We are on the train to Agra looking at the crapping out of the window (see posting below). We arrive in Agra, a pleasant but busy station at around 8:30 am. Now one of the best things about being an ex-pat is that you have people working for you personally who are willing to do extraordinary things just for you. Our driver Shashi (quite simply the best driver in New Delhi and perhaps the only person I have ever met who I would prefer to drive me other than me) had driven down (four hour drive) over night so that he could meet us, fresh and ready to go for the day. Some people send their baggage on ahead, we sent the driver.
As we strode out of the station I could see him gesticulating above the pandamonium around us. Porters trying to grab your bags, taxi drivers pushing you toward their cars and general "ne'er-do-wells" begging or pick pocketing or whatever they can do to get something from you. Our saviour rushed to our side and in his usual protective manner started to prise off the assorted persons who were trying to steal us away. He gently directed us towards the car, pompously parked in the middle of the station entrance as if the president himself was arriving. We certainly felt like we had arrived and we were hugely relieved that we didn't have to start finding a car to take us around all day.
Shashi drove off secure in the knowledge that he was now the driver to the most important visitors Agra and the Taj Mahal would have today. Other cars, rickshaws, 3 wheelers (motorised rickshaws) and pedestrians were simpy pushed off the road until we reached the main road and were settled into our journey to the Taj Mahal.
Shashi, previous to his employment with Rob's company (he has worked as Rob's private driver for 3 years now and Rob also has a company driver) was a long distance driver. He has intimate knowledge of the road network across most of India and he obviously knows all the places where white foreign visitors would like to stop. So within 20 minutes of arriving in Agra he gets us to the 5 star Sheraton Hotel for a cup of coffee (fabulous), a couple of croissants and a pee stop in an acceptable lavatory. This man is good and Julie and I will have to tip him handsomely for his endeavours when we leave India.
After our quick pee and tea break we are on the way to the Taj again. There is a man waving to us from the side of the road and Shashi pulls the car up to collect our guide. He had arranged for this man to be made available to us as he had used him to escort my Mum and Paul some weeks before and other members of our family on previous trips. He was the family's guide after all. We were begining to feel more and more like royalty.
It seems that wether you like it or not you have to be accompanied by a "guide" when you go to any of these attractions. He was not the most personnable of characters and started immediately telling us of the history of the building we were about to visit, as if we were on a school trip. We were cut off in mid flow if we dared to ask a question and our thoughts were prevented from wandering by his booming voice coming from the front seat of the car.
As a racket designed to maximise the amount of cash they get from you, all car and bus traffic is prevented from getting closer than half a mile from the Taj Mahal. Some balarney about exhaust fumes causing the Taj to rot and become discoloured or something like that. The problem is not the vehicular traffic in the area but the area of 3,166,414 sq klms around it called India. Acid monsoon rain from the big industrial and steel areas many many miles away are more likely to be the cause. Millions of gallons of raw sewage spewed into every river in India (and the one that passes next to the Taj is the Yamuna. This river flows (not really the right word, more like sludges) past New Delhi where it receives 3,296 million litres of raw sewage per day) creating all sorts of problems and the constantly lowering water table of the whole nation are more likely to be real threats to the building. Nevertheless, we pay a driver of a CNG (compressed natural gas) rickshaw to drive us the half mile up to the tombs gate.
The entrance fee to the Taj Mahal is uncharacteristically high for an Indian attraction. I think it was in the region of £9 each. This is a special price for foreigners, as Indians are allowed in for about a quarter of this. Fair enough I would say. There aren't any tourists that have found their way to the Taj Mahal that couldn't afford that kind of money. Security was pretty good too. You had to go through a metal detector and smile at a security guard and you were in - even if you did set the detector off.
When you go in the main entrance to the grounds of the Taj you cannot immediately see the building. You start in a courtyard sort of place and walk over to an arch on the right hand side. Then you get your first glimpse framed in this arch.
Seeing this building is like looking at a blindingly attractive woman over the otherside of the room. You are drawn to look but you don't want to make it too obvious to your partner and you don't want to embarrass yourself. But you cannot look away and you are constantly driven to look again and again just to see if your eyes aren't deceiving you. Quite, quite extraordinary.
The building looks like it is alive. It has a dazzling aura emanating across the skyline and literally grabbing your eyeballs. There is a point when it actually hurts to keep looking and this is not just because it is physically so bright that you need sun glasses to protect you. My brain could no longer compute, so the image of the building had to be rested from my eyes to prevent a complete burn out.
We had a perfect viewing day and our guide, who by now had told us the story of the Taj 3 times, was quiet, allowing us the moment to take it all in. He also seemed to be immune from the whistling grounds keepers, who were keeping people to the designated paths and he showed us across lawns and into "out of bounds" areas, with impunity, allowing me (so I thought) the priviledge of getting some of the best photo shots. Indeed I certainly got some unusual angles. I think he was interested in making us believe we where somehow special and extremely lucky to be with a guide who had access to these priviledged areas. His tip was uppermost on his mind I have no doubt (goodness me I am becoming so cynical!).
Some interesting things you might not know about the Taj Mahal:
1. The towers are built at an angle of a couple of degress away from the main building. The idea was that if they fell down (for whatever reason) they would fall away from the main tomb.
2. The Taj is a tomb to the Kings wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died in 1631. I always thought it was a palace.
3. About 20,000 worked toiled for 12 years to complete the building in 1643. Some of the skilled craftsmen then had their hands or fingers amputated so that they would never again be able to build anything that would compare.
4. The calligraphy around some of the arches is bigger at the top than at the bottom (up to 20 feet from top to bottom). This creates the impression when you read it from the bottom that it is all the same size. A very clever little trick for the 1600s don't you think?
5. When the building was completed all that remained was for the scaffolding to be removed. Shah Jahan (the King) was informed by the architect that it would take another month to remove this and make it ready for his viewing. This was not acceptable to him. The King told the architect to tell the men they could keep any of the materials and scaffolding they removed from the site. It was cleared in a day. (Julie's favourite).
6. A site was cleared across the other side to the Yamuna river where the King was going to build an identical tomb in black. The black and white tombs were to be joined by a bridge across the water. Unfortunately the King was deposed by his brother before this could be started.
After much photography and quite alot of herding by our guide (who probably wanted to get our trip over and done with so he could start another) we eventually called it quits after about 2 hours. It was really all we could manage as just being in the presence of such beauty was quite exhausting.
When we got outside the main walls we had to find a rickshaw to take us back to the car park. Our guide was keen for us to take a motorised one (quicker) but we actually decided to walk and take in some of the atmosphere (stinky urinal smells all around). The boys who were complaining bitterly about being on their feet for more than 10 minutes persuaded us that they needed to take a covered cycle rickshaw. After all it was blindingly hot (perhaps 33 deg C) and they had been up since 5:30 am - the poor darlings.
So we all set off down the road back to the car and Shahsi. Some way after we had started Sammy decided he would like to sit on the saddle of the rickshaw as the driver was just pushing the thing down the road. He could not have peddled at the slow pace that we were all walking. After some time Sammy decided that it would be fun to sit on the saddle. This led to him riding the machine and finally asking the rickshaw driver if he wanted a ride back to the car park. We said we would only charge him 20 rupees. I have never seen an Indian laugh from the stomach before.
The guide had one more thing he wanted to show us. He had set up (this is how he put it) for us to be able to tour a marble factory where they were doing some intricate inlaid marble work. It would be extremely interesting. I realised straight away that this was a set up for another hard sell. The taxi drivers in Bangkok tried to get us to go to clothes shops so that they would get bonus petrol coupons. The guides here get you to go to "marble factories" so they get a bonus on anything you spend. You wouldn't mind so much if they were up front about it.
So we pull up at the "factory". All of a sudden the boys who were asleep on the front steps rush to their "factory" stations and pretend to be hard at work. The proprietor comes out being especially proprietorial and invites us to come and see his workers. They are now getting into their work again for the benefit of their new visitors. We got a run down on all the types of inlays and how it is all done. It even appeared that the "craftsmen" were genuine. Then came the hard sell. He took us through to the sales room which was crammed full of table tops, large dishes and vases all made with exquisite inlays on white marble, just like the craftsmen who built the Taj 400 years ago. There was nothing in the room that was under £100. I thanked him kindly but informed him that I was unemployed and had been for the last 8 months and that none of the white marble would be suitable in our house with 2 young boys tearing around.
No problem he replied, please just look at one more room. Just as you were about to leave he takes you to the upstairs sales room where all the items are priced from £10 to £100. Even an unemployed man could surely afford something in this room? The little elephants were quite cute but we have strict policies about collecting trinkets and rubbish souvenirs. We don't. I am sorry we are still unemployed and since walking up the stairs we still own 2 tearaway young boys. I hand him a 100 rupee note to share around his "factory boys" (knowing full well that they will never see it) but it allows me some dignity in our departure.
Shashi says we have to leave our guide behind now as he is taking us to another location. The guide is now looking to be paid. As is the case for quite alot of things, when you ask for a straight price you get some convoluted answer like; "You pay what will make you happy" or "If I am good you pay good, if I am not you do not pay". The bellwether for most of these dilemmas is that you ask Shashi the driver. He usually comes out with a figure that if proffered to the recipient would cause some offense. So we take his figure and multiply it by about 4 to get to a reasonable amount. At the same time making sure he doesn't actually see what you end up giving the person, as it would be an insult to him if you ignored his advice. (I hope you get the picture).
Julie and I both came to the conclusion that 500 rupees would be a good amount to pay him (about £6.50). All this money thing is really quite complicated. You want to pay him well. He knows that in his terms we are millionaires (a million rupees being about £12,500) and that whatever we give will really mean nothing to us in our terms. In his terms anything more that a hundred or so rupees for his 2 hours work puts him in the top percentile of wage earners in the country. Considering a station manager (one of the best jobs on the railways) would be getting about 50 rupees per hour. So there is this big chasm to cross and find middle ground where we don't think we are being ripped off ("you didn't pay 500 rupees for your guide surely - we got away with 300 on our trip" type of conversation back at the High Commission bar in the evening) and we are not being mean. We both thought 500 was the figure.
The problem is that invariably when you hand over the cash you get this blank puppy dog look that screams: "come on you miserable tourists punk, it's nothing to you - pay me a proper amount". They look at the money you have just handed over as if it's the smallest amount they have ever received in their entire working lives. We have had this kind of expression even when we have later learned that we overpaid by 10 times the norm. There is never, absoutely never, a smile and a gracious thank you for having just handed over enough money that they need not work again until next month. I'm sure it's cultural and I am making it all up and being very hard on them. But for their own benefit they should surely learn that a little graciousness and thanks would earn them better tips in the long run. I have often been tempted to give more but when I see this kind of response my heart hardens and I sub-conciously put the money away to give to someone more needy.
Shashi then drives us to a "westerners" Indian restaurant complete with a musician and dancing boy in the car park. This is just another attempt to persuade you into giving another tip. It's endless. You even have to tip the toilet attendant. The one at the stop on the way home was even rude enough to say to me that he only accepted notes after I had pulled out a handfull of coins to give him. Perhaps it was because I did not tip the toilet attendant (I had no further change or small notes) on my second visit to the toilet that we somehow ended up with a massive dose of "Delhi Belhi" after our visit to this restaurant. We shall never know for sure.
The meal was actually quite good. We had all the Indian usuals and Julie and I had a chicken masala. We think it was this that caused the problem for us. Our fellow traveller Valerie, who only ate the vegetarian dishes was completely unaffected.
After the meal and having had to run the gauntlet of the toilet attendant money grabber and the musican money grabber in the car park, we escaped back to the sanctuary of Shashi's car. He then drove us on to a place called Fatehpur Sikri. On the way we drove along the road where they have dancing bears. We saw 6 or 7 big bears the biggest of which was 7 foot tall. They originate from the Himalayas and have been dancing for tourists on this road for a 100 years. They are controlled by means of a metal ring through their noses that obviously causes them great pain if they resist. We never actually stopped the car to look but we drove along at just the right speed for Sammy and Julian to get a grasp of the incredible cruelty involved in this kind of activity.
Julie was able to read a few pages from an M.M. Kaye book (her first autobiography of her early years in India between 1910 and 1920) where the author had witnessed the same scence on the same road nearly 100 years before. Her father had told the bear owner that if the bear was not released the owner would end up with a ring through his nose being pulled around by the bear. Perhaps we should have tried that.
We arrived in Fatehpur to discover that we needed to have another guide. We totally ignored this one and he soon got the message that he was only needed to answer questions rather than to give us his spiel. This was quite frustrating for both us as he was often unable to answer my questions (which I admit are always of the obtuse type such as "how did they fix doors and wall to all these stone structures?") and for him we were obviously not going to be attentive customers who tipped him well.
This place is on the top of a hill and is a huge palace and fort built by the emporer Akbar between 1571 and 1585. It was the Mughal capital for 14 years and was constructed entirely of the local sandstone. As for many of these ancient monuments, this one too was protected and preserved by the British. This one by Lord Curzon, a legendary conservationist.
It was not as beautiful as the Taj Mahal but somehow, as it was a place where people lived and not a tomb, it held a great deal of interest to me. I was trying to imagine how they lived in these buildings. Of course there were no re-contructions or mocks ups of rooms and no drawings or artwork that would help explain any of this so you just have to have a good imagination. The guides are pretty useless if you are not asking about the history. I wanted to know about the operation of the place but was left wanting. It is a World Heritage Site and deservedly so.
After a fascinating visit we went across the car park to visit the mosque that had been created at the same time. It is one of the biggest mosques in India and had the highest gate in the country. As I was wearing shorts (how heathen of me) I was required to don a skirt in order to enter. We were also all required to remove our shoes. There was not really too much to see in here as it was a huge courtyard with only a couple of structures in it. One of these was a tomb contructed in the same manner and design as the Taj except that it was only the size of a 4 bedroom house. It was where one of Akbar's sages was buried.
By now we were looking at about 4 o'clock and we knew we had a 4 hour car ride home, so we hurried along and jumped back in the car. The journey back was long and quite tedious as some of the roads were extremely badly kept and the ride was very rough. We were also kept amused when it got dark, trying to spot things on the road that didn't have any lights. These included all rickshaws, ox and carts, camels and carts, people, overloaded tractors and a majority of cars whose lights were broken. Shashi seems to have been born with night vision googles attached to his retinas but I could only spot about half of them. There were several occassions when the car skidded to a halt or was violently jerked from one side of the road to another. I did say that Shashi was the best driver in New Delhi, which he is, but passenger comfort is not top of his list. So we arrived home in quite a state of shock, completely worn out and drained by trying to assimilate all that we had seen. A great day.
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