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Published: March 30th 2008
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Agra sucks…I really can’t think of a better way to start this blog; Ok, wait, Agra really sucks. Ready to attack at first sight, the rickshaw touts are obscenely aggressive, and, once they drop you at your hotel, they do their very best to be seen by the front desk to earn a commission (which undoubtedly increases your nightly rate). In preparation for this eventuality, we told our driver to drop us at one hotel, then, we quickly grabbed our bags and ducked into alleyways in order to get away from him. Of course he pursued and we finally had to yell at him to leave us alone…he didn’t leave entirely, rather, he just followed at a greater distance. The rest of the rickshaw drivers floating about were all playing the same game and completely harassed anyone with light skin.
Ok, fine, on to the main attraction…Taj Mahal. Yes, the building is beautiful, yes it has a fairy tale story attached to it, and, yes, it costs non-Indians 37.5 times as much as Indians to enter the complex. Yes folks, the tiered pricing system in India goes to incredible new lengths in Agra with the price of a entrance ticket
costing an Indian just 20 Rupees where foreigners are required to pay 750 Rupees each. On top of the ridiculous entrance fee, the Indian Police cum security guards treat you like crap and the crowds are absolutely claustrophobic. Over the years, many excellent professional photographers have taken breath-taking photographs of the Taj and have made them available via the Internet, books, postcards, etc. Do yourself a favor, look at the pictures, read about the history, but don’t waste your time or money to see it in person. The best views of the Taj are at a distance anyway as inside there really isn’t too much to see (some nice marble and inlay work).
All is not lost though because we can still do some people watching in this little town, right? Wrong. This is a tourist town…everybody here seems to be hanging around to sell the tourists a bunch of crap. Ok, so no real people watching here…let’s go eat then, surely we can get our hands on some delicious Indian food, right? Wrong again. First restaurant, excellent view of the Taj, but the naan was undercooked and chewy and the chicken curry was missing the most important ingredient…the
chicken. Nevermind…restaurant 2. The second restaurant was so focused on serving Western customers that they seem to forget that tourists traveling in India may actually like to eat Indian food. Plenty of Israeli, Italian, and American food to choose from, but we were craving spice so we cooled our hunger with a juice and left promptly. Restaurant 3, batter up. The food at the third restaurant was decent (and I’m being rather generous here), however, Rozy and I both got sick from the meal and spent the rest of our evening getting cozy with the porcelain throne.
So, in summary, you really don’t need to go to Agra. I took a few mediocre pictures…take a look at them, read up on Shah Jahan and his crazy antics, and then sit back and smile knowing that you made a good choice to spend an extra day in Varanasi instead.
Ok, a final blurb… the stares and THE QUESTION are getting pretty damn old. People don’t just stare they contort their bodies, change their direction, point and even make comments or sounds of disapproval as Rozy and I walk along together. Of course the assumption is that Rozy is Indian,
and, based on people’s reaction, they have a hard time believing she could possibly go against her parent’s wishes and consort with a classless white guy like myself. It truly speaks volumes for how ingrained certain behaviors are in this country!! We spoke to a number of men and women, and, without variation, all completely wrote off the concept of a love marriage and had either already been arranged or made it very clear that an arranged marriage was the only option. It is very difficult for my American brain to comprehend what I’m hearing when a 17 year old boy tells me it is better for his family to choose his wife (without him knowing or even seeing this girl) and decide his schooling/career because they know him better than he knows himself. Seriously, wtf?
Ah, THE QUESTION….it has several variations and several methods by which it is asked, however, the most common is simply “Indian?” asked directly to Rozy. EVERY SINGLE PERSON (and this is no exaggeration!!!) asks Rozita if she is an Indian or not, but, only when I am in her presence. Rickshaw drivers, hotel owners, people we talk to on various forms of transport,
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Visit me at www.danielshortell.com for purchase information. vendors, you name it…every single person must ask the question so long as Rozy and I are together. Rozy has tried a number of different tactics in handling this annoyingly expected question…”yes, I’m from Delhi” or a simple “yes” or “no” or a more complex “no, but my grandparents are from India”. I think she has grown tired of people assuming that she is something that she very much is not (Indian) and no longer plays any games but rather chooses to simply say “no”. People here in India can’t seem to wrap their heads around the fact that a person may look Indian but have virtually none of the culture or language. Some people have actually gotten mad at Rozita when she says she is not Indian, and, one guy actually said, “I know you are Indian, but now you are making dollars so you forgot that you are Indian”. What??? How simple-minded can a person be? We didn’t bother to explain that Rozita’s grandparents migrated to Malaysia (from Pakistan) and that she is a third generation Malaysian who has been living in the US and Australia for over one-third of her life, doesn’t speak Hindi and is a
Muslim…but would this really make a difference in the eyes of a person who has already created his own truth?
STATISTICS
- Flights taken = 8
- Intercity trains rides taken = 11
- Intercity bus rides taken = 29
- Times lost = 15
- Total instances of diarrhea = 5
- Total number of requests for pictures with Daniel = 5
- Total megabytes of pictures taken = 24,005
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April
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Don't feel bad...
It happens to my mom in mexico (yeah, my portugese, scottish mother), who then throws me in front of them going- but my daughter speaks spanish! My mom actually feels guilty about not speaking a language that has nothing to do with her heritage either. You're not alone ;-)