The Taj and ladies of a certain age and persuasion!

The weekend starts very early indeed as I'm up at 5a.m. since the car to take us to Agra is scheduled for 6a.m. The roads are relatively quiet when we set off, however, at the first intersection underneath a flyover, I'm incredulous to see two elephants being walked by their mahouts through the junction. Lumbering but gently padding their way underneath this highway flyover. The first ones I've seen but I'm sure it won't be the last.

The journey to Agra is broken up with a stop at the Indian equivalent of a motorway service station but with souvenir shops. Two of the women shop and Cindy (the attorney) and I just have coffee and a nicotine fix. It took us about six and a half hours to reach Agra which is a real bummer as it's only about 350kms from Delhi and ostensibly connected by a highway (?).

We'd intended going to Fatehpur Sikri this afternoon and then going back to the hotel to book in, however, it appears that the monuments are closed there for a VIP visit, so we went to the Red Fort at Agra and the mini Taj Mahal (it was built before the real one and the basis of it).

Both are impressive in their own way and are duly photographed to death for posterity.

Back to our hotel and mistakenly I left the arrangements to the ladies. This was a mistake since we're booked into a 4 star hotel with attendant prices, I'm beginning to wish I'd gone with the youngsters to the foothills of the Himalayas. A feeling of frustration with their (the mature female American type) attitude is descending on me as I can't really handle the way they're dealing with the trip. This isn't a rose scented place and you can't expect to buy your way out of situations. You can of course throw money at everyone, but it just makes you look stupid. In this respect these ladies of a certain age are excelling themselves. One who shall remain anonymous has more colegen than a single factory can produce and notwithstanding the trout pout, the oriental expression where the facelift has been applied has me struggling not to stare rudely and I'm sure the Indians are equally agog. Mea culpa, I've taken this a bit far! The fact remains that on the tour with the guide (which they over-paid), I just went off and did my own thing as I can get myself around without having an army of hawkers following me as the ladies are having since they're seen as an easy touch!

It's easy to say no thank you my friend without too much ado, and if it's accompanied with a look of some anger (not genuine), the these people will leave you alone and go and look for some other gullible punter.

The night in the hotel was nice if over-priced as it came in at $140 plus tax, and although the bed and the bath were nice, I have to say that the youngsters apparently had a better time and had a whole lot more for infinitely less with no hassle and a 1st class train journey with meals et al. Never mind it can only get better!

Sunday morning

I can't believe I said it can only get better, but enough of that later. We did go to the Taj Mahal early in the morning (which was Cindy's idea and a good one to boot). The pictures you see of the TM are beautiful, but the reality is infinitely more than merely beautiful. I can, hand on heart, say I've never seen anything remotely close to the Taj Mahal for breathtaking beauty and in the early morning light it radiates to a ghostly marble/ivory. The gardens too are formal and spectacularly well maintained. The seat where Princess Diane was seated for the photograph she had taken is there for all to use, but I bet she didn't have to go on a six and a half hour drive to get there.

I'm not going to bore you to death with statistics, on it's construction or the rationale behind it, suffice to say it blew me away and I'm a cynical old fart. Just one thought, Aurangzeb the 4th son of the man who built it, Shah Jahan, turned out to be a right tosser as he killed his 3 elder brothers and imprisoned his father with his father's prison facing the monument he'd built for his wife Mumtaz. With family like that who needs an enemy?

In the early afternoon we got into the two sites at Fatehpur Sikri which is about another 30kms from Agra, and the whole set-up there is more impressive than beautiful, and it's scale has to be put into context of being something like square miles.

As it's Sunday, there are families galore out at the sites part of which is the fact that you can go into the holy chamber and tie a piece of cotton to the ornately carved windows inside the chamber which according to legend (or gimmick for tourists) will get you a wish granted. You're allowed 3, one for yourself and two for others/family! I think there must be more than a gimmick involved as the throngs of worshippers who pack this chamber are a combination of Sikhs, Hindus and Muslims. I guess it is like going to Lourdes for Catholics except you have to remove your shoes and socks and wash your hands prior to entering and must wear a head covering which is like the traditional muslim cap.

Sightseeing over, we have to set back on the journey to Delhi (not an inviting prospect), the ladies have dispensed more cash than the Brinks Matt robbers in their attempt to write off poverty in India, but it is only those who have been persistent (and there's plenty!). Virender the driver takes us on a fairly quiet route interspersed with town/villages and as it's Sunday their markets are open and business is brisk as a result of which our progress through these towns is pretty slow.

You can and will see a lot of poverty all around you in such circumstances, but for god's sake don't wind down your electric window of the posh car you're in and point your camera at the people snapping like some demented paperazzi. Even the poorest person has feelings and you don't have to be rich to be sensitive!

This was more than a little annoying to me as these poor people are not animals in a zoo, to be photographed as though they were. I made this point as several of the people on the roadside were justifiably annoyed at this intrusion on their life (poor or impoverished as they were). The trout pout maintained she didn't think of them as animals in the zoo, but her photographing them in this manner indicated otherwise.

Perhaps I'm getting too easily annoyed with this form of American tourism, but it is getting on my knockers and I do feel for the local Indians.

When we got back it was straight to bed as the journey back was even longer, 7 hours this time!

Monday morning and this is the first time we got to meet the youngsters and they've had a ball! God how I wish I'd gone with them, but hey hoh, I've seen the Taj Mahal and any future trips will be by train and if not with the youngsters (whose parents should be very proud of them as they are absolute gems) then I'll go alone.

Back at work on the Monday and one of the guys in our class is going for an job interview this afternoon, I spend some time with him such that he can do his interview in either Hindi or English. I'll see tomorrow if he's successful, I hope so! In the afternoon I decide to have another cut throat razor shave but this time in the street (when in Rome do as the Romans and all that), in any event two young journalists approach me in the barber's chair and ask if they can interview me as the sight is obviously unusual (i.e a foreigner having a shave in the street), they can but only when he's stopped shaving me! The article is entitled The Hindustani Scot. We shall see if and when it is published in a local paper. Although he must have been serious as there is photographs taken to go with it! Fame at last (I don't think so)