chatting with me. I figured as long as he consumed my time, at least nobody else would be approaching. He talked about growing up in Agra, being too poor to buy his own rickshaw, he rented this one instead. He offered to take me around for the entire next day for 450 rupees. That seemed like a lot to me. He tried to badger me into setting an appointment with him for the next day. I said I'd think about it. He pestered me all the way to the other hotel before disappearing back into the darkness. In fact, the night was so dark I knew I wouldn't recognize him the next day.

I entered the "nice" hotel and asked where the restaurant was located. The reception guy pointed up. I walked down the hall until I found some stairs and started to climb. All the walls were flat and all the floors were marble. A better conductor for echos couldn't be produced. Every tiny sound in the hotel reverberated back and forth. I counted myself lucky that I'd happened into the dirty hotel instead. I can live with a little grunge, but a lot of noise would make me crazy.

I found the restaurant on the top floor, a glamourous establishment with cast plastic chairs and tables, dirty walls, and high key flourescent lighting. I almost turned around and left, but the hotel manager had followed me up and ushered me to a table. Only six tables were situated in the room, all were empty except for one table where a mother and father and their two children of about eight and ten sat. I sat down, a little breathless from the walk and the four story climb of the stairs. The manager offered to show me their view of the Taj Mahal. I said I'd check it out later, that I'd rather make my order. I chose a chicken tikka masala. It sounded inocuouse enough. I also asked for a bottle of mineral water. The man left and I started to cough in great noisy echoing fits. The kids at the next table started to giggle. A man down the hall started to imitate my cough, the kids burst into full out laughter. I'd have found it funny if I'd been able to draw a full breath.

Eventually the food arrived. Apparently the kitchen stood on the basement level of the hotel and the restaurant on the roof of the hotel. Very young waiters ran up and down doing nonsense tasks such as filling one salt shaker and heading back down. Another one tried to sweep up a dropped piece of hard flat bread that had shattered on the floor. I looked at him wondering if he really intended to sweep it up around the feet of the Indian family without picking up the large pieces first. Indeed he did. The Indian man snapped at him and he got down and picked the big chunks up with his hands. The rest of the pieces he moved around a bit stirring up a whole lot of dust that settled onto the food of the other table. I grew uneasy. All I needed was to get sick yet again.

The Indian family left, the kids imitating my cough as they descended the stairs and giggled. My food arrived shortly thereafter. Considering where I was at and the cost of the meal, less than a $1.50, it wasn't too bad. The chicken had more bone than meat, but my appetite had already fled me so it didn't matter. I finished and waited for the check. After a very long wait one of the waiters came back up. I asked him for the check.

I walked out onto the rooftop from the small enclosed room and tried to see the Taj Mahal. I saw some sort of well lit commercial building that appeared to be government offices, but it wasn't the Taj. I climbed the few steps remaining to a viewing deck above. I couldn't make out anything resembling the Taj from their either.

I gave up and went back to the restaurant to await the arrival of my check. Fifteen minutes later when nobody had yet arrived I went to the front desk and asked after it. The manager yelled down the hall. I'm sure it could be heard on the fourth floor. The check arrived a couple of minutes later. I paid and split. The manager stressed that I should come back for breakfast. Not a chance.

I stayed to the shadows on the way back to the hotel and managed to avoid the touts until just before the hotel where the street lights revealed me. They descended on my from all sides. I put my hand up in a stop motion, my head down to not make contact and ignored them as I walked briskly up the driveway to the hotel. I buried myself in my room, read a few pages of my novel and woke up 9 hours later.

A shower later and I emerged from the hotel. A long line of bicycle rickshaws sat out front. A boy said he'd take me anywhere for 10 rupees. I didn't even have enough money to get into the Taj Mahal, so I accepted his offer. He took me to a good exchange place, not tricks here, and I asked him for a referral to a breakfast joint. He scored again. He found a nice off the beaten path place that seemed reasonable and relatively clean. The staff didn't have any idea what to do with an actual client, but eventually they took my order. I asked the rickshaw boy in. He said no. I insisted authoritatively and he came. I had not much to look at on the ride over than his very scrawny butt, so I decided to try to fatten him up a little. He ordered a lhassi.

Back at the hotel I tipped him well and went in to grab my camera. I heard him telling the other boys how much I'd paid him. I regretted my generousity immediately because I knew I'd just painted a target on my forehead. Camera in hand and armed to go back out on the street I tensed my back in perperation for the barrage. It came and came harder than I could have imagined. At least 20 guys yelled and tugged at me. The foreigners on the other side of the street were being subjected to the same treatment. All I could think was get me out of here until one guy asked me if I needed film. I didn't need film, but I'd filled up the last of my memory wands in my digital. I certainly wasn't going to look at the Taj and not be able to take pictures.

I'm not sure what I bought, if it really is a Sony chip, but I know I paid too much for it. I paid $100 for a 256 megapixel stick. I kicked myself as I left and noted that the hawker had rescued the plastic holder of the wand presumably to put another cheap wand in and sell again. I felt a fool and a ripped off fool.

I managed to fend off hawkers to make it to the East gate of the Taj less than a city block away. I read the sign. Indians 50 rupees, Foreigners 750 rupees. Say what!!? Not only were tourists subjected to mobs of rude relentless touts, but now we had to pay way more than the locals to see the same thing. I resentfully paid and entered only to be assaulted again, this time with wannabe guides. They quoted a lot of prices. I told them to get lost. I made it inside the front gate before the new onslaught came, I fended them off as well. The Taj is indeed pretty gleaming and white, however not really knock you over beautiful. I proceeded along the mall attaching myself to groups of Indian tourists to avoid the guides and made it to the base of the Taj where I had to leave my shoes. Having only brought a few pairs of socks I regretted having to ruin a pair, but did it anyway. Apparently they didn't want anyone tracking something into the Taj that might stain the white marble floors.

It became apparent very quickly that nobody was able to avoid the guides here. I gave up and let a guy assume control. He showed me with a small torch how the stones and marble in the interior walls were translucent and absorbed the light. He explained how the Maharaja who built the hall had planned to build a black hall across the river to house his own body after death. However after his son killed his brother and ascended to the throne, the Majaraja or king had been put in prison, work on the second mahal had ceased. Now two marble inlaid coffins sat in the hall he'd build for his wife, his and hers.

The Taj had been built with two domes essentially providing air conditioning on the inside. The white marble reflected the heat, in fact reflected so much light outside that I had to squint, and what heat managed to soak in was stopped by the second lower dome. Outside the temperature soared into the high eighties with humidity, but the inside couldn't have been more than the low seventies despited the hordes of people that crammed inside.

I followed my old guide around the exterior for a few minutes as he showed me how the polished semiprecious stones reflected light like mirrors when the light struck them right and as he told me how the moonlight penetrated these stones to illuminate the inside on bright nights. He pointed to the four minerettes on each corner of the monument pointing out how each of them leaned out slightly so in case of an earthquake, they would not fall onto the main building and crush it. He pointed out the mosque on one side which still functions and the palace on the other side. He explained that the gardens, although not the original design but that of the British, had been laid out in great detail to come together with the whole architectural magic of the place.

Finally he stuck out his hand. I gave him 50 rupees. He thanked me and walked away. I didn't expect this. I expected a battle. For once I'd gotten my money's worth I felt.

I walked back along the entry mall, stopped at the request of a few Indian tourists to pose in pictures with them, held a really cute baby for a Taj photo and then asked a teenage techy looking boy to take mine. Off to the West of the great gardens stood a museum. I made my way over to discover that I'd need to pay again to enter. Immediately inside a man attached himself to me. I'm not sure what he said although I suspect he thought he was speaking English. Instead I read the lengthy English descriptions, often in run on sentences that were hard to interpret. Basically I gathered the remnants inside were what could be gathered of the history of the Taj. An original blueprint had survived as did a lot of remnants from British rule including a document offering to sell the Taj for the value of the marble in its walls. Two great pillars that had had the stones gouged out of them up to twelve feet high stood as reminders of the pilfering the building had endured. In fact, a great deal of restoration work had needed to be done to acheive what I'd seen.

I noted that the art of the era breathed of life and movement in opposition to the many recent copies done by contemperary artists of the same school, such as the ugly man in Jaipur. I tipped the useless guide and wandered away. I found a really foul men's room and relieved myself. I'd had to stand much closer to the urinal than I would have liked because men kept leaning over to look at my business. Ewwwww.

I snapped a few more pictures wanting to get my moneys worth and left feeling cheated. I fended off dozens of touts between the gate and the hotel. I arrived breathless and tense from the onslaught. I wanted to be having a good time, but I wasn't.

I discovered that the patio of my hotel was a restaurant and ordered some reasonably decent food. After lunch I decided to head out to the red fort more out of a sense of obligation than a desire to see it. I hired a rickshaw driver and held on for dear life as he wove in and out of the crowds often being yelled at for bumping into someone or running over someones foot. I looked back at them and shrugged like 'what can I do.' However, sitting in the bicycle rickshaw did not exempt me from touts. They came up and pestered me even when we sat blocked in traffic. I envied the white tourists that ran in packs taking turns fending off the touts. I'm sure the burden is less intense that way. For the first time on the trip I felt very alone.

The driver pulled up to the fort and immediately a guide grabbed my arm and started his sales piitch. I immediately didn't like him and said, "No thank you." About ten no's later I stomped my foot at him and said, "No, do you understand no? NO, NO, NO, NO!!!! Now go away!" He went away. I pointed at the other touts and yelled, since they were all looking at me by now, "And you stay away too."

It had happened, I'd been driven over the edge. I walked through the fort unimpressed. A column here, a view there, an arch over yonder, some remains through a window. I had seen enough. I found another bathroom on the way out. I stunk even worse than the other one, but at least I had it to myself. I peed and walked out. An old scrubber man pointed to the faucet. I washed my hands and started to leave. The dirty washer guy tugged on my shirt, "pay, pay..." He pointed to money in his hand.

I retorted while jerking my shirt out of his hand, "I'm not paying for that hole. You've got to be kidding. He followed me for a couple of hundred yards before leaving me along. I'm sure it was his way of working a fleece on the tourists. I'd had enough. I found my driver and returned to the hotel exhausted, exasperated and whipped. I read my book the rest of the evening and tried to plot and escape for the next day.