Smuggling contrabanned into the Taj Mahal: Photos 21 to 30

It was 5.30am and the streets of Paraganj were quiet with none of the bustle of the night before when we´d run the gauntlet passed shop owners trying their best to entice us in or indeed the previous morning when we´d been overtaken by rickshaws packed full of 8year olds, immaculately turned out in their school uniforms and waving furiously. Instead we hurried along deserted streets heading for New Delhi Railway Station and the poshest train I would get in India - the Shatabdi Express. With seats as good as on any train back home, air conditioning (the real thing not the window open variety) and men in uniform serving us up flasks of tea and breakfast, it left on time and the countryside to Agra all passed in a bit of a blur.

We had three whirlwind days in Agra, starting almost the moment we arrived when the rickshaw driver who picked us up from the station convinced us to hire him for the rest of the day. We ended up on a random tour of tourist spots we would have seen anyway and watching local life that we wouldn´t. Dobi whallahs down by the waterfront who seemed to

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