Well, day two in Agra. Relatively uneventful- if you can call anything that around here. My cold has turned in to nothing more than an aggressive tiring cough... So today I thought #1, I'd get a ticket out of here to Varanasi, so I could start planning the rest...
know what? There is a guy in the corner singing passeges of the Koran at the top of his lungs and it's freaking me out (it could be the recent bombings.. It could be the American in me... It could be the Jew in me... It could be just really, really irritiating to have someone basically yodeling - slash - screaming three feet away from you). Plus it's interrupting whatever train of thought I might have left at this hour... Back in a while from another internet spot.
****So get this! I just came back in to this entry again and wrote... "Joke's on you.." as a start, as I was being oh so funny, as I am now writing.. From the FUTURE... But guess who the joke's on!! The F*ING COMPUTER KICKED ME OFF AGAIN.. I am beginning to think this happens a lot in this country... OK, that is a joke, I know it happens a lot in this country. They divert electricity regularly to suburban areas (actually farmlands), I found out, but not regularly enough that anyone can actually know when it's going to happen, or so it seems.
Anyway- back to Agra. I got up as early as I could yesterday to go catch the Taj before the mobs hit- according to The Book, they get there around 9:00 AM, so I had to hurry because I really... Didn't.. actually hurry, if that makes sense. I woke up around 5:30 but dilly-dallied enough to where I didn't get out of my hotel room until about 7. Which was fine, it's close, and I'm not much of a walk-for-eternity-at-the-monument kind of gal. So... I'd already missed sunrise, and figured I would enjoy the Taj much better with a glass of this wildly addictive masala chai in me before I went... So I stopped at "Joney's Place", which I think he's probably intended to name "Johnny's Place", but who's counting.. Or spelling.. Or anything-ing. So, while I was sipping my tea, Johnny, or Joney, or his rep, handed me his book of recommendations- in India, everyone has them. I've come across this before, but never as often as here. In India, tuktuk drivers have a book of recommendations, so do tour guides, restaurants, hotels, travel agents... Later, during conversation, I dubbed it his "Book of Accolades".. But while sipping tea, I flipped through the book, and there are such random journal-type entries in there- many having something to do with Joney's Place, but many were just really odd stories (made up, trying to be Kerouak type-stuff).. So as I'm having my tea and prepping for the Taj, I'm reading... "This place is great! A classic. Try the.. .." And then, "So when I checked in to my guest house this morning, this little Indonesian man was squatting over my sink shaving his balls.." Literally. I mean literally, that's how the Book of Accolades read, not that literally, I had an Indonesian guy in my bathroom that morning. Thankfully.
Anyway, after a good read and some excellent tea, I wandered down the streets of Taj Ganj towards the Taj. It is so quiet and peaceful in the morning... Well, I mean as quiet and peaceful as I could have imagined... So I went to the Taj, had a very funny and confused entrance (I love it when the locals laugh at AND with me... We all have a good time at my expense, it's great..) But once in, it was worth the zillion rupees... It's just fantastic. The irony of being alone at the world's greatest monument to love was not lost on me, uh, at ALL.. But what a piece of work this place is! Everything is massive and tiny.. The Taj itself is a work of perfectly beautiful symmetry, and enormous, and the mosque and the guest house (of sorts) that mirror each other on opposite sides of the Taj are also beautiful. Blah, blah, I could tell you all facts about it that everyone knows worldwide, so I won't, but it was really great, and I beat most of the crowd. One of the fun things about it was that I was as much of a tourist attraction (for Indian kids taking a school trip, I think) as the Taj was, for them. The kids wanted me to take pictures of them and then to see them- then more and more and more clambered around to where I finally had to say- Okay! Bye bye! It was fun and we were all laughing but I almost drowned in jumping eight-year-olds. On the way out, I was stopped by a man with his three kids, and he asked if he could take a photo with me and his two youngest kids (the eldest wanted to be in it, but Dad said, no, no...) It was cute and a bit odd, but smiles all around and that was the best part. On the way out, the guards remembered me because of what an idiot I had been on the way in (basically- forgot my change, my ticket, my water, and then wandered in to the mens' admittance line... You know, just being a spaced-out moron) and made exaggerated gestures as to how I should walk out and go on my way- again, really funny stuff, that's the bit that I liked the best about it. If you can make a grown (boy) with a big giant scary gun laugh so hard he's about to cry, and you're laughing right along with him at yourself, you've done a good thing, right?!
So.. With the Book of Accolades in mind, and since I told Joney/Johnny/his rep that I'd be back, I went back there for breakfast. Keep in mind, this place- there's one guy, a window under which he's got two flames going (just outside- so he can cook from inside but the flame is actually on the street), a small counter- maybe four feet by one foot, and a tiny sink, and he's got probably six tables of two to four in there, and- he keeps up!!) So I go sit down and order, and start coughing again (it's pretty much gone now, but I was coughing all the way through Agra...) and the guy sitting at the table in front of me swivels around and says, "Hey, aren't you the girl who was coughing last night at the internet cafe?" I said, "Well, it's good to be known for something!" So he ended up sitting with me and we had breakfast. Nice guy named Peter from Australia, he's been to India (and about everywhere) multiple times, really funny bloke... Traded some stories and mostly joked about the Book of Accolades; we both agreed that we should have our own, and then I remembered that I've already got a jump start on that one- the Scottish guy I met in Delhi wrote in my journal (next to his email address) "You're my favourite American I've ever met!" (I remember saying at the time... Uh.. Thanks??.. No, just kidding, he was great..) So that was just funny. We should all work on our respective Books of Accolades. Anyway, since I was leaving that night, I also had to get to the post office to send a box off home after picking up some stuff that I can't believe I bought (I can't say what it is because someone is going to get it as a present..) and I knew that it was going to be a serious ordeal. Didn't know exactly how much of one, but knew it was going to be a huge pain. So. We parted ways, I found my driver, and the post office adventure began...
I first had to be shuffled off to this shop to pick up my purchase, and of course this involved... Chai, sitting, talking, everyone coming out to see me (it wasn't like I'd broken the bank or anything, it was just nice and fun... The difference on this day was that I didn't have endless time... OH WELL.) So there was tea. Then there were sweets, and then more tea, and then sweet bread (like Challa but definitely not, these guys were muslims..) and then more tea. And then the owner guy finally showed up- here's the thing: I'd bought my little thingie there, and then the owner said that he'd be happy to package it up with all the other stuff that I'd bought in Delhi (not that much but way more than I wanted to tote around any more) and then get me off to the post office. Knowing that in India, you have to pack it like anywhere else, but that you also have to sew up-cloth-sheath your package and then wax-seal the seams... It just seemed like it would be easier to do all that at the store while enjoying my 114th cup of tea of the day rather than standing in a confused queue at the post office, forever. Which happened anyway. But- finally he comes back, we have more tea, he makes terrific ceremony of packing up all my stuff for me- It was one of those times that I wish I could have had someone sitting there just to sort of see how... I don't know, how much he was being The Boss and sort of ordering folks around (you, go get cloth and thread, you, go get tape, you, go get more tea, you, find a scooter so that when we're done we can take her to the post office.. etc..) just being The Guy In Charge Of My Package. Anyway. After much pomp, circumstance, tea, and wayyy yy yyyyy too much time (during this bit, my new friend Peter called- we were trying to hook up for lunch, now; he was having an impossible time with his travel agency and here I was being held hostage to my package..) he finally finishes with the whole package thing.. This had to be- NO kidding- three hours later. So then I get on the back of a moto and sped off to the post office, dropped off, and with a thanks! I trot inside... It's like a weird movie. There's one long counter with no real signage and people just totally crowded around. I moved up in front (there's no waiting politely- nobody's being impolite, but if you are standing one person-width behind someone, obviously you are not in line..) and was directed to the foreign parcel area, which is through someone's office and then through a weird locker area with paper all over the floor and people working, I guess, but for the moment, staring, staring, and then around in back of the barred area that is the front counter when you first come in. There's two other foreigners there, and we're all a little flummoxed. I'd been prepped with the sewing (I was given a needle and thread, my own sticks of wax, even a candle for melting it and a few matches to finish up my package..) but the customs thing is crazy- nothing in the entire post office is computerized, NOTHING, nothing, and there aren't even carbons- so I had to write out two identical customs sheets (what, from where, to where, whom, numbers, blah, blah) and then the guy takes everything out, shakes it, hands it back in a big pile to me, one by one, and then I have to re-pack all of the illustriously pre-packed stuff... No biggie. I finally did, got my paperwork done, sewed my package up, waxed it, handed it to the weigh-in guy, asked the difference between air and sea mail $, it wasn't extreme and I figured stuff had a better chance of making it back by air... So paid the asked price, then once on my rickshaw back to the hotel area to meet Peter, I checked the receipt, and again- I've been fleeced. Not by too much- I think it was about two bucks, probably- but I have to say, I'm getting just a little sick of absolutely everyone ripping me off. Well, to be expected, no shock there... Head wobble, head wobble.. I've finally picked up on, in Agra, the head-wobble that everyone's been talking / writing about... It's really amusing. I've started trying to tell if it happens more often when an Indian person talks to a foreigner or when talking to another Indian person. I think it must happen more often when speaking with a foreigner because I think it's sort of an understated "That's how it is." type of gesture that I don't think anyone is really aware of doing, but everyone is. Sort of an emphasis gesture, maybe. The driver that I had (I was glad at some points to have someone sort of tailing me; annoyed at others, that's how it goes..) was a particularly avid head-wobbler. Well. Enough about that for now!
So- back to hotel- showered, finally- that whole bit took probably five hours, between the going to the shop and finishing the sending of the package. I knew it was going to be a "thing", but I didn't think it would be a five-hour thing. But I ran in to Peter again and we had a late lunch right before he hopped on a train (whatever one it was, he was having some issues as well!) and then I did a little poking around Agra after dark- much more comfortable after a couple nights- took some neat photos, almost got run over by a camel... Bought some laundry soap, some postcards (should I ever decide to brave the post office again), a new journal (to continue my Book of Accolades), and then went back to my favorite rooftop to have a beer and a snack before getting on the train.
The train out of Agra was.. Well, the train was fine, not great, been in way worse train bathrooms, that's for sure. The station was FILTHY. Again, no surprise.. I hopped over what I was pretty sure was a moat of urine on the way in to the station and then looked for someplace to sit to wait.. Not on the ground! No way. Sorry. Not for me. JAP alert. I walked back and forth and bought some weird potato snack thing (not potato chips, weird noodle things) which I'm really glad I got as come to find out there's no food in 3AC- which is technically still first class but not.. Anyway, found a bench, was the object of many hundreds of curious stares from men, women, children, probably dogs, monkeys, whatever, and then finally got on the train. It was late so I was happy to just get in my bunk and sleep, but the 3AC bunks are little, and I've heard way too much about disappearing luggage on trains, so I chained my pack to my bunk and there was about four feet by two feet for me and my other bag and a blanket.. Thank God for sleeping pills. Slept okay, three men across from me in their bunks, two snorers. The next morning, I went down to the lower berth on the opposite side of the train to watch the world go by, and at one point asked (and I hate doing this- sooo geeky) one of those men to take my photo, camera in hand, obvious what I was after -but- and he'd had an a*hole attitude the whole time, don't know why I thought he might be nice- he just sort of looked at me all hateful-like... They had all three been pretty much not wanting to make eye contact with me during the whole ride (we're in a ten foot square area together, basically, it's not easy), and he doesn't even honor my request with a "no" or head shake or anything, as if, how dare I talk to him. At this point the American in me is saying... "I could buy you." But I more or less shrugged it off, after imagining buying him, his wife, his kids, his house, his boss, and then the whole f*ing train, and kicking him and his asshole friends off of it- and yelling, "Oh, yeah, your wife is leaving you, and You're Fired!!!" once his ass landed in the shit on the tracks. How very buddhist of me.
Well, on that note, goodnight everyone. I've made it to Varanasi and ditched my first hotel- nasty little hole in the wall, dark and smelly and no real redeeming qualities- Shanti something- LP recommended- Shame on you, LP. I'm at Akra hotel, this place is awesome! More to come at some point tomorrow. Oh, also have tried unsuccessfully many times to upload photos, and can't do it here either. If I make it to Ameena's house in Amritsar, I may be able to try there...
More thumbnails ...
5 votes 
