The World in 100 Words or Less

Upon arriving in Agra, home to the Taj Mahal, I quickly found myself a rickshaw (I was getting mobbed by about 20 drivers) and told him to take me to a hotel I had been recommended.  The drive to the hotel was less than eventful.  Not much to see: lots of military bases, shanty towns, industrial buildings, etc.  I had heard Agra, ironically, was not that pretty of a city despite its famous monument.  Eventually I was dropped off at the hotel, still having not seen the Taj.  I got a room, dropped my stuff off and headed to the rooftop restuarant where I was told I would get a glimpse.

I find in travelling that there are specific moments when it truly becomes apparent that you are not at home; where you realize that you are in fact far far away.  The beaches of Thailand was one instance of this, as well as being in Pai in the north.  But nowhere else has it struck me as hard as when I walked to the top of those cement steps, ten paces across the rooftop and turned left.  There it was, the Taj.  I was definitely not in Chicago.  The symbol of the Taj Mahal is many peoples first thoughts when the word India is spoken.  The Taj is an amazing structure, and something inside of me was truly fulfilled by seeing it.  It is not the most spectacular building in the world, it’s not the largest, or the most expensive, but it is grand.  Thousands of tons of marble expertly placed to create an almost perfect structure.  Precious stone inlays adorn the inside and outside, adding to its striking beauty.  It didn’t take my breath away, but it made me sit down and stare for an hour before I spoke again, asking for a Chai (indian tea with milk).  I was .5 km from on of the wonders of the world, and in those morning hours, still slightly wet with due, there was an overwhelming peace. While traffic raged below, honking horns, screaming people, the Taj absorbed the noise and bounced back pure solitude.

 After breakfast, I decided that I wanted to get a closer look, so I ended up hiring the same rickshaw driver to take me around for the day for a whopping 200 rupees (roughly 4 and a half bucks).  Being the idiot I am I never caught his name.  But he was a perfectly nice guy.  We went all around town, crossing the river to get a closer look at the Taj.  I had decided not to pay the exorbitant 750 rupees to go into the actual grounds of the Taj as that kind of money amounts to two days room and board.  There is so much more to see in India and I couldn’t bring myself to spend it.  The famous reflecting pool directly in front of the Taj apparently didn’t have that much water in it anyways, so I was pleased with my decision.  After talking to a young boy, Busyesh, who sold camel rides, about the construction and history of the Taj I hopped back into the  rickshaw and headed to agra fort.  Agra Fort is a huge sandstone structure, made up of many temples, ancient ritual rooms, and less pleasantly, an active Indian Military Base.  This was worth paying for.  The building was indeed impressive, walls 70 feet high, similar marble inlays as present on the Taj and much much more to see and learn about. Shah Jahan, the creator of the Taj in honor of his dead wife, was once imprisoned at Agra Fort by his son, Aurengzeb, where he apparently spent many hours gazing through his honey-comb marble windows at the Taj Mahal.

The rest of the day was of course spent aimlessly looking at marble creations, rugs, gem stones, Agra slums, people illegally smoking hashish, and drinking lots more Chai.  During this time, however, I learned alot about my rickshaw driver.  once, when Agra was even more industrial, before it was halted to the destructive effect it had on the Taj, he had been a shoemaker.  But, when the government shut down the factories he was left with being a rickshaw driver, where he makes less than half of what he made before.  However, this is still alot more than other people (he makes about 5,000 rups a month, the national minimum is 1800).  It really hit me just how well off we all are (as cliche as it may sound, it’s absolutely true).

Check off two more days on the calendar for walking around more, doing similar things and enjoying hanging out with fellow travellers from around the world.

Next Stop: Jaipur, the “Pink City”

A fellow traveller said to me, “Whether you hate India or love it, it’ll surprise you.”  Nothing could have been more accurate.

After 20 minutes spent with India’s most obnoxious and inept Customs agent, Talik _____, after drawing a map of my travels in Thailand, proving I had recieved the appropriate immunizations, offering to drop my trousers to prove I had no STDs (atleast visible ones, haha), and giving my entire family lineage (after my bathroom break), I finally was let into Delhi, India’s largest city.

Delhi Intl. Airport  is atually about 20 km outside of the town, so after haggling for 20m minutes with a cabbie, i finally agreed on a price that I couldhave recieved hassle-free from the pre-paid taxi service within the terminal. It was 5:40 am and I was tired.  I hadn’t slept or eaten in hours, almost 25, and I was truly ready to put my head down for the day.  I had already decided to stay in the Paharganj (known as the seediest of Delhi’s tourist areas) that day.  As we approached the city, the sun began to rise and unveil the sleeping giant.  More and more cars came onto the streets and I realized just how calm Thailand’s traffic was in comparison.  This country is F*cking nuts.  Traffic isn’t a nuisance, it’s a institution here.  As the cabbie negotiated carts, sleeping cows, cars, rickshaws, bicycles, pedestrians, sidewalks, medians, and my sanity, we arrived at Paharganj. Dirty. the first word that popped into my head.  Though it was relatively quiet at 6 am (an amazing feat considering the huge railway station is across the street), I was nonetheless overwhelmed. I had officially left the relative comfort of Thailand.  Having lost my shoes in Chang Mai, Thailand, I hopped, skipped and jump over puddles of feces, cow pies, sleeping animals and people, dodged motorcycles and push bike rickhaws, all with one hand behind my back.  After checking out various shithouses, i mean guesthouses, I settled on Hotel Navrang, a decrepit, but charming establishment 20 metres off the Main Bazaar.  The place is run by “Boss”, a 65 year-old indian gentlemen, so called because, well, that’s what he calls everyone else.  The minute i was done with checking in, I ran upstairs and preceded to pass out for 6 hours.

I woke up to find Paharganj was in full swing.  Traffic had reached new levels of meaning in my mind. Sleepily, I attempted to open my eyelids, as little a possible because of the tense midday son.  I did notice that it was a hell of alot less hot than Thailand, though.  It was definitely more fragrant.  The smell of Indian spices mixed with cow shit and body odor was an interesting experience for the good ol’ olfactory center.  The streets are so alive with selling, scheming and buying that it really takes you a couple of days to adjust.  After 5 or so hours out, having seen the Connaught Place, famous for shopping and finance, and wandering around Pahar Ganj, I called it a day.

The next day I spent my time checking out some of Delhi’s historical sites: Red Fort (including Lahore Gate used to announce independence), the Ashok Pillar and general happenings of Old Delhi.  Brilliant, everything very interesting and entirely too much to explain.  Red Fort is massive, a symbol of India’s ever changing image. The Ashok Pillar, a steel sculpture that hasn’t rusted in 2,000 years, a symbol of India’s ever-lasting identity.  The markets, a melting pot of Indians, and home to half the world’s population of flies and mice.

Day 3, I must admit, I did essentially nothing.  I decided to take a break to acclimatize to my new surroundings and just talk with the guys that ran the guesthouse. 20 cups of chai and 10 chess games later, it was becoming dark outside.  The guys pulled out a couple of illegally aquired bottles of rum and explained to me, with the help of an Englishmen, what the hell was happening in the Cricket game on the “Telly”. England surprisingly was leading India for the first time in awhile in the “Test” (Match). At 6 am the next day, slightly hungover and confused, I boarded my first Indian train on its way to the Taj Mahal, a sight I only wanted to see so all of you wouldn’t ask me “how the hell did you skip that?”  You would have been right to ask.