Days 2-3: Agra (21-22 December 2007)

Not terribly long after purchasing my train tickets at Delhi station, I was there again to depart for Agra. I say not terribly long because the train was scheduled for 6:15 a.m., and the ticket seller told me I should be there by 5:45. It seems that many transport options here run at ungodly hours - did I mention that my flight back to the U.S. departs from Delhi at 12:15am?

This was my first ride on an Indian train, and I was quite pleased, not least because I had seen Wes Anderson's The Darjeeling Limited last month. One thing they got true to form in that movie was the lettering on the train cars - kind of retro-chic, with a very plain sans-serif font in garish yellow on a blue background. This ride shouldn't really count as a first journey, though, since it was only two hours and was on a Statabdi Express (all seats, no berths).

On the train ride I struck up a conversation with a woman sitting next to me whose accent I couldn't place and who had a horrific sounding cough. It turns out that was born in Italy but had been living the last 30 years in the United States, most of which in her current residence near Santa Rosa, California. So, she is my neighbor (to the extent that Los Altos Hills and Santa Rosa aren't all that far apart). She is a high school Spanish and French teacher taking a year's sabbatical and traveling for three months, the first two alone and the last joined by her husband. Props to her! Gives me some hope that I can continue to have significant travel experience throughout my life, even if less frequently than I do now. (Oh, and the cough wasn't contagious - it was from lung irritation from the horrible pollution on the roads outside of Kathmandu.)

She and I wound up at the same guest house, the Tourist Rest House, located near Sadar Market and away from the mayhem of the Taj Ganj area near the Taj Mahal. I think I've decided I prefer staying a bit removed from the epicenter of activity/the backpacker zone of a city. It does tend to make meeting fellow slightly harder, but the accommodations are generally nicer and I enjoy escaping the mayhem of the backpacker areas.

Since we had hit it off, we spent the rest of the day sightseeing - the Taj was closed on Friday for the Muslim holy day, so we first went to Agra Fort, an enormous complex - more like a palace - built by the Mughal princes of the 16th and 17th centuries. In addition to being beautiful in its own right, the palace has great views onto the Taj Mahal - unfortunately the thick haze (pollution? Usual winter fog? Both?) made it nearly impossible to see. Just before that, I had returned to the train station to change my departure ticket to a day earlier (I had booked the wrong day in my haste). I was told there weren't any seats available on the next night's train to Varanasi but I was given a "wait list" ticket and assured my changes were good that I'd eventually get a berth (more on that later).

We then took a public bus to Fatehpur Sikri, an abandoned palace complex and town that was briefly the Mughal in the late 16th century during the reign of Akbar. On the bus ride over we met an American guy who had been traveling for nearly a year and half - to our mutual delight we found that we had both been in Kyrgyzstan around the same time (August 2007) and had a good time sharing memories of kymys (fermented mare's milk), Lake Song Kul (the beautiful alpine lake in central Kyrgyzstan), yurts (the tents in which we stayed near said lake), and other Kyrgyz dairy products.

Back to Fatehpur Sikri: the complex is in remarkably good condition, and its most impressive feature is the 54-meter-high gate leading into an enormous courtyard mosque. It was so stunning that I deemed it worthy of inclusion in my yoga-pose-in-front-of-major-world-monument series of photographs (for those of you wondering, I chose tree pose. Thus far, my greatest work is upward-facing dog in the Palacio Real courtyard in Madrid). There were a remarkable number of Indian tourists visiting the site as well, since it was the Eid al-Adha holiday and many Indians had the day off from work.

I certainly felt more like an Indian tourist, and less like a Westerner, on the bus ride back to Agra from Fatehpur Sikri. We hailed down a public bus from the side of the road and inside found a seating arrangement like none I had ever seen before. On the left side of the bus were normal seats, but on the right side, and on top both the left and right sides, were sleeper berths into which people were crammed, often four or more in each one. And then there were people standing in the aisle as well. The bus driver and ticket taker took pity on us and let us sit on a tiny ledge up front, which meant that not only was I in the least claustrophic spot in the bus but I'd also be the first one through the windshield in the event of any sort of hard braking. Fortunately, on this narrow road, with buses, autorickshaws, pedal rickshaws, bicycles, pedestrians, and cows (yes, cows - sometimes donkeys and dogs too) clogging the way, we never got going fast enough to do any real damage. Well, it still probably would have hurt. We got home just fine, but there must have been 80 people on that bus.

The next day, I had a bit of a lie-in, forgoing a sunrise visit to the Taj Mahal for the sake of 12 hours of much-needed sleep - between my 3 hours the night before departure, the plane ride over, a jet-lagged first night, and the 6:15 train, I was starting to run a little ragged. I spend the late morning and early afternoon seeing some other more minor - but still tremendous - sights, most notably the Itimad-ud-Daulah, nicknamed the "baby Taj" for the marble shrine in the center of its courtyard, and the Mehtab Bagh gardens, which give a view onto the southern side of the Taj Mahal complex (unfortunately, looking south means that the sun is almost always in one's eyes, making picture-taking much less fruitful).

During this sightseeing run, I very nearly reached my exasperation point with Agra. The city has almost nothing going for it outside of its (spectacular) sights, and rickshaw drivers, would-be guides, and just about everyone descend on the visitors with a barrage of offers, requests, begs, and misinformation. Most troubling of all are the children, many of whom aren't beggar children per se, but far too many of whom are constantly swarming foreigners asking for handouts. It's always hard to say no to a child, but, harsh as it may sound, these children didn't leave me feeling like I wanted to give them anything. What they did leave me with, in addition to the initial repulsion, was some thinking of charitable contributions I will make to Indian organizations on my return. One justification I have for not giving to beggars is that I tell myself the money would be put to better use elsewhere - now I need to live up to that and actually give that money somewhere else. Suggestions (and criticism) about the above would be welcome. Anyway, Agra is dump: filthy, crowded, full of hassles. The Taj and the other sights are must-sees, but get in and get out of Agra quickly.

Ah yes, the Taj. As good as advertised. Stunning. The photos don't quite do it justice. Translucent white marble. Set atop a platform so that the only background is sky. Expansive courtyard and reflecting pool. Elaborate flanking building of red sandstone setting off the Taj's marble. And that dome: such a pure, refined shape. The only downside to visiting the Taj when I did (late afternoon) were the crowds. Loads upon loads of people. Twenty minutes waiting to get in (no bags allowed, but a cloakroom nearby). An absurd crush to get inside the central building to see the tombs (thank goodness I'm tall and a good barrier to people's pushing). Impossible to take a photo without hundreds of others in the background. So, what was supposed to be the piece-de-resistance of my yoga pose collection came out only so-so (side plank pose - an inspired choice, I maintain, but imperfectly executed).

A couple of hours in the Taj was enough, and I returned to the guest house for a meal and some rest before heading to the train station to see if my wait list ticket to Varanasi would get me any where. This turned out to be adventure enough, lasting well into the next day, so I'll save it for the next post.

Day 1: India arrival (19-20 December 2007)

I arrived in Delhi international airport late last night and found one welcome and one unwelcome thing. Welcome: the driver holding my name placard was waiting for me in the reception line. I had read and heard that the Delhi airport-to-city trip can be hazardous (read: taxi drivers trying to scam you in switching to/staying at overpriced and shoddy hotels) and I had booked a room and a ride late the night of my departure. Well done, Skype! The ride cost me Rs550 - more than a regular taxi, but worth it for the peace of mind (and cheaper than the Rs900 ride some other upscale hotels were offering). Unwelcome: fog/smog/haze. Walking out of the airport doors I found myself ensconced in an eerie haze, much like what greeted me when I last arrived at the Beijing airport. It added to the exoticism a bit, but I feel like exoticism will be no short supply on this trip. And I've had my share of pollution for a lifetime after just two weeks in Beijing. I've heard the fog is just a December-January nighttime thing. I hope so.

I didn't sleep so well, from a combination of jet lag (I can't not sleep on planes!), the cold in the room (I should have packed some long-johns for nighttime), and the occasional noise (ditto for earplugs). I spent most of the morning running errands: Connaught Place, the concentric-circles roundabout at the heart of New Delhi, was eerily quiet at 8am and didn't pick up until after 10am. Nothing like China, where folks are up and at 'em early, or like Vietnam, where they're up earlier still. I ate my first motherland meal - a delicious, flaky onion dosa. (It's southern Indian food, I admit, but one of the glories of national capitals is how well they do the regional fare from all over the country. Beijing is a perfect example. But not DC.) I found a decrepit Internet cafe running Windows 98 and an outdated version of Internet Explorer that couldn't properly read Gmail or my Stanford webmail. I purchased a SIM card for my phone. (I decided two or three trips ago that I'm going cell-enabled from here on out.) I took a nap. I had lunch (butter chicken curry at what appears to be an old Delhi stalwart, Kwality. I'm a little bummed that traveling alone means I can't order obscene amounts of food to share with others.)

The afternoon was for sightseeing - I decided to take it easy and save the crush of Old Delhi until later. I found a autorickshaw driver (actually, I intended for it just to be a one-way trip but he persuaded/cajoled me into hiring him for the afternoon) and went first to Ghandi Smitri, the site where Ghandi lived the final months of his life and where he was assassinated in January 1948. It was a simple place, and the most moving part of it were the concrete footsteps that showed Ghandi's last steps as he walked to his evening prayers. Watch the film "Ghandi" before going, if possible - the scene played over in my head, and according to all the descriptions at the site, the movie's portrayal was painstakingly authentic. After that was Humayun's tomb, a sprawling complex with well-tended gardens and a large mausoleum housing the remains of a 16th century Mughal emperor. I must say that while I am glad that these emperors thought so highly of themselves to have such architectural wonders erected in their memory (Timurlane's Guri Emir mausoleum in Samarkand being a prime example fresh in my mind), I am pleased that such displays are no longer the norm. Better to have vast halls of justice, government, books, art than tributes to one person.

Both Ghandi Smitri and Humayan's tomb were quite peaceful, wholly different from the everyday Delhi that was waiting outside. I plunged back into it at the New Delhi train station, which was as thundering and crowded a train station as I had ever seen. People were pouring out from everywhere, and the were quite an eclectic group. Even the train station in Urumqi, in China's Xinjiang province, with its rag-tag mix of Uighurs, Han Chinese, and other Central Asians was calm by comparison. My big challenge was finding the International Tourist Bureau at the station - it's the only place that non-Indians/non-residents can book their tickets, where apparently are on some sort of tourist quota. Once I got to the Tourist Bureau the ticket buying process went quite smoothly: the process is a bit arcane (one has to fill out a detailed form with the train number and date, after which they issue the ticket) but the information desk was quite helpful. The trick was finding the Tourist Bureau in the first place, which took me no less than one hour. Here I'm going to have to blame the common language that separate the Indians (and Brits) from us Americans: the signs and guidebook insisted the office was on the *first floor,* and to go nowhere else. Well, I should have remembered that for some first floor doesn't mean ground floor but first floor up the stairwell. That would have saved some time and aggravation.

The train station is right next door to the bustling Paharganj district, which offered little let down from the train station. One the one-line bazaar street I stopped first for two full-size cars headed in opposite directions down this impossibly narrow lane, and after that for an elephant - yes an elephant- walking down the street. I had been told to expect the unexpected, and had done so to date: crowds, dirt, loudness, hassles, touts I was well ready for. But an elephant walking down a narrow market? In the nation's capital.

Whew, that was a long first post. Let's see if I can keep it up.

India trip intro - December/January 2007-08

I can't tell how long India has been at the top of my list for travel destinations. Well, now that I think of it, I can tell you: for at least two and a half years, when I first set out to rectify that glaring omission of my never having been to Asia. I was primed to make India my first desitination on the Asian continent (or, sub-continent, as the case may be) but was frightened by the reports of searing heat and drenching monsoon rains that I would have faced during my travel window in July and August. So, instead, I headed off to Vietnam and China, got the China bug for a spell, and never made it to India. Until now.

I've got a little under three weeks - it's winter break during my final year of law school, and I had promised myself when I went back to school that I'd take advantage of all the ready-made breaks on the university calendar. I've got my two little travel backpacks, probably too small to hold everything I need, but a small source of traveler's pride. And I've got, well, not a whole lot else. I'm traveling alone for the first time since I edited Lets Go Australia (Victoria and western New South Wales chapter) seven years ago, and that is my first big adjustment. I also don't yet have anything resembling an itinerary - not having a traveling companion has let me be a bit cavalier in my travel planning. Hopefully that won't come back to haunt me (I do have visas, immunizations, health insurance, and a working ATM card, so I've got the basics covered).

So, three unstructured, solo weeks in the mother country. I suppose I don't have much right to call it the mother country, being wholly descended from Eastern European Jews, but perhaps my demonstration of desi pride in this video allows me to take some license.