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Published: March 7th 2008
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The Amber Fort
Maya on the path up to the main gate. Korma for breakfast. I can certainly handle non-stop curry for days on end, although it's playing havoc with my digestive system. I can now get to the third verse of Bear Necessities on the old arse trumpet before running out of steam.
Once again we climb into a tuk-tuk and head into the urban sprawl. The cityscapes here are quite amazing... at the same time derelict yet vibrant - crumbling walls and piles of fallen masonry contrast with the kaleidoscope of colour on the fruit and veg stalls of the bazaar, and the vivid saris and gold jewellery of Indian women shine like beacons and sparkle like stars. After a good night's sleep, we're both a little more 'together' and ready to enjoy ourselves.
The Amber Fort itself is an old Moghul palace, and is an incredible place. The architecture alone is breathtaking, and it's a maze of corridors, staircases and gateways. We take loads of photos (will upload all pics as soon as we find a trustworthy web cafe, Lix! ;o) ) and soak up the sun. Far less hassle than usual here, perhaps due to the 100r entry fee, and we can chill and enjoy the place
Scaffolding schmaffolding...
.... we use bits of bamboo and string to build our castles .... without keeping one hand in each pocket and hiding the camera.
On the way back Maya sees a small jewellery shop and buys a stainless anklet. Half an hour later, we're at another jewellery shop and this time the old budget takes a beating as she buys another, this time real silver. I can't complain, as I've done my share of wrecking the budget with the beer drinking. Maya promises that if she can get the anklet, she won't moan about the beer intake. I heartily agree and can't wait to get back to the hotel in order to give my side of the bargain my full and undivided attention. We do so, and then head to Jaipur railway station to get tickets to Agra, on foot. People are generally extremely friendly and we feel a little self-conscious as we get what feels like the film star treatment - people smile and wave from doorways and kids run alongside us, jumping and smiling and making no threatening moves towards my pockets. It is really quite lovely.
The ticket-buying process is long-winded, beaurecratic in the extreme and very tiresome. We manage with the help of a friendly Canadian, and
eventually (when all the forms have been filled in and stamped) have a ticket to Agra. It's about 250 miles to Agra, and 2nd class seats for the entire journey cost less than two quid. Up yours, Great Eastern, with your fifteen pound London Travelcards.
Back at the hotel, we meet a couple of backpackers from Devon. We try to strike up a conversation, but as we're finding so often with other travellers, they are quiet and insular, albeit polite enough. After I talk at them for half an hour, receiving nothing but polite smiles and noncommittal grunts, we give up and go to pack. It's a 5am start so we need the sleep. Typically, I don't sleep til at least 3am and as a result end up very grumpy in the morning.
4/3/08 - train to Agra
We're dreading the walk through dark alleys at 5am, but there's a rickshaw waiting outside for someone else. Cunningly, we hijack the thing and bribe the driver so that he feels less guilty about leaving his booked fare in the lurch. Secretly, I hope it's the Devon couple who miss their train. Ten minutes later we're at the station,
The Amber Fort...
...from the back seat of a tuk-tuk... and waiting at the correct section of platform for our carriage. I feel ill, and visions of Delhi belly, malaria and an eventual inglorious death cross my mind. Maya gets me a mango juice, and I feel better. Around us, people are asleep on the platforms, wrapped in rags. Dogs prowl the platform and children run around begging. The feeling of exciting lawlessness is ruined by the station porter who appears, as if by magic, as soon as I put a cigarette to my lips and threatens me with a 1000r fine if I dare to light it.
Once on the train we chuck our rucksacks into the racks and settle down. We are surrounded by curious Indians, with the exception of two Israeli backpackers who sit near Maya. We get the stares - my earrings, lip stud and tattoo seem to be just as amazing to Indians as Maya's blonde hair.
We rocket through the countryside and watch the sun rise above tea fields, villages of houses with straw roofs and Indians unashamedly performing their ablutions at the side of the track. This is disturbing, but not nearly as disturbing as one particular be-turbanned individual who, squatting
nonchalantly in a field, removes his hand from his backside and gives us a cheery wave as we pass. I reply in kind, bemused, disgusted and desperately trying not to laugh, and most certainly with a cleaner hand.
The journey passes, we buy chai at stations in small terracotta pots. Maya shares hers with one of the Israeli girls and receives chocolate in return. I receive nothing but curious glances from the locals, and all the 'namastes' in the world don't raise a smile. Hmmph. Sod ya then.
At Agra we immediately book the next day's ticket to Varanasi - a sleeper ticket for the following night. We are picked up by a rickshaw driver called Nadeem who takes us to a hotel. It is adequate and has satellite TV. We're tired, so after a brief sojourn to a very posh restaurant (totally out of place in the ramshackle slum that is Baluganj) where we encounter an English coach trip group of old grannies, we retire and watch Discovery Animal Planet for most of the night, dubbed in Hindi. We're knackered and sleep well, for once. We have arranged with Nadeem an early start - 6am - in
order to see the Taj Mahal at sunrise. Maya's idea, to avoid the crowds and also to make the most of the sunlight setting off the marble in bright orange. Another early morning. This is killing me.
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