I’ve learned that in India one should expect the unexpected. Around every corner, at every turn, there is some new surprise, an elephant in the street, a cow cooling herself in the middle of the median strip on the road, a herd of camels, maybe only the perpetual incredible traffic jam, horns all tooting, little tri-wheel cabs – they go only three directions: left, right, and over – scooters, people on foot or on bicycle, incredible confusion. How Indians make order out of this chaos must be a function of their genes, or accommodation from early childhood. It’s an assault on the senses and I return to our hotel after every outing completely tired out and slightly dizzy. A gin and tonic helps. But only one.
I’m writing this on Saturday, February 27, or at least I think I am. My watch has not yet adjusted to the difference in time and every time I set it – one day forward, or one day back – it seems to manage to be wrong. But I think it’s Saturday, late in the afternoon, and I’m in the business center in a little hotel in Agra. The last time I wrote was two days ago, at four in the morning and I didn’t have much sense of comprehension or order. So forgive me for that. I’ll try to do better today.
Yesterday, in Delhi, we visited the tomb of Humayan, the first Mogul emperor of India and the grandfather of Shah Jehan, builder of the Taj Mahal. Humayan was very interested in astrology and (so the legend goes) after a night of watching the stars (and smoking opium), he fell on the way downstairs. His widow built for him this magnificent tomb, made from red sandstone, as are so many of the monuments here. The memorial is laid out in a large garden and built in perfect symmetry. Somehow I got turned around and tried to leave the memorial from what I thought was the right direction. But the gate was closed. I assumed it was closed for lunch and tried to open it but it wouldn’t open. There was a little path around the gate and I took that, wandering through the area where the gardeners kept their excess stock. The men there were unaccustomed to seeing a tourist and mumbled something to me that I, of course, couldn’t understand. I came to a street and turned the way I thought the opening of the gate should be but after walking some distance realized I was in the wrong place. It was getting time for the bus to leave and although I knew it wouldn’t leave without me, I began to worry about being the object of some disgust at holding everyone up. And, more important, I didn’t know which direction the bus was. I had taken many pictures so I decided, like Hansel and Gretel in the forest, I would just look at my pictures on my camera and backtrack to the right gate. I finally found my way out, just as those on the bus were beginning to worry about me. As I said, expect the unexpected. Enough of an adventure for one day.
After that, the bus took us to the Qutab (I probably didn’t spell that correctly), a lone minaret that is the tallest free-standing tower in the world. The minaret was built by several Mogul emperors, each one adding a layer to the last. It’s primarily in red sandstone – Indian sandstone is harder than sandstone found elsewhere in the world – and the last two storeys are in white marble, which had become fashionable by the time the tower reached its ultimate height. It’s really quite beautiful, the surface all bumpy with vertical half tubes reaching up to the sky. It’s so tall that even with my wide angle lens, I couldn’t get far enough away from it to get it all in one frame.
After a rest, we went to an outdoor restaurant (where we ate indoors, for some reason). The food was all Indian and quite good. It was served family style at a long table and I tried everything, gingerly tasting so as not to get something too hot. I’m not just sure what I was eating but it was all delicious, particularly the vegetables, mixed together into a kind of lumpy paste. The bread was also very good, as bread here seems to be no matter its form. Even though I’ve been trying all the food, I’m still addicted to breakfast, with its more traditional Western fare: eggs (usually an omelet with a choice of fillings), bacon or sausage, many kinds of bread, fresh fruit, juice and yogurt, always yogurt. My stomach is a little unpredictable but when in India…well, you know. I insist on not giving in; expect the unexpected.
When we returned to the hotel, we had a message from friends of the Rosens who live in Delhi. David returned her call and as a result of our scheduling and their kind hospitality, we have a date to have dinner with them next Saturday, when we return to Delhi from Udaipur.
On our way to Agra yesterday, we learned that Monday is the festival day called Holi, a time to celebrate friendship and the bounty of the harvest. For some reason, children (especially teenagers) either color their faces or hair with colored powder or throw colored powder on each other. We say many kids with red faces and some with purple or blue steaks in their hair. They love to buy water pistols, fill them with the powder and then shoot each other. Fortunately we were in the bus for the powder can stain the skin for as long as six months.
I hadn’t realized – mostly because I never thought about it – that India, although 80% Hindu also has such a large Muslim population, the second largest (after Malaysia) in the world. So although many migrated to what is now Pakistan in 1947, there are still many here and the Muslim tradition sits side by side with the Hindu one. I should correct something I said yesterday: the Muslim suffix for a town is “abad,” as in Islamabad; the Hindu suffix is “pur,” as in Jaipur. This helps to determine which cities were founded by which culture. I also didn’t realize that India was ruled by Moguls (Muslims descended from the Monguls of central Asia) from about 1500 to 1857, when they were dislodged by the British.
On the way to Agra, we stopped at a lovely hotel with a beautiful garden where we had lunch outside. The gardens were so fragrant that we could actually smell the roses – not a bad thing, and memorialized in cliché. Anil, our guide, recommended that we try a refreshing drink called a lime soda, which is exactly as it sounds: lime and soda. Although it grows on you, the first taste is very much like Alka Seltzer. But under the circumstances, that’s not a bad thing either.
Our hotel here in Agra cannot be classified as first class. Although comfortable, the rooms are small and in no way grand. This morning, when I first turned on the water in the bathroom, it came out decidedly brown. Expect the unexpected. I let it run until it turned clear. Then, in the shower, I couldn’t figure out how to direct the water from the tub to the shower function. I pushed and pulled on all the fixtures and nothing seemed to work. Just when I had decided I’d have to just splash myself, I found the solution. Turn the volume control to the right instead of to the left.
Today was the BIG DAY to see the Taj Mahal. There’s a whole romantic story involved – I’m sure you all know the basic outlines; a king’s love for his dead queen. (After giving birth to 14 children in something like 17 years, no wonder she was worn out!) We saw all this history in a very Bollywood-type production last night in a local theater. I wouldn’t call the event great theater but it was certainly colorful, many dancers, many costumes, laser lights, dry ice, flash…all with ear phone doing an instant translation into eight languages. I had a hard time finding English. Try listening to a love story in German!
Security at the Taj Mahal (Anil calls it Tahj Mehell) is incredible. Expect the unexpected. Due to air pollution, we had to transfer from out bus to horse carriages, and then by foot the last quarter mile. And although we had gotten there by 6:30 AM, there was a long line – women on the left and men on the right – to pass through security, where they threw away my chewing gum (because it was an edible) and frisked me thoroughly, letting me pass even though my titanium knee set off their alarm. Inside the gates, one turns to the right and there, just as (this time) expected, is this picture postcard view of the Taj Mahal, off in the distance, like a dream. It’s very hard to describe the sensation of actually seeing it, shining white and pristine in the early morning sun. I can only say that of all the times I’ve seen pictures of it, I was not fully prepared for the real experience. It certainly lives up to its reputation. After lots of orientation information I won’t bore you with, we were allowed to wander around and, of course, I took many, many pictures. As the hour allowed for that wore on, the place became mobbed with tourists, of every color and description, some colorful enough to make for great photographs, and so dense that when I went up an enclosed staircase to the platform on which the actual building stands, I could not have fallen over; I was actually “encased” in humanity. It’s pretty grand. No wonder it took 20,000 workers 22 years to construct.
After the Taj, we went to the Agra fort, another place designated as a World Heritage Site. Begun in 1565 by the second Mogul emperor (Shah Jehan’s grandfather), it was protected by two moats, one filled with water from the nearby river and filled with crocodiles, and the other, inner one, filled with ferocious wild animals. If invaders got beyond, and tried to storm the actual ramparts, there are slots for archers and channels for hot oil. Again, the gates are at close right turns from the approaches and uphill so that charging elephants couldn’t get up enough steam to do much damage. Inside, the fort is huge and only a small portion of it is available for sightseeing. (The rest is occupied, now as then, by the military.) Late in Shah Jahan’s reign, his health began to fail and there was a conflict between his three sons for succession. He wanted his oldest son to succeed him but Son Number Three defeated the other two, killed them and imprisoned his father inside the fort. Although Shah Jehan lived very royally, with beautiful apartments – and many concubines – he lived in a kind of house arrest. The royal apartments are down the river from the Taj Mahal and from the balconies of his apartment, the Shah could see the memorial he had created for his late wife. He lived this way for the last nine years of his life, amid the splendor of apartments decorated with inlaid marble (a specialty here, and a secret trade passed down from father to son) – many of the inlays were made from the dust of precious stones – beautiful rugs and great silk hangings. I couldn’t help but think that it might not have been such a bad thing; you lived in luxury, could get outside in the air, see the beautiful scenery and have a concubine (from among many) any time you wanted her.
We were told not to look at any vendors who so aggressively get in your face on your way to any memorial. “No,” to them means “yes,” or at least, “maybe.” So one just barges on, ignoring all the chaos. It seems rude. But it works. And we were also told that Andrew would tip the drivers of the carriages; just tell them Cha Cha (uncle in Hindi) would take care of them. Monkeys all over the fort, scruffy and ugly gray animals with red butts, searching for a handout. But not to touch them; they carry rabies. Last night at dinner, a group from another room in the restaurant apparently wondered who we were, these 20 or so men having dinner together. One, a German tourist, stopped at where I was sitting as asked me who we were. Before I could actually tell him, which in retrospect I might have done, he asked if we were some kind of charity. I told him we were. He asked what we took care of. I told him we took care of each other.
Dinner tonight is at the Sheraton Hotel where there is a restaurant that is supposed to be the best Indian restaurant in the world. In addition to expecting the unexpected, this is also a world of superlatives. So why not? We’ll see. Stay tuned.
I’m writing this on Saturday, February 27, or at least I think I am. My watch has not yet adjusted to the difference in time and every time I set it – one day forward, or one day back – it seems to manage to be wrong. But I think it’s Saturday, late in the afternoon, and I’m in the business center in a little hotel in Agra. The last time I wrote was two days ago, at four in the morning and I didn’t have much sense of comprehension or order. So forgive me for that. I’ll try to do better today.
Yesterday, in Delhi, we visited the tomb of Humayan, the first Mogul emperor of India and the grandfather of Shah Jehan, builder of the Taj Mahal. Humayan was very interested in astrology and (so the legend goes) after a night of watching the stars (and smoking opium), he fell on the way downstairs. His widow built for him this magnificent tomb, made from red sandstone, as are so many of the monuments here. The memorial is laid out in a large garden and built in perfect symmetry. Somehow I got turned around and tried to leave the memorial from what I thought was the right direction. But the gate was closed. I assumed it was closed for lunch and tried to open it but it wouldn’t open. There was a little path around the gate and I took that, wandering through the area where the gardeners kept their excess stock. The men there were unaccustomed to seeing a tourist and mumbled something to me that I, of course, couldn’t understand. I came to a street and turned the way I thought the opening of the gate should be but after walking some distance realized I was in the wrong place. It was getting time for the bus to leave and although I knew it wouldn’t leave without me, I began to worry about being the object of some disgust at holding everyone up. And, more important, I didn’t know which direction the bus was. I had taken many pictures so I decided, like Hansel and Gretel in the forest, I would just look at my pictures on my camera and backtrack to the right gate. I finally found my way out, just as those on the bus were beginning to worry about me. As I said, expect the unexpected. Enough of an adventure for one day.
After that, the bus took us to the Qutab (I probably didn’t spell that correctly), a lone minaret that is the tallest free-standing tower in the world. The minaret was built by several Mogul emperors, each one adding a layer to the last. It’s primarily in red sandstone – Indian sandstone is harder than sandstone found elsewhere in the world – and the last two storeys are in white marble, which had become fashionable by the time the tower reached its ultimate height. It’s really quite beautiful, the surface all bumpy with vertical half tubes reaching up to the sky. It’s so tall that even with my wide angle lens, I couldn’t get far enough away from it to get it all in one frame.
After a rest, we went to an outdoor restaurant (where we ate indoors, for some reason). The food was all Indian and quite good. It was served family style at a long table and I tried everything, gingerly tasting so as not to get something too hot. I’m not just sure what I was eating but it was all delicious, particularly the vegetables, mixed together into a kind of lumpy paste. The bread was also very good, as bread here seems to be no matter its form. Even though I’ve been trying all the food, I’m still addicted to breakfast, with its more traditional Western fare: eggs (usually an omelet with a choice of fillings), bacon or sausage, many kinds of bread, fresh fruit, juice and yogurt, always yogurt. My stomach is a little unpredictable but when in India…well, you know. I insist on not giving in; expect the unexpected.
When we returned to the hotel, we had a message from friends of the Rosens who live in Delhi. David returned her call and as a result of our scheduling and their kind hospitality, we have a date to have dinner with them next Saturday, when we return to Delhi from Udaipur.
On our way to Agra yesterday, we learned that Monday is the festival day called Holi, a time to celebrate friendship and the bounty of the harvest. For some reason, children (especially teenagers) either color their faces or hair with colored powder or throw colored powder on each other. We say many kids with red faces and some with purple or blue steaks in their hair. They love to buy water pistols, fill them with the powder and then shoot each other. Fortunately we were in the bus for the powder can stain the skin for as long as six months.
I hadn’t realized – mostly because I never thought about it – that India, although 80% Hindu also has such a large Muslim population, the second largest (after Malaysia) in the world. So although many migrated to what is now Pakistan in 1947, there are still many here and the Muslim tradition sits side by side with the Hindu one. I should correct something I said yesterday: the Muslim suffix for a town is “abad,” as in Islamabad; the Hindu suffix is “pur,” as in Jaipur. This helps to determine which cities were founded by which culture. I also didn’t realize that India was ruled by Moguls (Muslims descended from the Monguls of central Asia) from about 1500 to 1857, when they were dislodged by the British.
On the way to Agra, we stopped at a lovely hotel with a beautiful garden where we had lunch outside. The gardens were so fragrant that we could actually smell the roses – not a bad thing, and memorialized in cliché. Anil, our guide, recommended that we try a refreshing drink called a lime soda, which is exactly as it sounds: lime and soda. Although it grows on you, the first taste is very much like Alka Seltzer. But under the circumstances, that’s not a bad thing either.
Our hotel here in Agra cannot be classified as first class. Although comfortable, the rooms are small and in no way grand. This morning, when I first turned on the water in the bathroom, it came out decidedly brown. Expect the unexpected. I let it run until it turned clear. Then, in the shower, I couldn’t figure out how to direct the water from the tub to the shower function. I pushed and pulled on all the fixtures and nothing seemed to work. Just when I had decided I’d have to just splash myself, I found the solution. Turn the volume control to the right instead of to the left.
Today was the BIG DAY to see the Taj Mahal. There’s a whole romantic story involved – I’m sure you all know the basic outlines; a king’s love for his dead queen. (After giving birth to 14 children in something like 17 years, no wonder she was worn out!) We saw all this history in a very Bollywood-type production last night in a local theater. I wouldn’t call the event great theater but it was certainly colorful, many dancers, many costumes, laser lights, dry ice, flash…all with ear phone doing an instant translation into eight languages. I had a hard time finding English. Try listening to a love story in German!
Security at the Taj Mahal (Anil calls it Tahj Mehell) is incredible. Expect the unexpected. Due to air pollution, we had to transfer from out bus to horse carriages, and then by foot the last quarter mile. And although we had gotten there by 6:30 AM, there was a long line – women on the left and men on the right – to pass through security, where they threw away my chewing gum (because it was an edible) and frisked me thoroughly, letting me pass even though my titanium knee set off their alarm. Inside the gates, one turns to the right and there, just as (this time) expected, is this picture postcard view of the Taj Mahal, off in the distance, like a dream. It’s very hard to describe the sensation of actually seeing it, shining white and pristine in the early morning sun. I can only say that of all the times I’ve seen pictures of it, I was not fully prepared for the real experience. It certainly lives up to its reputation. After lots of orientation information I won’t bore you with, we were allowed to wander around and, of course, I took many, many pictures. As the hour allowed for that wore on, the place became mobbed with tourists, of every color and description, some colorful enough to make for great photographs, and so dense that when I went up an enclosed staircase to the platform on which the actual building stands, I could not have fallen over; I was actually “encased” in humanity. It’s pretty grand. No wonder it took 20,000 workers 22 years to construct.
After the Taj, we went to the Agra fort, another place designated as a World Heritage Site. Begun in 1565 by the second Mogul emperor (Shah Jehan’s grandfather), it was protected by two moats, one filled with water from the nearby river and filled with crocodiles, and the other, inner one, filled with ferocious wild animals. If invaders got beyond, and tried to storm the actual ramparts, there are slots for archers and channels for hot oil. Again, the gates are at close right turns from the approaches and uphill so that charging elephants couldn’t get up enough steam to do much damage. Inside, the fort is huge and only a small portion of it is available for sightseeing. (The rest is occupied, now as then, by the military.) Late in Shah Jahan’s reign, his health began to fail and there was a conflict between his three sons for succession. He wanted his oldest son to succeed him but Son Number Three defeated the other two, killed them and imprisoned his father inside the fort. Although Shah Jehan lived very royally, with beautiful apartments – and many concubines – he lived in a kind of house arrest. The royal apartments are down the river from the Taj Mahal and from the balconies of his apartment, the Shah could see the memorial he had created for his late wife. He lived this way for the last nine years of his life, amid the splendor of apartments decorated with inlaid marble (a specialty here, and a secret trade passed down from father to son) – many of the inlays were made from the dust of precious stones – beautiful rugs and great silk hangings. I couldn’t help but think that it might not have been such a bad thing; you lived in luxury, could get outside in the air, see the beautiful scenery and have a concubine (from among many) any time you wanted her.
We were told not to look at any vendors who so aggressively get in your face on your way to any memorial. “No,” to them means “yes,” or at least, “maybe.” So one just barges on, ignoring all the chaos. It seems rude. But it works. And we were also told that Andrew would tip the drivers of the carriages; just tell them Cha Cha (uncle in Hindi) would take care of them. Monkeys all over the fort, scruffy and ugly gray animals with red butts, searching for a handout. But not to touch them; they carry rabies. Last night at dinner, a group from another room in the restaurant apparently wondered who we were, these 20 or so men having dinner together. One, a German tourist, stopped at where I was sitting as asked me who we were. Before I could actually tell him, which in retrospect I might have done, he asked if we were some kind of charity. I told him we were. He asked what we took care of. I told him we took care of each other.
Dinner tonight is at the Sheraton Hotel where there is a restaurant that is supposed to be the best Indian restaurant in the world. In addition to expecting the unexpected, this is also a world of superlatives. So why not? We’ll see. Stay tuned.
You're in Agra during the full moon, when the Taj is open till midnight and the view is breathtaking, plus they only let 400 people in so it's not crowded ... Surely they give you an opportunity to go back in the moonlight ?
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