Can You Feel the Heat?

Upon arriving in Agra I was consumed by an illness of the 24 hour variety--probably a small case of the famed 'Delhi Belly,' though I wouldn't be surprised if it was my conscience. When I walked down the stairs with my hefty rucksack to check out of my guesthouse in Delhi, all of the hotel attendants were asleep on the hard marble floor in front of the reservation desk. It struck a chord with me in the early morning that would make my train ride--and stomach--a little more than uneasy. The walk to the train station wasn't any prettier either. Once there, I bought a book, Shantaram, about an Australian convict who escaped to Mumbai and created a life there and plopped onto the seat of my train... thinking, maybe too much, about what I had just seen.

After a rough two hours of train riding, I arrived in Agra only to not be met by someone from my guesthouse as I had been told I would. It's a precarious situation in Agra, as it's known for its touts, and also that the touts are known for hating this particular guesthouse. I eventually got things figured out after finding someone kind enough to let me use their phone, and made my way with Mr. Ali Mohommad. An interesting fellow he was, offering to take me around the city for a very good price and asking me questions about where I was from in his almost perfect and incredibly polite English. I told him I'd think about his offer after I was done projectile vomiting, and he agreed quite quickly.

Since things worked out quite well with the other Rickshaw driver in Delhi, I decided that it wouldn't be a bad idea to get hauled around the city by somebody who knows the ropes, especially since Taxi drivers of any and all sorts hold the keys to unlocking the better parts of a city, or at least to entertaining you for a while. I slept off the illness, drank about 15 liters of water, and watched Sleepless in Seattle on HBO.

I woke up to go to the Taj Mahal at about 5:30 in the morning, as everybody says sunrise is the best time to see it, as the combination of the early morning sun and the pollution around the city provide a dazzling glow to the dome and minarets of the mosque. I was then informed that Mr. Mohommad would not be my driver and I would instead be taken around by Sabir, who didn't really seem to want to talk with me... Anyway, I made it through the line, after two passes through security since they wouldn't let me take my book inside because it was 'too big'--nothing makes sense here. From the outside you can see the top of the dome, and the sky was as orange as it possibly could be, which made me quicken my steps in order to pass the gate and finally see the wonder that is the Taj. Seeing it for the first time is like magic. It absolutely lives up to every single bit of hype that has ever been heaped upon it. It's subtle, yet intricate; finely detailed, and yet simple. It's magnificent. I wandered around for two hours, dodging tourists--foreigners and Indian nationals alike--and finding my own peace and solitude under the hot and humid morning sun.


After 7 months of travel, I have still not mastered the self-taken self portrait... Frustrating

I went back to check out, choke down as much breakfast as I could, and shower before I headed back out to the town again to explore the fort in Agra. By the time I made it there, I was a bit too pacified by the heat, and therefore unable to fully appreciate the splendor of all the courtyards and magnificent architecture that provided me with so many places to sit down away from the heat.


The sprawling walls of the Fort in Agra...

A couple of hours later, I crossed the Yamuna river to see the Taj from the other side. You can walk down to this sand bank where cows, goats, and kids selling postcards like to play. Every once in a while you can find a pretty intense cricket game going on in the park nearby as well. The views were spectacular in the evening, though I left pretty quickly after I was stared at for about thirty minutes straight by these four teenage kids... It was, the first, and hopefully last time, that I ever received more attention than a wonder of the world. At least from people that I don't know... Feeling a little creeped out, as they wouldn't even try to converse with me, I sauntered back to the Rickshaw, grabbed my bags at the hotel, and swiftly headed towards my soon-to-depart train for Jodhpur.

In the train station, I believe I was the only non-Indian there. I once again received my fair share of attention as I sat down in what seemed to be the only open area in the place. It seems, so far, that young men seem to be the most curious--for better or for worse--when it comes to strangers in their country. More than a few times I was surrounded by guys asking me the same questions: "What is your good name sir? From what country have you arrived? How long will you be staying in India? How long [tall] are you (one of the creepier questions you get asked, at least initially... Indian men, tend to ask a lot of sexual questions, particularly with women travelers, or so I've heard)? Do you have a dollar? May I see it? Can you stand up? Although I'm typically good natured about such questioning, some things just don't seem right when people ask them. Plus, you're asked them so often that you just kind of develop this indifference to it all, and either learn to answer back and be inquisitive towards them, deal with the stairs, or simply end the conversation. Keep in mind that I've only been here 5 days now...

After about three different groups of Indian guys surrounded me and then left, I was left alone to my thoughts and the wait for a train delayed by two hours. Eventually, a group of Indian women traveling alone came by, sat down and took their turns trying to get some of the little girls to run up and touch me--another thing that happens quite a bit, despite the fact that my skin is actually quite dark for a Whitey. Through some gestures and a little Hindi I have learned, I tried my best to make conversation... After about ten minutes, I decided to pack it up and head over to the spot where my train car would be. Before I left, the matriarch of the family tried to offer her six year old daughters hand to me... I respectfully declined, fabricating a story of engagement back home. Then the train finally arrived.

I don't remember much of the ride to Jodhpur, except that there were a lot of fans, I got stared at for about two hours straight by the people sitting across from me, and it was really hard to sleep. After 13 hours, I finally made it to my destination--commonly known as the Blue City for it's indigo colored, cubic houses. It's not as hot here, which has been quite the blessing. I haven't done much, except for get really lost in the small alley ways around the base of the hilltop fort. I have seriously never seen so many different people, vehicles, sewage, and animals fit through such small spaces...


The blue-washed buildings of Jodhpur provide a striking contrast to its hilltop fort

Anyway, tomorrow, it's off to explore the fort via what is supposed to be a spectacular audio guided tour, and then perhaps to find where I can get myself a pair of Jodhpur Riding Breeches... haha... Google them--you have to. Actually, I'll probably explore some different tailors with the hopes of having some pyjamas made that will actually fit my 'long' body... I also hear that Jodhpur is a good place to find spices.

Finally, I leave you with this: As intimidating of a meal as I have ever seen, especially for something considered vegetarian.


The Masala Dosa... it's tasty, but this vegetarian thing is a lot harder than I thought...