Around the World: Agra

February 14, 1992

The rickshaw wallah was knocking on my hotel door before sunrise, prompt as promised. He takes me to the city's most popular tourist destination before the inevitable crowds arrive.

During the time of the Moghuls in the 16th and 17th centuries, Agra was the capitol of India. Emperor Shah Jahan built the Red Fort and Jami Masjid in Delhi, and many of the palace buildings inside the Agra Fort.  He is most famous for building India's most recognizable landmark, the Taj Mahal.

The white marble changes colour depending on the time of day.

Built as a tomb for the Emperor's wife, Mumtaz Mahal, the Taj Mahal has been described as the most extravagant monument built for love.  Construction began in 1631, two years after Mumtaz died in childbirth, having produced 14 children during their 17 years of marriage.  The project took 22 years to complete, requiring 20,000 workers recruited from around India and Southeast Asia. Austin of Bordeaux from France and Italian Veroneo of Venice are credited with the Taj's ornate decorations.  The main architect, Isa Khan came from Iran.

Inside the Taj Mahal

As the grounds of the Taj Mahal fill with tourists, my rickshaw driver shares some information about another famous Agra landmark.

The Agra Fort

Construction on the Agra Fort began in 1565 with the intent to be a military structure, but by Shah Jahan's time, the fort had become a partial palace.  Inside the 2½km stretch of 20m thick walls are several structures:  towers, mosques, palaces that once served as the private residence of the current Emperor, and two halls of "public audience" where the Emperor would meet foreign dignitaries or listen to the people.  As I explore the elaborate details of the Musamman Burj, I notice I am being watched by four large vultures perched atop one of the walls.  They appear to get a little restless when I'm not moving.

Staring:  The popular pastime of India

Shah Jahan intended to build a black Taj as his tomb, but before he could begin, the Emperor was imprisoned in the Agra Fort by his son, Aurangzeb, where he remained until his death in 1666.

Shah Jahan spent the last 7 years of his life
imprisoned in the Musamman Burj...

...overlooking the final resting place of his beloved wife.

After several hours of exploring Agra's main attractions, my rickshaw wallah suggests we take a break.  He stops at a small stand in the market and offers me a traditional Indian drink, a milky, spiced tea called chai.  Milk, water, ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, cloves are boiled into an aromatic blend and infused with loose black tea.  The mixture is poured through a fine strainer and served. 

Tea wallah straining chai ready to be served.  Yum!

The driver brings me to the market where I have a chance to browse the shops selling clothing, jewelry, household items, perfume and spices.  It's a colourful display, presented in an organized form of chaos that only seems to work in India.  Every shop displays their wares in a rainbow of enticing colours and exotic smells that beg to be purchased.

Spice vendor.
Photo by Tobias Leeger

The last stop of the day includes a carpet manufacturer that wants me to import his products into North America.  The manager's hospitality ends abruptly when I refuse to invest in his scam business opportunity.  Suddenly, it's time to go. Tomorrow includes a short train journey to Jaipur, also known as the "pink city".

• ¤ •

"When love is not madness, it is not love."

~Pedro Calderon de la Barca

Around the World: Welcome to Agra

February 13, 1992

The train arrived in Agra a little after 4am, almost two and a half hours early.  I wasn't able to get much sleep on the train, and when I did finally doze away, it was time to get off.  A rickshaw driver, waiting at the station, takes me to my choice of hotels, the Tourist Guest House, which is full.  Tired and possibly delirious, I ask the rickshaw wallah to choose another one and he brings me to the Hotel Akbar.  

The hotel is also full, but a room will be available in two hours.  I fight with the urge to sleep, frequently losing the battle in the lobby, wishing the ticking seconds would tick on a little faster.  Finally, I am led to my room where I meet the previous occupant.  The young woman is gathering up her things in anger and disgust.  "I can't stand this country," she wails, "I'm so happy I'm leaving!"

Just go.  I want the bed.

Getting around in Agra.

The next time I am conscious, it's late afternoon.  I find a rickshaw and take a quick tour of Agra, just to get familiar with my new surroundings.  The driver is very courteous and seems knowledgeable about the city.  "There is so much to see.  I wish I could find a guide to take me around Agra." I say, joking.

"I know Agra very well.  I will take you!"  We haggle and finally agree on 40 Rs for the day.  He promises to show up at 6am.

• ¤ •

"Without enough sleep, we all become tall two-year-olds."

~JoJo Jensen

Around the World: Strangers In The Night

February 12, 1992

Very early in the morning I wake up to the sounds of something primal and tribal occurring in the nearby streets.  There is constant chanting and drum beating that continues for hours.  It's not an irritating noise, like a neighbour with a loud stereo.  This is more unsettling, like the natives are restless.

Outside my frosted window, the rhythmic beating of drums is getting louder, the chanting is growing more intense.  Three hard, deliberate knocks bang at my door. I'm searching for something to beat off an intruder with when I hear knocking at the door next to mine and fade off down the breezeway.

Varanasi is it's own reason for celebration.
Photo courtesy of The Longest Way Home.

It's morning and daylight appears to have ended last night's festivities.  I open my door to a rendition of, Strangers In the Night.  "Zoomie zoomie-zoom..." sings a man as he polishes a car parked at the end of hotel rooms, "...zoom zoomie-zoom-zoom... zoomie zoomie-zoom." 

In the morning, every one enters the garden with the same question.  "Was someone knocking on your door last night?"  Some remark on the disturbing night time sounds of  tribal cannibals dancing around a large caldron and waking up to Frank Sinatra.  Just when you think India is starting to make sense, she throws you a new kind of strangeness.

I must investigate the possibility of reserving a seat on this afternoon's train to Agra, the first stop on my Golden Triangle tour that also includes Jaipur and India's capitol city of New Delhi.  At the train station's reservation office, I am told I cannot make a reservation because this is where they prepare the train schedules.  I should go to booth #8.

The clerk at booth #8 sends me to the deserted post of booth #16.  I return to #8 to report this and am redirected to booth #18, which is closed. Back to booth #8 for the third time, where I suggest he can stop playing 'hide the tourist' and just book me a reservation.  "Then I promise I'll to go away for good."  His head starts the side to side bobble and moments later, I have my reservation.  I also have several hours to spend taking one last look at eternal Varanasi.

Train departing Varanasi.
Photo courtesy of National Geographic

I'm on the train bound for Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, although the section of the train I am currently in is headed to New Delhi.  The trip so far is relatively pleasant.  Seating is plentiful, and I have brought with me a plentiful spread of snacks. The only real nuisance is the staring.  Who knew watching me eat crackers was so riveting?

There was no time to find my reserved seat because the train was pulling out of the station at the same time I found it.  Jumping on a moving train with a backpack takes some Indiana Jones-like agility, which I was pleased to learn I have.  In the meantime, I'm in unreserved 3rd class, just like the trip to Varanasi but with more leg room.

Five hours into the journey, the train pulls into Lucknow and it seems that the entire population of Uddar Pradesh is boarding the train.  The comfortable single seat I had all to myself is now being shared with me by three other women.  One of them is sitting on half of my leg and the muscle aches and cramps.  When I try to move it, two of the women fall off into the aisle.  The third turns and glares at me.  An elderly man on the floor starts shouting out to the packed car in Hindi.  The Indian passengers are responding with affirmative grunts and cheers.  The only words he shouts out in English are, "Break bones.  Break bones hard!"

Reserved sleeper class seating.

I stand to work out the pain in my leg and the three women pile into what used to be my seat.  The train stops and I use the opportunity to get away from the lynching that is, fortunately for me, still in the planning stages.  Dashing up the platform, I find my car and the seat I reserved.  The coach is clean and full of sleeping backpackers. My only regret is not moving up here earlier.

• ¤ •

"We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirements in life, when all that we really need to make us happy is something to be enthusiastic about."

~Charles Kingsley