I didn't sleep at all last night. Actually, I think I might have dozed off for half an hour or so, but I just couldn't bear the idea of losing any time in the last 24 hours I would be spending in this country for who knows how long. So I watched a couple of Bollywood movies that were surprisingly interesting. The first, 'Jab We Met', was a cute romantic comedy; I'm not sure what the title of the movie after it was, but it was one of those epic song and dance numbers that took the main characters around the world and through endless romantic turmoil and joy. Classic. Perfect for trying to stay awake at 4 in the morning.
Six is when I force myself to get up and get ready for my trip to the spot that I intentionally saved for last: the Taj Mahal. Originally, this was going to be one of the first stops on my trip, but in a small stroke of genius I reversed my entire itinerary and made it my last day. I definitely appreciate that now, and am glad to be spending my final day in India at its most beautiful landmark. I'm out the door by 6:15, heading out into the dark and cold, along with several other yawning foreigners all intent on seeing the Taj at sunrise. I fall into step with a pair of German girls and start up a conversation with them as we walk. We wait in the fairly short line together and watch an increasingly humorous exchange between a man selling mini, plastic Taj Mahal keychains to a pair of women who have obviously lived in this country most of their lives:
Tout: "Here, you see? Proper work and good quality. I give you the best deal: 5 for 50 rupees."
Women: "No, no. We do not wish to buy."
"Wait, no please, wait. Six! Six for 50 rupees. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6."
"No. We do not want them."
"Please, good ladies, please see how good these are. Now, I will do extra nice deal: seven for 50 rupees! Seven, madams, seven! See? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7."
"No. Please go. We do not wish to buy."
"Now, now, please. I give you most definite best deal, nice ladies. EIGHT! Eight nice pieces, very like real Taj. Eight for you, good ladies, eight! 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8."
"No! Go sell to another!"
It's obvious this would have gone on if it weren't for the fact that the gate is finally opening and the line pushes forward towards the metal detectors and security checkpoint ahead. I've heard that they're quite odd about what they allow you in with and what is enough to have you sent back to the ticket counter to check your belongings: definitely no books, including journals and notebooks, no pens, no camera tripods, and, in the case of Emma (girl I met in Varanasi), no scarf. That's right, she couldn't wear her scarf in despite the cold weather. Riiiiight. Well, here goes nothing. They look in my bag, see my souvenir tickets, spare camera lens, hand sanitizer and mouth wash, passport, money belt, and Lonely Planet guidebook, then I'm patted down and waved on. And that's it--I'm in without any problems, scarf and all. This is probably the only time this whole trip that I've expected something to be ten times harder than it actually turned out to be.
You walk into a large, open courtyard with the gigantic inner gate to the Taj on your left and other gates leading back into town straight ahead and on the right. Even the inner gate is ornately decorated, with dozens of small domes, marble inlay and decorative, cursive script (Hindi?). I purposely slow down my pace so that I can round the corner to the inner gate with the maximum amount of drama. The actual door in the wall is quite small, so when you approach it you see only a hint of the Taj; walk through the door and it emerges slowly and majestically. Oh, my gosh, my stomach is filled with a thousand butterflies as I get my first look! The four minarets marking the corners of the main structure rise like enormous rooks on a chess board, strategically positioned to protect their late-queen. I've heard they're tilted ever-so-slightly away from the hall, so that if an earthquake comes through they will fall away from the structure. Sounds like a good idea to me.
The Yamuna River flows behind the Taj, but you can barely see it thanks to the thick, wet layer of mist that will take hours to dissipate. Then, as I round the final corner to return to the front, I'm nearly blinded by the sun reflecting off of the perfectly smooth white marble. It's like watching the sun rise over a calm ocean, with the imperfections in the marble creating small, soft waves. Finally, I'm ready to go inside. We're ushered into the inner sanctum where Shah Jahan's beloved is laid to rest, but no photography is allowed (which turns out to be fine because there's a marble lattice barrier between you and the marker anyway). This is when I begin to notice the intricate inlay of precious stones. It's mainly a floral motif, with blossoms of pink, orange and yellow branching off of green stems. It's not quite as interesting as the work at the Golden Temple in Amritsar, but it does lend a more solemn air which is probably more fitting for a tomb, anyway.
Up close I'm impressed by the sheer amount of geometry and the impressive tessellations that make up the decorations under the arches and eaves. Part of the reason I enjoy studying history is because I have an incredible amount of respect for what civilizations were able to do/discover/create thousands of years ago with such relatively-primitive technology. Unfortunately, I'm not going to have as long to simply sit and admire the Taj as I might like. My train leaves at 10:30, so I have to be at the station before 10:15. I can still see Agra Fort and make it, but I'm going to have to hurry. It's a short cycle-rickshaw ride to get there (and mostly downhill, so the fare is cheap) and it's going to be even cheaper to get in because I've got the free ticket that one of the guys I met along the river gave me last night.
Works like a charm. Suddenly, I'm Rs250 richer than I planned to be. Score. I feel even better after I've toured the fort, though, because to be honest it doesn't seem like it would be worth paying that much to get in here. It is quite large and there are several places to explore, but it's nothing like the forts in Jodhpur and Jaisalmer. Also, I'm sure it has a great view of the Taj Mahal only a few kilometers away, but with the morning fog and the everyday pollution, I can only barely make-out the outline of it. But anyway. The outside of the fort is extremely impressive, though, with the remains of what must have been an absolutely filthy moat and walls covered in carvings. There are other marble flourishes and decorations that match those on the big Taj and baby Taj, and to be honest it's nice to see some cohesion among the sites here. Shah Jahan must have been a busy man indeed (note: he didn't create the baby Taj).
Soon, however, the first problem of the day crops up. It is taking absolutely forever for this guy to get back to my hotel. I ask him how long it will take. His reply: 30 minutes. It's 9:50 and I need to leave my hotel at 10 to get to the train station. Obviously, this isn't going to work. I go into panic mode and start leaning out the side of the rickshaw trying to flag down an auto touk touk. The driver is obviously not happy about this and says that he can't stop in a busy road (which is currently nearly empty) to let me out blah blah blah. Meanwhile, I've stopped a touk touk and am basically jumping from one to the other. I give the cycle guy half his fare, but he leans into the touk touk and demands the rest of it. I told him he didn't take me the whole way and he was slow. He calls me something mean in Hindi (according to the driver) and I tell him what he can do to himself in a phrase that would make a sailor proud. Hey, the asshole had it coming; I'm leaving out some details, but if you had been riding with me you'd agree.
So now my nice fast touk touk gets me back to the hotel right at ten. I ask him to wait and to take me to the train station after I get my pack and check-out and, good man that he is, he weaves and drifts and ignores basic laws of the road so that we get to the station right on time. I go to check on my train and find....it's delayed. By an hour and a half. But hey, no big deal, that still gives me a few hours in Delhi to go to Jama Masjid and maybe stop at a store nearby to buy a few last souvenirs. It's 10:20 now. If we leave at 11:50 it'll be fine. I probably won't have time for lunch with Marc (disappointing), but I'll still see what I want to see. I'm approached by a few Germans also going to Delhi to ask whether I'm on their train. They've bought the open tickets that I'm traveling with again, so I explain to them how they work and we all agree to just try to find an empty cabin in 2nd class the four of us can take over and pay the difference. One of them, Simon, is leaving from the airport this afternoon as well, and was only here in Agra on a day trip, so we decide to share a touk touk to the train station. Nice! Now we just have to wait.
11:50--No train. Okay, I can work with this, I'll just have to pay extra for touk touks instead of walking in Delhi. No sweat.
12:30--No train. Well, this isn't ideal. I'm going to have to cut out the shopping for souvenirs, but I can still see Jama Masjid, the one thing I most wanted to see in Delhi. It's fine.
1--TRAIN!! Oops, just kidding. No train. Someone else on the platform says that this train is going to Delhi, but that it's slower because it's not an express. This one will take six hours, compared to the one we're booked on, which takes 3-4. The train we want will be coming right after this one. I'm officially nervous.
1:30--TRAIN!! I have no idea if this actually the right one, but who the hell cares. Worst case scenario we'll be arriving at exactly the time I need to be clear across town to check-in at the airport. Oh dear god. We all rush on and urge the train onwards with our desperation. We do manage to find a cabin, though, and all collapse onto a seat letting our adrenaline levels drop back down to normal.
A little while into the trip one of the girl shares some oranges she's bought at the market in Agra. Remembering how good my last one was, I say thanks and enjoy a little treat on the train. I'm clamping down the disappointment I feel at not being able to see some of the incredible sites I read about months ago while planning this trip. Half an hour later, though, I start to feel a little weird. I think it's just motion sickness, but it's getting a bit stronger, so I apologize and tell the others I'm going to try to take a nap to fight it. I wake up a few times, feeling pretty normal for about five minutes each time before getting that sick feeling again, but I just go back to sleep with my head on my pack because it seems to help. Until the end of the train ride, that is. As soon as I'm awake for good I'm ready to lose my lunch. I can't open my mouth for fear that it will jump-start my upchuck reflex. I am sick. I am definitely not okay. Oh god, please not now. Noooooo!!!
I tell the others that I'm not well (which they have obviously picked up from the look on my face), but there's not a lot of time for sympathy, it's 5 and I'm supposed to be at the airport right now, checking in for my 6:45 flight. Simon and I grab the first touk touk we can and ask them to take us just a little ways away into Paharganj to pick up Simon's bags. It's a freaking traffic nightmare. Of course. We end up jumping out of the touk touk and throwing bills at the driver so we can walk to his hotel. He carries my bag, like a gentleman, but also so we can move faster (I can barely support the weight because I feel so sick). A few minutes later he comes out and we try to find another touk touk to take us to the airport. Success! We find one (it's 5:15) and he comes and picks us up. We make it extremely clear to him that we are in a gigantic hurry. If I'm not there in an hour they won't let me board. 'How long will it take to get to Indira Gandhi domestic terminal?' 'One hour.' Oh. Dear. God. 'GO!!!'
In the touk touk I am crying and sending up aimless prayers that I make it to my flight. I CANNOT STAY ANOTHER DAY IN THIS COUNTRY. GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE. All the thoughts about how I could totally stay for another month have vanished, leaving me weak and emotional and desperate. I just want to get home so I can be sick in my own bed. Just get me home. Please. Please. Just get me home. Just let me catch my flight. Please. I can't talk, I can't even look up, or I will throw up out the side of the car. Simon says things and asks me questions but all I can do is just nod or shake my head. He's completely out of money from paying the bill at his hotel, so this ride's on me, plus I'm going to have to give him some for the remainder of the ride to his own part of the airport (he's flying international, I'm flying domestic to Mumbai so I'm getting off earlier). I've got to give him a lot of thanks, though, because he did indeed get me from the train station to the airport, carrying my bag half the way and basically yelling at people to 'hurry the hell up we've got planes to catch!' Imagine meeting someone 6 hours earlier, watching them get sicker and sicker, wondering if they're going to throw up on you, then having to make sure they get to the airport on time while you're desperately trying to get to your own flight. Thank you, Simon, wherever you are!
I rush into the airport, barely able to stand under my pack and fighting nausea. Check-in is easy, though, and I move as quickly as I can down to security where I'm quickly passed through. Oh, thank you thank you thank you thank you! I'm going to make this flight!! I am going home!! I reach the terminal, give them my ticket, take the short bus ride out to the middle of the tarmac where the plane is, and find my seat. But I don't sit down; I drop my bag (in the freaking middle seat, of course) and head to the bathroom in the tail of the plane. Sixty seconds later I'm heaving and regurgitating a thick orange liquid. It was the god damn orange. I don't get it! It looked fine and I peeled it myself. Was there something on my hands that mixed with the juice? Screw it, who cares at this point. Wow, do I feel massively better after throwing up a couple times. I stumble back to my seat and fall asleep before the safety video is over. I wake up at the announcement for touch-down and realize I'm not going to make it to the airport. I head back to the same bathroom and clear the last of the noxious orange from my system until I'm just doing dry heaves. WOW it really helps to just give in and throw up.
I've got enough energy left in me to get off the plane and get into the terminal. Of course I have to take a shuttle to the international part of the airport then go through customs then go through security again then take a second small shuttle to the plane on the tarmac...good lord just get me to my seat so I can go back to sleep! Eventually, though, after several breaks to rest while walking down the hallway of the airport, I do get on the plane and in my seat. It's on the aisle, thank goodness, but as it turns out I don't need it anymore. I still feel a little bit nauseous, but it's obvious that if I just go to sleep I'll be fine. And go to sleep I do. I miss the skymap and dinner, my two favorite things about the flight out here, but don't even realize it as I lose consciousness in a deep, dreamless sleep.
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