Agra: Worth the Aggro?

Are we glad we did it? Yes, absolutely!
Would we do it that way again? No. Absolutely NOT!

I would love to see the Taj Mahal in all its morning-misted majestic beauty, atmospheric and enchanting. I know that it could easily move me to a different spiritual plane. Instead we saw the Taj through throngs of jabbering visitors, were carried on a crushing tide of humanity around its inner sanctum to emerge, blinking and dejected under a dazzling midday sun. Right place, wrong time!

Yet again our holiday slumber was shattered by the strident clangour of the alarm clock. We were due to set off at 0530 on the nightmare coach-trip to Agra. Before then we needed to shower and then dash to the restaurant to grab buttered toast. Then once more into the uncomfortable stalls that passed for seats in our cattle-truck coaches. It was freezing as we headed off, praying for the sun to rise and warm us up. Later, of course, the sun really would rise, the temperature would soar and we would all be sweltering and complaining about the heat!

The journey was every bit as uncomfortable as expected and we soon tired of gazing out at the blurred landscape zipping by. Occasional near-death experiences involving imminent head-on collisions with grossly overladen trucks became too commonplace to mention. Determined to ensure the ordeal assailed all our senses, Raj switched on the intercom and began to deliver a series of monologues about India, Indian Education, the agricultural heritage of Rajasthan, the significance of the Raj turban compared to the Sikh turban ..... Every now and then he would suddenly pause mid sentence and we would all sit uncomfortably wondering if he was testing to see if we were listening - or perhaps he had fallen asleep?
"If you look out of the windows along this road you will see many Gypsies with Dancing Bears. Keeping them is illegal now, but no-one can stop them. It is their way of life." And soon we did indeed see scrawny bears by the roadside, muzzled and chained. It was depressing, but more depressing still was the abject poverty we witnessed amongst people living on the outskirts of towns and villages.

We eventually arrived at a coach park in Agra. Our vehicles were immediately surrounded by throngs of hawkers, thrusting goods at the windows and banging the sides of the coach. Raj advised us not to look at or talk to anyone. If we wanted to buy souvenirs he would arrange it on our return. Meantime, since Anti-pollution laws meant no petrol vehicles were allowed in the vicinity of the Taj, to protect its immaculate white marble facade, we must all transfer to electric buses to complete our journey. As we hummed down the road we passed numerous horse-drawn carriages - the low-tech alternative transport. But these horses were pitifully thin - scarred skin bags of bones, dull-eyed living corpses trudging wearily back and forth in the relentless heat.

It was soon after leaving the electric coach that Jan and I experienced the one magical, spine-tingling moment which made the trip worthwhile: We stood in a log-jam of bodies in front of a red stone and marble entrance gate. Slowly we shuffled forward, entering the shadows of the entrance to have our belongings searched. Having passed muster we moved forward and looked up:

I choked. The hairs on the back of my neck stood upright and a shiver ran through my body. Ahead of us was the Taj Mahal , perfectly framed in the arch

Crowds

of the gate. It was painfully, dazzlingly beautiful, reflecting the midday sunlight under clear blue skies. That moment was utterly, utterly unforgettable.

And then "pop" the moment was gone. We were propelled through the gate and out into the gardens. Throngs of people milled about and official guides bellowed instructions as they marshalled them around. "Over here for group photograph". "Over there for picture on Diana bench." "No filming at all. Take pictures from here, not to take any in Taj."

We dutifully waited to have our photographs taken before joining the throngs heading down the gardens to the Taj itself. Our guide continued to shout out fascinating trivia ensuring we could not pause - even for one second - to absorb and appreciate the scene. We entered the mausoleum as part of a sweaty human donut, turning slowly around the interior before being regurgitated once more through the crush of humanity attempting to enter.

It wasn't in the least bit uplifting .... it was soul-destroying.

We made our way back to the coach park and once embussed Raj selected a few hawkers to bring their wares on board. After a buffet lunch we headed off to the Red Fort which we were free to explore, unhindered by officious guides. We loved it!

This magnificent building was far less crowded than the Taj. It was a joy to watch small groups of Indians in their "Sunday Best" exploring or sitting enjoying picnics. And as we explored we came across the second spine-tingling moment of the day:

We stood on the ramparts at the top of the fort, looking west towards the setting sun. A small group of locals stood on the banks of the Yamuna river, gazing in awe at a perfect, unobstructed view of the Taj Mahal. A faint haze gave it an ethereal quality and the white marble was slowly turning to pure gold as the sun dipped towards the horizon. Right place, right time!

The journey back to Sariska seemed endless. Night had fallen. But there were several upsides to this: We couldn't see the poverty around the villages nor could we see suicidal lorry drivers hurtling towards us. Instead we were rewarded with the spectacle of millions of twinkling lights:

It was Eid, the festival of lights, and it was magical :o)

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