Once fimly rooted in the relative safety of my hotel room surrounded by Germans, Dutch, Australian and British Tourists, I locked myself in my room and considered my options. I could leave immediately and hope to catch the evening express train to Delhi, but I'd get in relatively late and finding a hotel could be a problem. I opted instead to eat dinner and breakfast at the hotel and make a break for the city on the slow train the next morning.

I did just that and caught an autorickshaw up the road to take me to the train station. He made the mistake of asking me what I though of Agra. When will people learn that they shouldn't ask questions unless they're prepared for the answer. He didn't even try to rip me off at the station in his haste to be away from my litany of complaints about the place.

Luckily the train I needed had just pulled in when I arrived and although I had to run, I managed to get to the platform before the train took off. I looked at the regular cars packed with wall to wall people and instead headed for a sleeper car hoping I could get away with upgrading on board. The ticket seller told me there were no seats available. I sat with two friendly enough looking Indian guys nervously putting my luggage on the birth above reminding myself not to forget my painting which wouldh't fit in my luggage.

Just before the train started to move a couple of white folk got on, a man and a woman. They sat directly across from me. I decided to strike up conversation by asking how they liked Agra. They hesitated a moment to long as they struggled to be diplomatic. I laughed and said I hated it too. I felt such a profound bonding with them just for validating my newfound contempt for the place. John, the man, seemed to have been particularly traumatized from the constant scamming and relentless pestering. Sonja kept a much more level head which I also appreciated. It appealed to my sense of fairness.

They had also had similar experiences in Rajastan as I had. We all liked the forts, but the hospitality and comfort of travel without harrassment of the most unpleasant nature could not be found.

I soon discovered that they came from Canada, Sonja from Vancouver - although her father lives in Redlands, Californina. John comes from Newfoundland, but he studied in Michigan. They both live in Korea and are teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) while they pursue their dreams of traveling the world. Despite being much younger than me, John 33, and Sonja 25, they've been far more places than I. John seems to be getting ready to sink some roots somewhere, but Sonja still has the travel lust. I told them I thought they couldn't possibly be doing anything more important with their lives right now, the enrichment it brings and the level of sophistication has no competition.

Soon one of the men in the birth with us started piping hin too. He had a severe case of Michael Jackson disease ( or at least purported disease) where the pigmentation starts to disappear, but he seemed quite charming and affable. I asked where he was from not believing that this kind of friendliness could possibly have come from Nothern Indian. I was right, he's from Bangalore and in the shoe business. Apparently that business runs the same as it has for several generations. Most shoes are made by individual family cobblers that get a pattern and produce as many of the same shoe as they can to order. The shoes are then batched with other shoes from other shoe makers and taken to a central market where they are sold to the big markets like Delhi and Mumbai. Our new friend had been in Agra on business and headed to Delhi to make sure things were going smoothly on that end. Apparently Bangalore is the shoe making capital of India.

He gave us little snippets of information on the areas we passed poiting out the mud brick kilns lining the roads where labourers strip the clay by hand with the same result as strip mining. The clay is then put in forms and fired in huge kilns with chimneys reaching about 50 feet in the air.

Every few minutes a boy would come buy and sweep up the dirt on the floor, really just moving the dirt around actually since there seemed to be no place to put the dirt once it was gathered. After he got dust all over our shoes he tap on our legs for a tip. Painful as it is, the beggar issue in India is just too big to feed it any more by giving money to them. I said no a few times and looked away continueing to chat with my companions. I wondered out loud why all the beggars came to me immediately and left the Canadians alone. We decikded it was the fact that John hadn't shaved in days and traveled with severe bedhead. Sonja had her India best clothes on and even bought street food out of the window of the train at one stop. Oddly she never gets sick. Even the guy from Bangalore said he'd never eat street food like that.

John then mentioned that he wasn't feeling good. Obviously I wasn't feeling well either since I coughed every few seconds. We discussed symptoms, major fevers and sweats and chills in the beginning, weekness in the legs especialy and sometimes in the arms, a tenderness to the skin that felt like a severe case of wind burn, stomach problems and being completely run down. I told John I actually had felt better for the past couple of days. He said he'd had a six day period where it seemed that the ailment has passed him by, but then it came back with a vengeance. I said I hoped my wouldn't follow the same course. However, knowing my propensity to catch anything going around and to get it worse than anyone around me, I resigned myself that I'd better be prepared.

John had put himself on a course of Cipro to try to kill whatever kind of bug it was, but he still felt really week and apparently had been spending a whole lot of time in the hotel rooms.

Soon we reached our stop where a change in trains was required. We dragged our heavy bags up the steps on the platform and down again on the platform that headed to Connought Circle. We sat down for a few minutes chatting before our friend from Banglore came down to tell us the next train would be in 45 minutes. We thanked him. Its so nice to meet sweet people when traveling. I try to return the favor with travelers in Los Angeles.

John, Sonja and I consulted and decided to catch a cab into the city. John did the negotiating, getting the first guy to come down from 250 rupees to 100 rupees. John had his heart set on 80 rupees, the price an Indian might pay. We went through about 20 driveres who all stood in solidarity to rip off the tourists. John got good at telling them to fuck off. I got a great vicarious thrill every time he did it. I'd held back to many times when I had wanted to do the same thing. One guy actually shook hands and agreed to 80 ruppees, but then when we got in the taxi he said 100 rupees. We unloaded our bags, and paraded on. Finally a guy appeared out of nowhere and agreed to 90 rupees.

We decided to go to my hotel first, the Hotel Janpath just off Connought Circle. It seemed decent enough from the outside although it had been painted a very drab grey color. I went to registration. The man there did not greet me and when I finally got him to look up, he scowled at me. This did not bode well, but I didn't want to go on another hotel hunt at that moment. He gave me a key. I asked where the room was located and he said in the front. I asked if I could get a room in the back where it would be quieter. He snatched the key he'd given me and threw another ket at me. I started to get alarmed.

He asked if I would pay by credit card. I said yes and handed him my mastercard. He took it and went behind a wall. This is a big no no in India. This is how impressions are made and fraudulent claims made. He brought back a blank slip and told me to sign it. I told him there was no way in hell I'd sign a bland credit card split. I started to raise my voice. He said I'd have to, it was company policy. I told him that was bullcrap. I went on to tell him how suspicious his activity behind the wall had been and how I now wouldn't trust him. He then wrote 8000 ruppees in the left column for a 2500 rupee room.

I said heatedly that I needed to see the manager. He said the manager was busy. I told him to make him unbusy. Two minutes later the manager showed up and I pleaded my case with the hidden use of the credit card machine, the blank signing of the slip, the 8000 rupee charge. He backed down and told me I wouldn't have to sign. I brought Sonja and John up to see the room. My heart sunk as I got closer and closer. The landscaping was all dead, the place looked like a depressing insane assylum. People burned trash in the courtyard below making the air thick with toxic fumes. My room looked like it had been vandalized The door had been broken into more than once and didn't really latch very firmly as a result. The furniture stood at odd angles due to sections of broken wood. The blankets had stains all over them and the paint was soiled. The only nice part of the room was the bathroom. I found out later that the tv only got a few local stations and nothing in English. I paid $55 for this hotel which should have gotten me a palace. Instead it got me a dump.

Sumit had recommended this hotel as really cool. I would have a word with him about that.