Agra and The Taj Mahal

As we rolled toward Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, stops were made to check out the roadside stoneworkers and visit Fatehpur Sikri, Akbahr the Great’s failed palace.

Although it is an impressive piece of architecture it’s was built to far from any dependable water source and was abandoned after Akbahr’s death.



Fatehpur Sikri was also where judgment was rendered. Capital punishment was performed by elephants who would step on the criminals’ heads. The tusks of those elephants adorn a tower on the edge of the palace grounds.

Initially we had planned to get up early enough to see the Taj Mahal at dawn, which is supposed to be quiet a sight but the early morning was set for fog so instead we timed it just early enough to beat the throngs and catch some good post sunrise light.
To get there our tour bus had to drop us off at a depot a bit down the road from the Taj. Polluting vehicles are not allowed within 2kms of the sight but a variety of electric vehicles run from the Depot.

My experience with the Taj was a lot like my experience with Michelangelo’s David. It had been so hyped-up I decided to keep my expectations low to ward off the possibility of disappointment. In both cases the effort seems to have been unnecessary. The Taj has presence. The way it looms large against a wide blue sky provides a sense of the epic.

In the end the Taj Mahal is simply a mausoleum, the kind only the conspicuous wealth of an emperor could provide. The emperor was Shah Jahan and he built it to fulfill a deathbed promise to his wife who died giving birth to his 14th child. This probably didn’t sit well with his other 2 wives but history tends to glaze over that little issue.

Jahan himself was eventually also laid to rest in the Taj after living his last eight years imprisoned by his son in a cell facing the Mahal. Apocryphal stories abound about how that came to pass. Some say the son was trying to stop his father from bankrupting the kingdom with plans to build an equally large structure facing the Taj for symmetry. Some say it was simply a power grab. I say the son just had a real knack for creating a good narrative for marketing purposes.

Either way, Lauren, Cheryl and I spent the morning clicking away with our cameras trying to capture the monument in a way that did justice to the way it felt in person.

Some small confusion arose from the fact that many official guards don’t have real uniforms so it became hard to distinguish them from hucksters who were trying to get you to give them a few rupees for a little tour guiding. I gave one guy about a dollars worth for guiding me to some good photo spots.

We took the time to wait in line to see the inner sanctum, which was not nearly as exciting. All the charm of the place is worn plainly on it’s facade. We walked out about 11 am feeling satisfied like you would after a great meal.



Speaking of which I went for lunch in a neighborhood just behind the Taj. A small group of us had entrusted Justine (a Kiwi) to suss out something authentic to eat. She navigated us to Shankara Vegis, a tiny family restaurant with good food and a fantastic view of The Taj Mahal in the unusual context of being framed by scenes of real Indian city life.



We achieved a new Tuktuk record by squeezing in 5 passengers. Andre and I got to sit in the front on either side of the driver while holding safety handles on the vehicles exterior.

We met up with the rest of the tour group at the Agra Fort where Shah Jahan had been imprisoned for his final years. The place is a great labyrinth well worth getting lost in for a while. Like the Taj it attracts as many India tourist as is does foreign ones, many of whom have never seen a white person in the flesh before.

It’s not uncommon to find an Indian person sideling up next to you, only to realize he’s got a friend trying to get a picture of the two of you. When I catch anyone doing this I just pose with them and force them to take a picture with my camera too.

Because of an unexpected and particularly bad traffic delay we were tight on time for our last 2 stops of the day. So Perry put it to a vote and a group decision was made to limit our visit to the “Baby Taj” to just 5 minutes. This was fine. Although interesting and ornate it’s really just another mausoleum.

In fact it has no relation to the Taj Mahal other than being in the same architectural family. “Baby Taj” is just a nickname and the structure actually predates the Taj by a century or so.

So we all ran in, clicked away and ran back out … and then waited because Nick decided to use the washroom despite knowing we were in a hurry. Nonetheless we managed to cross the river and situate ourselves on the banks for a view of the real Taj by sunset. The fog had started to return but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Back at our hotel Lauren (the 95lb junk food queen) was jonesing for McDonalds. Usually I avoid American fast food when I’m doing the world travel thing but there is a limit to how much Indian I can eat without a break and the local McDonald’s menu is really interesting.

I tried the McAloo Tiki, which has a potato patty instead of beef. It was surprisingly good. I think if McDonalds really wants to offer veggie alternatives they should just import their Indian Menu to North America instead of their usual wilted lettuce salads.
Up next: Orcha.

Abhaneri and Bhandarej

We’ve begun a journey away from the big city centers and into more rural parts of northern India. Lazy hours sitting on the coach have been spent switching from conversations to naps to listening to music.

On our way to the remote village of Bhandarej we stopped in Abhaneri home to a well preserved “step well.” It looks like nothing much from the outside, frankly I wondered why we were stopping at this spot but once inside I was confronted with a massive structure that cracked the earth open in a way that would make M.C. Escher proud.

The step well is a deep man made pit with shallow steps leading downward in layers toward the bottom were the water seeps in. Rain collects in the pit as well. This meant that the people of the village could always come and collect water no matter how much the level would raise or lower.

Also acting as a temple, one side is built up with viewing platforms and audience chambers. The structure is lined with ornate sculptures.
The well is situated on the edge of what could barely be called a village, not much more than a handful of small structures on a crossroad, but I think the race is on to start capitalizing on this forgotten marvel as a tourist destination. The place we had lunch was a plush dining room in a resort that was still being built. The tourists will be coming soon, and in droves.

Bhandarej was significantly bigger but still very much a village. The bus barely managed to navigate its narrow streets to transport us to our accommodations, a modest palace, converted for guests. I felt just a little like Indiana Jones in Temple of Doom as we basked in luxury behind the walls as simple village life went on outside.



After getting settled Perry took us on a walking tour through the town. We were as much a source of curiosity to them as they were to us. As touristy as it felt for a gaggle of westerners to travel in clump with our cameras clicking away it also felt like we were having a glimpse into a more authentic portion of India.











Although the school kids were all over us for pens and chocolates, the constant hawking and salesmanship were at a near silent minimum. Then as quickly as we had invaded, we disappeared again behind our high palace walls.











That night was Christmas Eve so the courtyard overlooked by the dining room was strung with lights and decorations, which didn’t quite say Christmas, but they were festive.
Dinner was accompanied by musicians playing traditional local music.

The music was good but the vocals were sometimes actually quiet grating and the songs went on at quite some length.

There was also a lone male dancer, a slight, twisty little man who moved emphatically. I hesitate to call his dancing girly, but it really was. After dinner was done he and the band try to get us to get up and dance around with them. Everyone was resistant at first but soon enough even Lauren who swore they couldn’t get her off her chair was up and moving.



The entertainment ended with a “Christmas Cake” whish was heart shaped, kind of tasteless and said “Happy Xmas” on it. Which, I found much more entertaining than a successful simulation of a western Christmas.

For most the night ended there but I decided to take the stairs to the rooftop and enjoy the view. Tatiana, a medical worker from a small island in Denmark, joined me for star gazing and quiet conversation.

The music in the distance just seemed to punctuate that for the first time in a long time the night sky was open and the world seemed … calm.

Jaipur (J-eye-poor), Elephants and Bollywood!

The journey to Jaipur started with the arrival of our tour bus. Not a full size one like we’re used to in Canada but a surprisingly comfy mini bus about ½ the length of a regular one and only wide enough to fit three people across instead of the usual four.

Because of Indian traffic the 270km drive to Jaipur was slated for 6 hours. Including short stops for “Fine Dining” and photos of the statues of Rama, his wife Sita and other attendant gods.



Arriving at our hotel, the “Fort Chandragupt” we were greeted with garland necklaces and “teeka’ marks on our foreheads, which are considered a mark of good omen upon greeting.

After dropping our bags, Perry arranged a fleet of bicycle rickshaws to take us to see the moon temple. Somehow I got seated with another big guy and a 12-year-old boy as the driver. That obviously wasn’t going to work so after a little switching around we were off.

Jaipur is the Pink City, the City of Victory, home to the Amber Fort and the Palace of Winds, a big draw for tourists and just as crazy busy as Delhi.
To get to the Moon Temple we had to get into the walled off, old part of town known as the “Pink City” by passing through the Moon Gate. The name comes simply from the rusty pink stone that the entire old town is made of. The temple itself sits on a roof over a row of shops overlooking a central Jaipur square.

The rest of the evening consisted of a leisurely dinner at a fairly fancy and place that featured after dinner performances of puppetry and Indian dancers. One dancer worked with an ever-increasing number of pots on her head. It felt a bit gimmicky but it was entertaining nonetheless.



The next day, after a breakfast on our hotels incredible terrace we went to see Jaipur’s main sights, starting with the Hawa Mahal. The name means Palace of Winds and it’s called his because of the cooling breeze generated inside by screens of it’s hundreds of windows.

It was constructed this way so that the many wives and concubines of Akbar the great could each have their own view of the many parades that occurred below. Heaven forbid these women should actually be allowed outside! Ironically we weren’t allowed inside but I think the facade is the main draw anyway.
In just the few minutes we were there we were swarmed with store owners and beggars wanting our attention. When I was warned of culture shock on this trip I expected to feel it right away or not at all. I’m finding it’s the ongoing havoc of every person on the street wanting my attention and in turn my money that creeps up on you and starts to jangle your nerves. But I think there will come a point where it just starts to slide off my back as par for the course.

Next it was the Amber Fort, an immense yellow stone hilltop fortification. We had a choice to take a jeep, walk, or ride an elephant to the top. You can guess what I chose. It was a little silly and in hindsight I realized it would have been a short walk but how often do you get to ride an elephant into a fort?

Of course the one thing that took some air out of it was that once again, the elephant driver hit me with a surprise demand for a tip before we got to the end. As cheap as he rupee is I couldn’t begrudge him something but not double what I initially paid for the ride. Luckily I’ve learned everything here is a negotiation.



The fort itself overlooks a majestic expanse and the interior is filled with intricate gardens and is decorated with bits of inlaid mirror to lighten the dark corners.

On the way out we saw a real traditional snake charmer. I took lots of pictures for my mom who can’t get through the opening scene of Raiders without leaving the room.

On the way back into town we made a quick stop at the Floating Palace, which is inaccessible by any means but boat. Apparently it has a restaurant but it’s not open at this time of year.

The last stop on our scheduled tour was the City Palace Museum. As you’d expect it was the ruling seat of Jaipur and is now preserved as a historical building with artifacts on display. I was particularly fond of the peacock gate.

With our free afternoon a group of us attempted to go shopping back by the Palace of Winds with only minor success. The constant hard sell made it difficult to appreciate anything and more often than not I just walked away. Every store had some guy racing out of it to tell us to come in. The amazing part was that once I had made it know I was looking for a T-Shirt with an Ohm symbol in my size the word went out all up and down the street. Every shop along the road had someone come running out at me holding a shirt trying to convince me that this shirt was better than the one I had wanted. In the end I did end up with a shirt but I think it will shrink too much. Either way it was an adventure.

On the other hand the tuktuk ride back was a better adventure. We bargained a driver down to 100rps to take the four of us back to our hotel, which was pretty good because it was rush hour and rates tend to rise. As we were zipping along, starting and stopping abruptly in the usual Indian way, I realized the tuktuk ahead of us had just stopped and was getting closer, quickly! Bang! Bu-Bang! We bounced bumpers and the motorcycle behind us hit our side, leaving his handlebar jammed in our wheel well. It was all very minor really because the crowded traffic can’t really get moving that fast.
But it didn’t end there. After quick words between our driver and the motorcyclist we were moving again. Just 5 minutes later a cop (the first one we’d seen take an active role in traffic) pulled us over. We couldn’t understand exactly what the discussion was about but I did recognize the word “permit.” So the driver got out of the tuktuk and walked off with the cop, just leaving us in a running vehicle in traffic.
That’s when the vehicle started, almost imperceptibly at first, to roll backwards! Thankfully Andre, a very tall Belgian, leaned over the front seat to grab the steering bar and hit what we think was the break, or possibly the clutch. Either way the roll stopped for a bit. As we wondered if the driver was coming back we had one more little backward roll before he returned. I feel pretty sure he paid off the cop.

Happily we didn’t miss out on our evening entertainment, a Bollywood movie at the Raj Mandir cinema. It was similar in many ways to movie theatres from home but only the one screen and a capacity for 1200, which actually isn’t that much more than some of the bigger ones, back home. Surprisingly though, the snacks were not overpriced or oversized. One odd the thing was the disturbingly stern bust of the theatres founder sternly overlooking the grand lobby.

Bollywood films average about 3 hours and include an intermission. This one was called De Dand Dan, which basically means, “it goes on and on.” It was a hoot but we didn’t feel the need to stay past the intermission of a film we couldn’t fully understand.
It was an excellent way to punctuate time in the city just before our foray into the Indian country side.