Since we’re heading to the airport in the morning, here’s a list of things that we’ve learned about India in no particular order:

1. Chaos rules.
2. Urinating in public? Completely okay.
3. Lanes are suggested—so is the direction of traffic.
4. What’s a crosswalk?
5. I haven’t heard of a sidewalk either.
6. Masala Magic is, indeed, Magic.
7. Traffic food chain: pedestrian, bicycle, rickshaw, motorcycle, tuk-tuk, car, bus, cow.
8. Riding a motorcycle? With a baby? No helmet necessary. Feel free to add another small child. And your grandmother. And maybe a goat.
9. Play in the streets, and/or with fire if your children are bored.
10. 10. Littering is necessary, in fact, it’s expected. Garbage belongs on the ground since trash cans don’t exist here. Unless you’re on the metro.
11. If you let them take you shopping, you can get a great deal on a tuk-tuk.
12. For 20$ extra, you can go from a shitty hotel, to a really nice one with great service and a functional shower. Oh, and a toilet that works.
13. You don’t go to Holi, you “Play Holi.”
14. Holi color does not come out of blond hair.
15. BBC World news is fun for 30 minutes. Until it repeats.
16. The Simpsons are still the Simpsons, even in Hindi.
17. Power outages are fairly normal. Even at Fancy Hotels.
18. Hello 2006—we have Blackberrys. What’s an iPhone?
19. The Internet sucks, and doesn’t work anywhere but Delhi.
20. It’s amazing that the whole city of Delhi doesn’t burn down in an electrical fire given the crazy wiring.
21. OSHA does not exist.
22. $2,880 per year in salary is a livable wage.
23. Tuk-Tuk drivers really appreciate 70 Rs ($1.40) tips unless your tour company hired the driver, in which case, they will complain endlessly.
24. A 100 Rs tip to the hotel guy really greases the wheels. Anywhere in the US, this amount constitutes an insult.
25. Alcohol is expensive. Cigarettes are cheap.
26. People with nothing in India seem a hell of a lot happier than rich folks in Beverly Hills.
27. The Metro is the most civilized thing in Delhi, and may even be more functional than any public transit we’ve encountered anywhere else in the world. Period. Except for the people that push in the queue.
28. Indians like to shake their heads, and move their shoulders. It’s the Indian equivalent of shrugging your shoulders or nodding a greeting.
29. Indian Weddings are loud.
30. Always honk your horn.
31. The Taj Mahal is amazing. Agra sucks.
32. Indian sales people follow the ABC (Always Be Closing) rule like Christians follow the Bible.
33. You’re always the first customer of the day.
34. “My family” also made whatever you’re buying.
35. If you want to feel like a celebrity, just come to India as a Caucasian woman. Even middle-aged Hindu women in saree’s will want a photo with you.
36. If you don’t have sufficient change in your till, candy is an acceptable substitute. This is true, even if you work for a huge company.
37. Being a tour guide is more lucrative than professions that require a PHD in Chemistry as well as an MBA. Being an escort is even better.
38. When you tell Indian people what being an escort means in the States, they laugh.
39. Sarah has less desire to go to China than she did before.
40. Mossy doesn’t mean something that is soft and green. It means mosquito.
41. There are dogs everywhere, but they’re never pets.
42. For as much as there is to take pictures of, it’s incredibly hard to take pictures – you have to always be paying attention and moving if you don’t want to get run over.
43. Nothing is ever quite straight or square.
44. You though the TSA was bad…

April 3rd

Overnight, the train had inched closer to Delhi, but somewhere, we were late by about 90 minutes. I opened the curtain from the window and watched the countryside roll by. It’s surprisingly beautiful—lots of wheat, fields, and trees. You can see people working on the tracks too. (Probably would not fly in the US, given that there seem to be trains running on the tracks.)

The sleeping hours on the train are 9PM-6AM, so after 6AM, the train employees walk by selling stuff again. I bought a chai for 12Rs (very sweet), and also a coffee for 10Rs (also very sweet). You can also buy breakfast. As we inched closer to Delhi, it got dirtier, and more urban.

We got off the train, and had a sea of porters carry our bags on their heads. Sarah’s guy made a comment about her suitcase being too heavy, and we watched him carry it and wheel it out of the station instead of carrying it on his head, and then tipped him for it. We got onto a new bus, and made our way back to the Almondz hotel—which is where we stayed the first couple of days.

I don’t know why we thought that Delhi was chaotic. It’s downright peaceful and civilized compared to everywhere else we’ve been. Although it’s crowded and more than a little crazy, people appear to follow traffic laws here. Well, sort of at least. I guess our initial impression was probably right coming from the US and never having been to India. It does seem nuts at first. After seeing everywhere else though, it still seems crazy, but not nearly as much.

We arrived at the hotel, had a late breakfast, went to take a shower (that’s something the trains don’t have), and then went out in Delhi with a few of the remaining people here from our tour. First, we went to Karol Bagh. We took the Metro there. It’s clean, fast, cheap, air conditioned, and efficient. It’s also really crowded. I wonder what the traffic must have been like before it was completed in 2002. (The traffic is bad in Delhi. I also wonder why anyone takes a tuk-tuk ever. The Metro is a vastly superior experience, with the added bonus that the conductor goes where he says he’s going to go as opposed to trying to take you to as many shops as possible.)Despite being crowded, the Metro seems pretty safe and people seem pretty friendly. You pay and get a token that you scan at the turnstile. When you leave the metro, you drop the token in a slot. This is a better way to deal with temporary tokens than the BART, Metro, and Subway in NYC have, and it cuts down on litter since the tokens are automatically reused since you have to deposit your token to get out. I feel more comfortable riding the Delhi Metro then I did riding the Metro in Paris.

Karol Bagh reminds me in a lot of ways of The Promenade in Santa Monica. It’s got lots of more Western style shops, sidewalks, and sort of feels like you might actually want to spend time there. Of course, you can’t forget you’re in India when you see the crazy electric system, and the guys fixing something on top of an electrical pole with a bamboo ladder and ropes tied around their waists. Really can’t be described. For whatever reason, Delhi has really insane looking electrical wiring. I’m shocked there’s power. We’ve even seen people just wiring their own stuff right into the cables.

We looked at shoes, and a spice shop called Roopak’s. It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, since I was expecting a spice bazaar with spices piled high, but it was pretty fun. We bought a mix for Dum Aloo. The group then decided that it was time to leave Karol Bagh, so we hopped the Metro again and this time headed for Chandni Chowk, which is in Old Delhi.

Chandni Chowk is the area that we had a rickshaw ride through the first day here.  It’s busy. We walked through a good amount of the market, going down random alleyways, and wandering. We didn’t actually buy anything, but spent more time trying not to get run over by motorcycles and gawking at the power lines we could reach out and touch with our bare hands. At one point, we got caught in a crush of people, bicycle rickshaws, and motorcycles trying to get through a narrow cross street, and literally couldn’t move. The only thing that could have made this situation worse would be if there was a cow in the mix. Thank God we were in Delhi and not Varanasi. We managed to escape that, and made it back to the metro, thoroughly drained from the experience of walking through the insanity. We took the metro back to the hotel, and then decided to meet up with the group one last time in the evening.

The restaurant we went to was good—it’s called Indi QUE. It’s kind of new, and we were the only people there (there were 13 of us). I believe that we might have had one person each working there if you count the kitchen staff on duty. Despite the restaurant getting really confused about everything ordered, the food was great, and the ambiance was nice. After saying our good byes, we went back to our room, watched some BBC, and went to sleep.

April 4th

We didn’t have anything planned for today, because we came to India with no plans other than our tour. We originally figured we might travel to Amritsar, then thought we might try to go to Mathura, and then late last week, scrapped that and decided to stay in Delhi instead. On the recommendation of Lynne, a lady in our group, we booked a hotel in Delhi.

We checked out, crammed our baggage into a tuk-tuk—also saw Veejay from day one again—and asked the tuk-tuk to take us to the other hotel. English is only one of the languages spoken in Delhi; most people understand some, but not enough. Anyway, our tuk-tuk guy didn’t know where the hotel was, so he stopped to ask for directions at a tourist office. Since all of our stuff was in the tuk-tuk, Sarah went in and asked. She came back, and we realized that I had booked the wrong hotel. I booked the Parkway Hotel; we were supposed to book the Park View. The only problem with this is that the Parkway is literally in the ghetto – the slums. (Rooms looked nice enough online…I guess we’ll never know.) The tourist guy literally told Sarah not to go there. So we were hotel-less. But it shouldn’t be an issue to find a hotel that is suitable in a city of 16 million people, right?

We asked the tuk-tuk to take us to the Park View, in the hopes that they would have rooms.  You have to imagine now, trying to find a hotel in a city of 16 million people, knowing only its name, and general neighborhood. Imagine, for example, hopping in a taxi in Brooklyn, asking a cabbie to take you to the so-and-so no-name hotel he’s never heard of, located in Manhattan.  See, we’re not exactly sure how it works, but it doesn’t appear that there are actual addresses in much of India. Sometimes a street, but more often than not, just a name and a neighborhood. So the approach for finding one of these places is to get to the neighborhood, stop and ask people on the street where the place is, until you find someone who can give you a general direction. East, west, left, right. Then you go in that direction for a while, and then stop and ask more people, until someone can further refine your path. So after 30 minutes or so of hunting, we were able to pinpoint the hotel in this manner. And… they did not have any rooms. So we came back to the Almondz. The Almondz also did not have any rooms. But we used their Internet and also asked the guy at the front desk where to stay. The hotel that the front desk guy recommended was around the block, and it also wasn’t that expensive. (Well, to us. By Delhi standards, it’s definitely up there.) So we booked a room and walked our stuff there. It’s nice, and the people are a lot more knowledgeable (or maybe more willing to share) than at the other hotels.
We got our room and asked for some suggestions on markets. We got three, and also got Metro directions, and then made our way to the Metro system. I’m just as impressed with it today as I was yesterday. Our first stop was INA market. (This evening we realized that I made a mistake, and it should have been Delhi Hatt market, which was one of the stops we looked up today on the internet. The Internet actually works in Delhi!) INA market was fun to wander around in; but there were a lot of flies. We left.

The metro guy told us to walk to the second market, but we decided we’d just go to the third. It was a good choice. The Lajpat Nagar market is a mix of Western and more bazaar-ish shopping. Sarah’s favorite part: it’s filled to the brim with fabric. The other great part about it is that it’s pretty much all fixed price shops, and there aren’t a ton of people that look super destitute. It’s a nice change of pace. Sarah immediately started going into different fabric stores and vendors, and eventually bought a few kinds of fabric. We also wandered around and bought Sarah’s niece an outfit—something we’d been looking for. We bargained a bit for that, but it all felt very civilized. The whole place felt civilized, and I think the middle and upper class Indians probably agree due to who we saw wandering around at this market.

We’d had our fill, so we took the Metro back to the new hotel. Crowded, but cheap and efficient. We got back to the hotel, hung out for a bit, and then tried to find a restaurant to eat at. We found one online, but couldn’t find it for whatever reason, and decided to go to a convenience store instead. We bought salted banana chips, Heineken (Sarah passed on an Indian bottle of wine), and then came back to the room. I took a shower—and the hotel has a shower that is functional. Hands down the best shower I’ve had in India, and probably the only one that didn’t result in water on the floor. Then we ordered room service. This was my first room service experience ever. It wasn’t that great, but it was cheap, and it was really nice to eat food, drink beer, and watch BBC world news.

Today, we were pretty much completely on our own since the tour was mostly over. We had the entire day to kill before taking the overnight train back to Delhi. Since Varanasi really doesn’t have that much to see other than all of the religious stuff that’s at the Ganges, we decided to go further afield with some of the members in our group—Roger, Imogen, Alicia, Dave, and Filbert, the tour guide intern.

Three of us fit in each tuk-tuk for the 16 km ride to see the stupa where Buddha preached his first sermon. The tuk-tuk is surprisingly comfortable with 3 people, and is surprisingly comfortable compared to a bicycle rickshaw. The tuk-tuk also has the advantage of being closed to the rear, so you can’t see the oncoming traffic quite as well.

The road out of Varanasi takes a while before it becomes obviously not urban. When it reaches the point of not being urban anymore, there are pot-hole filled roads, compounds with gates, and significantly less traffic. We got to the stupa area, and immediately went to see the Buddhist temple that is there. It was painted in the 1930’s by a Japanese artist who was funded by a British Buddhist. The paintings/frescos depict the life of Buddha and boast colorful, vivid images. This temple is a far cry from the crumbling, moldering, slowly decaying monuments and scenes we’ve seen everywhere we’ve been to date and was a welcome burst of color. To be fair, we haven’t been to many working temples, mainly just old ones.

Next, we ventured out back to the mini-zoo/deer park. I bought a mango popsicle—packaged—from a street vendor of Gaylord’s Ice Cream company, and after eating 1/3 of it, Phil told me “you shouldn’t eat that.” Apparently, “you can’t be sure,” that they used treated, and not tap, water. (So far, I’m fine.) This was unfortunate because the popsicle was really good. I pitched it anyway. Well, since there don’t seem to be any garbage cans whatsoever in India, I left it on the ledge of a wall.

The zoo itself is depressing. The zoo is beyond filthy, really a festering cesspit of green water and non-existent attempts to make the animals inside comfortable. The crocodiles, birds, and deer we saw within were trapped. Not pleasant, so we left quickly.

We then walked over to another pagoda-style Chinese temple, where we hung out in the shade for a bit. That was when I started to realize that it had gotten very hot. Sarah went outside and bought some beads from a stone vendor, and while we were waiting for her change, a beggar started asking for money. Roger gave her some; that wasn’t her cue to say thank you, but rather to ask for more. We walked in the heat for a while, and then made it over to the stupa.

The stupa reminded me of Pompeii, because there are ruins of other stupas and monasteries in the grounds. The main stupa is the spot where Buddha is supposed to have preached his first sermon, so has particular significance to Buddhists. Interesting to see up close, but at the same time, not particularly riveting.

Our tuk-tuks picked us back up, and we went back to the hotel. Back at the hotel, there wasn’t really anything to do until the train left. I got a fresh coconut water at the hotel (not that good), and then we went back to Spicy Tadka for the fourth time and had hybrid lunch dinner. Good again. We also ordered some to go food for the train. I ordered a spicy maharaja pizza; Sarah ordered some Naan.

We got back to the hotel, and then waited longer. There isn’t much of anything to do in Varanasi but shop, visit religious places, and eat. At 5:30, we finally got picked up for the train. The train station was busy, and in much worse shape than the Delhi train station. More or less, it was a crumbling, stinking public building with lots of people wandering around and sleeping on the ground. A lot of cargo must be moved via the passenger trains, because you see lots of cargo piled up waiting to get loaded on to the trains. While we were waiting, Sarah bought a couple toys from a vendor at the train station. He was cool, and had a lot of interesting hand-made, hand-painted toys. I bet he has neck problems, because he carries all of the toys on what looked like a cast iron plate that he balances on a scarf on top of his head. He must have great balance too, because the stack of toys was pretty precarious.

While we were waiting, we put on some bug spray, en masse as a group. Definitely got some strange looks for that from the Indians near-by, but there were a lot of mosquitos (or mozzy’s as the Australians and British call them) buzzing around and we didn’t want to get bit. The train finally pulled up—a little late—and then we got on. Sarah and I managed to get a top and bottom bunk on the side of the train. The other compartments are four bunks in a common room with our style bunk perpendicular. Our style bunk is better because you get your own set of curtains and are more self-contained. We were seated next to a German guy that is obsessed with the sitar. He was interesting. There was also a random Hindu lady who sang softly before bed, our intern tour guide, and a random British backpacker.

Thankfully, Phil was with us, because the conductor wanted 50 Rs extra each from us. Why, I have no idea, but it was nice that Phil was there to deal with it instead of having to figure it out on our own.

Next, a guard with a rifle slung over his shoulder came to us with what can best be described as a permission slip for foreigners. He passed us a list of all of the ways we might be robbed, taken advantage of, assaulted, injured and otherwise abused, and indicated where to sign that we understood the risks of riding the train. Comforting in one way – that there was a guard there, and that they cared to some degree about our safety – and for obvious reasons, concerning in another.  He did come a few minutes too late however, as we’d already been swindled by what looked like an old, wise guru.  He dipped his thumb in pigment, placed it on our foreheads, and gave us each a blessing. Then asked for money. We obliged with the smallest change we had. Number seven on our permission slip was not to accept any gifts, like blessings, from anyone passing through on the train as they would want money.

The night train is civilized in a way that I wouldn’t expect for a country with so much chaos. A train guy brings you a towel, pillow, and stack of sheets. There are also train people that come by and bring chai, coffee, chips, and dinner for inexpensive prices. Sarah and I brought dinner so we didn’t try the dinner on the train, but it looked pretty good. When we were walking onto the train, I saw that they have a whole car that is dedicated to cooking with a huge open flame and a huge pot. Like I said, it’s all very civilized. That is until you try to find a garbage can to throw something away.

Sarah went to throw our garbage away under the sink in the bathroom area of the car. It wouldn’t fit. Keep in mind, this “garbage” is really just a shoot to the tracks. Anyway, the train door was open because we were stopped in the middle of nowhere (you can open the door whenever—including when the train is in motion, and even get off the train if you’d like), and a train employee just motioned to Sarah to chuck it outside. It’s no mystery as to why there is garbage everywhere with a mentality like that.

As we were getting ready for bed and making our sheets, Sarah saw a cockroach on the bottom bunk. Not surprising really. That meant that I got the bottom bunk and Sarah slept on the top. I fell asleep pretty quickly, despite the hustle and bustle of the train. People wander by; the train stops at other stations; train employees errantly open the curtains in passing. A couple of people in our group had some bad experiences. Dave and Alicia were sound asleep and some other people got on that weren’t very nice. They turned on the lights, were really loud, and tried to kick them out of their seats/beds. Sarah and had a nice time. I better than Sarah. I slept like a baby, and woke up the next morning.

We woke up at 5AM this morning so that we could partake in a boat ride up the Ganges to witness the morning rituals. The Ganges is a sacred spot in Hindu religion, and many people aspire to go on a pilgrimage to Varanasi once in their lifetime.  Varanasi is also known as “kashi,” which means bright and shiny in Sanskrit, and is home to Shiva, a central God in the Hindu religion.

The ultimate goal of a Hindu is to achieve moksa, which is liberation from the cycle of birth and death. More or less, the conditions of each life are determined by the amount of karma you have built up in previous lives. You can only escape this cycle of rebirth when you achieve moksa. The caste system is an off-shoot of these principals. For instance, if you do not have sufficient karma (deeds) from your previous life(s), you will be reborn as something other than a Brahman (priest) or Kshatriya (ruler or warrior). The aim of the Hindu is ultimately achieve moksa, but there are three other goals that more or less comprise moksa. Once you have achieved sufficient kama (pleasure), dharma (truth), and artha (prosperity), to be cremated and then dumped in the Ganges is to attain moksa—liberation from the cycle of life and death.

We got off the bus and walked through the early morning streets. At first, it was almost deserted—a first since we’ve been in India. As we walked east and gradually got closer to the river, it became more crowded. Our group is large, and honestly, is too large for a walk like this. First, we stick out like a sore thumb more so than we would otherwise due to the size and attract all manner of beggars and hawkers. Second, we have some people in the group that are quite a bit older and it’s difficult for them to keep up. Almost at the river, we got split in two by a group of people walking to the river chanting mantras and clanging thumb cymbals. We made it to the steps (there are many different sets), and made our way out to the boat. Almost all of us bought flowers and votives from a young old boy (who I would guess is the son of the boat operator), and sent them down the river with a silent wish or prayer, partaking in a Hindu tradition.

The attainment of moksa (or the attempt of it) is on display every morning on the Ganges. There are 84 different ghats that line the Ganges in Varanasi. Each ghat has a particular audience, typically a region. The ghats run 24 hours a day, and we saw a few different ghats that were in use. I would imagine that we’ll see more later when we venture back out to the market and out to the evening rituals.

The scenes on the side of the Ganges are stereotypically Indian, and something to behold. A riot of colors, people, garbage, dogs, monkeys, cows, rituals, tourists, buildings, decay, hawkers and everything else in between. It’s life lived in public, where it might normally be much more private in Western societies. People wash things in the river. They bath. They pray. They swim. They brush their teeth. It’s a bit unnerving to see people bathing, swimming, and washing things in a river so filthy, but to them it’s sacred.

After we got off the boat, we walked back through a now awakened city. This was the first time that I have been made to feel uncomfortable from the aggressive begging. One particular woman with very large gold earrings, an empty bottle, and a small baby just wouldn’t leave us alone. It was uncomfortable. Our tour guide tells me that many of the beggars, especially children, are begging for the mafia. Apparently, they are kidnapped, disfigured, sent to beg on the streets, and then the money is collected by the mafia at the end of the day. I’m not sure if I buy this. It seems incredible that something like that could happen on a large scale. But that’s what he says. His approach to begging is more targeted. He also tells me that if you really want to do something to help people out that you should go to one of the ashrams where people congregate and ask what they need, get it at the market, and bring it back there. That way, the money goes to good use, and can’t be used for drugs, given to the mafia, or squandered in some way. Regardless of the whys surrounding begging, it is something that is uncomfortable to be confronted with. Beggars will make you feel like the upper-middle class, educated, rich, white male that you are in a fraction of a second. LA has its share of beggars too; a walk down skid-row will certainly result in some similar scenes. Here, it’s much more visceral, probably because the streets are narrower, grittier, grimier, and much less well defined. It doesn’t really appear that you are in a city of four million people. Rather, it feels as if you have stepped back in time to some bygone less civilized time and are in a collection of shacks with poor infrastructure, and little to no organization.

We were almost charged by a bull that was shooed away by some construction workers. Sarah and I were definitely intimidated by the massive, pissed off cow in the middle of a narrow street, but thankfully, it passed us by and we kept on walking through the grime.

Once we got back to the bus, we drove through the University area. It’s lush and laid out like an actual city with defined boundaries, and is a refreshing difference from the chaos of the streets.  Still, the lack of landscaping and decoration make it markedly not western. As we made our way back to the hotel, our guide pointed out the shops that sell nothing but the things needed for a cremation ceremony: bamboo stretchers, linens, sandalwood, and everything else. You certainly don’t see stacks of caskets being sold on the street amongst everything else in the US or Europe. It’s just another indication that you are in another place entirely.

At breakfast, I had another fantastic coconut chutney. It’s something that I’m going to have to learn to make in the States because it’s delicious. After breakfast, we didn’t have much of anything to do because the tour was basically done. We opted to head into the crazy market area with a few other people from our tour group since we had the entire day to do something with before seeing the evening ceremonies at 5.

After walking for what seemed like hours past all sorts of shops, we turned at St. Thomas Church and headed further and further into the market area. A lot of what is for sale in the market seems pretty predictable: cheap toys, cheap clothes, cheap food, and kitschy souvenir crap. However, there are a bewildering array of storefronts that clearly don’t cater at all to tourists, and cater only to locals. They’re small and seem to specialize in one thing, as opposed to being “general merchandise” types of shops. Some of the most interesting ones are: sewing machines (never seen so many restored Singers before), pipes, baskets, re-bar, chairs, scaffolding, noodles, copper pots, paint, and live chickens. After getting into the crazy market area, we wandered aimlessly, just trying to make sense of the sensory overload of horns, people, cycle rickshaws, cows, people, honking cars, heat, monkeys, more people, more cars, motorcycles, and hawkers. Eventually, after turning into a narrow shaded alleyway, we made our way into some shops.

Sarah and I ended up buying a couple of pillow covers, two t-shirts, and a pair of pants after some bargaining for 1050 Rs (21$). We actually paid too much. I thought Sarah wanted the pants, so we didn’t push the 800 Rs price that I suggested. Regardless, still way cheaper than the States, and fun to partake in.

We kept wandering through the market, and eventually reached a point where we were back on the main road. At the junction of the main road, there was a transformer and several armed guards (military) standing there, along with a monkey that I suspect had leprosy. He looked sick and deranged, and the military guys shooed us along because the monkey definitely looked like he was deranged. Very sad to see. Then it was back into the heat and the absolute chaos of the main street. There, we encountered a first in India. Traffic cops. Specifically men in kaki colored uniforms, armed with a bamboo stick and stationed in one of the main traffic circles. It seems their job is to hit tuk tuks, rickshaws (both rickshaw and driver), animals, motorcyclists and all other occupants of the road with the stick in order to keep everyone moving. We walked back towards the hotel, and stopped off at the restaurant that we had dinner at the night before.

The owner was there and recognized us. Today was just as good as the yesterday. I had an enormous thali which was absurdly good, especially since it was only 185 Rs (less than 4$). Sarah had the chow mein – best she’s ever had (India is actually known for having very good chinese food).  While meticulously taking our orders, the owner told us how much he loved his restaurant. He called it his church, and said that the customers were his God, and serving them was his worship. After getting thoroughly stuffed, we headed back towards the hotel, and Sarah and I went into the Indian department store. There was techno blasting, the clothes didn’t seem to be very good value, and it seemed a little run down. But it was fun to go inside.

We got back to the hotel, and were hoping that the cable would be fixed. No. Still blacked out. Apparently, somewhere around 19 million people in seven major cities (including Varanasi) don’t have cable because the companies that provide cable didn’t complete the conversion to set top boxes in time. Bananas. Really. All the TV just went dark. I think if this happened in the US there would be riots. If you threw in the basically non-working internet, you might end up with a full on coup of the government or something. It would be serious. Here, people just kind of shrug and roll with it.

We set out for the evening rituals on the Ganges at about five via cycle rickshaws. We got to the first turn at a roundabout, and saw that the street we needed to go on was completely blocked off by a live band. Time for plan B. Satendra told the rickshaw drivers to go all the way around the roundabout, and instead of riding on the main road, we got a tour of the back streets/suburbs. It was quite a bit different. The road was filled with even more potholes and bumpy parts, temples, there were butchers, more cows, what I’m going to assume was raw sewage on the sides of the road, and what looked like some houses. Our driver was a scrawny, glassy eyed guy with teeth stained bright red from chewing betel leaves. He looked a bit altered; I don’t blame him. His job must be hard. To make it even harder, his bike was way to big for him, and was a fixed gear. Instead of pedaling normally, he would shift all his weight from one side on the up stroke to the other, taking his foot completely off one pedal at a time. I don’t know how he rides the bike. Hence his glassy look. Combined with the traffic and the bike, I think his job may be difficult.

We got off the rickshaws and walked through a much larger crowd to get down to our evening boat. Thankfully, the evening boat did not have a diesel engine, so we could actually hear Satendra. We got more flowers to light (the Hindu way of making a wish), and got moving.

The nighttime rituals are totally different than the morning ones, and we happened to be there during a festival, so we got to see some interesting Hindu ceremonies that we might not have otherwise gotten to see.

The main difference that we saw between morning and night was probably the cremations. We got extremely close to them and observed what was going on. There were at least 17 active cremations all going on at once. It was voyeuristic and awkward, but at the same time, something I’m glad to have seen. The scene itself is nothing short of surreal. Imagine 17 funeral pyres, tons of men (women aren’t allowed at cremations), at least 5 cows, boats, garbage, a river, a body being washed one last time in the river, some tourists observing the whole scene, and a woman bathing in the river. All of this is on a single ghat that maybe measures fifty yards across. What’s strange about the scene other than the obvious visual craziness is that it feels very matter of fact and devoid of emotion. It just is, and there is a sense that people aren’t grieving but are just doing something they have to do. This apparently is one of the reasons why women aren’t allowed: they might cry. You can see them gathered up above the ghat observing from a distance while the men stand around. The cows do whatever they please, including eating the flowers that are used to decorate the bodies. As our tour guide put it to me when I asked why holy animals like cows are allowed to roam free and eat garbage: “Remember, this is a democracy.” Translation? The cows get to do whatever they want, and their owners let them run free.

There are many rules/rituals associated with the cremation ceremony. The oldest son buys the wood, and also buys the flame to start the cremation from the priest. There are five types of Hindus that aren’t cremated: snake-bite victims (apparently not a natural cause of death), sadoos (holy men), pregnant women, babies, and lepers. These types of deaths are all treated differently. No women are allowed on the ghats. An “untouchable” touches the body and moves it into position for the fire after giving the body one last dip in the Ganges. After the cremation is completed, the ashes are sent into the Ganges. No ashes are kept because that would represent a tie to the physical world and the goal of the Hindu is to achieve moksa and escape the cycle of birth and rebirth. This is the same reason a show of grief is not allowed, it would create an attachment. When the cremation is done, the stretcher for the body is made unusable (again, by an untouchable).

We turned away after a while, and went to watch the evening prayers at another ghat. Perhaps the most striking part of the prayers is the ringing of bells—lots of bells—for the entire ceremony. This is to drown out all other thoughts and open the third eye. It’s the antithesis to the silent meditation of the Buddhists. I think the bells make a lot of sense. They create an enormous amount of white noise, and make it almost impossible to make out anything else. After the bells, mantras are chanted, flower petals are thrown, and things are burned. It’s atmospheric to observe.

We had chai delivered to the boat, and Satendra shared his chaat with me. I was a little worried about getting sick, because the boats are pretty filthy and I definitely had had a lot of contact with the boat, and so had he. The chaat he brought were little rice crackers, and also a dab of spicy mint chutney in newspaper. Despite being more than a little nervous about getting sick, I didn’t want to offend and tried some. Pretty delicious—spicy, crunchy, and salty (and thankfully, after two full days not getting sick, I would imagine I’m in the clear). The chai was also good, but insanely sweet. Indians definitely like sweet.

We walked back to towards where we were meeting the rickshaws, thought we were lost in all the chaos, and suddenly turned down an alley, went around a corner, and were confronted with a vacant lot that contained all of the bicycle rickshaw drivers. I never would have thought given the chaos and craziness on the street that there would be a hidden space that would be available for this purpose. But there was. We got a second ride from our glassy eyed rickshaw guy, went back to the same restaurant we went to for lunch (delicious again), and went back to the hotel. We had a couple of drinks at the bar, and then went to bed.

March 30th

First thing this morning, we left and took off in the bus. More craziness ensued. The new driver is definitely crazier than the old driver by a significant margin. Remember way back when I said that Naples was chaotic? I think Naples is tame now. There’s no doubt in my mind that it can’t get much crazier on the roads than here. It doesn’t help when you have a driver that seems to be quite liberal with traffic laws. At one point today, we veered to miss something, and almost tipped the bus over. We were on two wheels. For real. The road was pretty narrow and not that great, with a large differential between the dirt and the actual asphalt. I think our tour guide was even a little unnerved by practically tipping over.

After a stop for coffee, we arrived in Khajuraho. Imagine our surprise when we arrived at the Radison. Yep, we’re staying at an American hotel brand. Nice, but not that interesting. And it’s still India, which means that the Wi-Fi sucks, and there are definitely bits around the edges that make you scratch your head. Like when the power goes out, or when there’s marble everywhere, and yet the bathroom has an unfinished, partially decaying look to it because someone can’t master drywall or make the caulk on the tiling in the shower flush with the beginning of the drywall. Or the toilet seat that is too small for the bowl. Or, the sign on the bathroom counter imploring you to run the hot water for 5-7 minutes to get the desired temperature right next to a sign telling you to conserve water by reusing your towels. Let’s also remember that this is particularly asinine on the hotels part when you consider that the road leading up to the hotel features small villages that don’t have running water (it only works for two hours per day) and utilize wells the rest of the time. And for the first time in India, a pay exorbitant prices for your snacks scheme. And also 25% more for Wifi access.

After lunch, we made our way to visit the Chandela temples in Khajuraho. Stunning. They were all built between the 10^th and 12^th century and are remarkably well preserved. The temples in the main complex are all Hindu temples that are no longer functional. The Mughals made many of the temples unusable when they destroyed the idols contained within by smashing off their faces. This rendered the temples not functional for Hindu purposes. Seems crazy to destroy these temples because of a religious rule that prevents depictions of living things, and too bad that one religion had be so short-sided about their views when the Hindu’s have been so moderate.

The other attraction of the temples is their depictions of the Kama Sutra. Some of the scenes include bestiality, and in another scene, there is a lone laughing elephant.

All in all, these temples are fantastic and off the beaten path. Not a lot of people around, which is a refreshing change. Next, we visited another group of temples from the same period that are Jain temples. The Jains are an off-shoot of Hindus, and feature some monks that are completely naked, all the time. We saw one walking on the road on the way to Orccha. Sort of a bit strange to see someone completely naked in public.

Got back on the bus, and then we had a bit of a party. David, a guy from Newcastle, for whatever reason had a bottle of Cuban rum that needed to be consumed. So Satendra brought a bunch of cokes, mango juice, and Fanta, and we drank the rum in the bus. Indian party bus. We also had some Lay’s that were Magic Masala flavored—delicious. Bags are also about a third of the size of a bag of Lay’s in the States.

We returned to the hotel, and since there’s nothing else to do really except for pay for slow internet service circa 1996, we ate dinner, and then watched the CCTV.

March 31st

Today may have been our most Indian day yet (more on that in a minute). I got up relatively early and had breakfast while Sarah was asleep. Khajuraho is really in the middle of nowhere. Had some delicious things for breakfast, including a coconut chutney. I am getting more bold about eating stuff; Sarah is getting more cautious. Her stomach has been feeling a bit sore the last the last couple of days. Personally, I’ve just been avoiding cut fruit and just about everything raw, but have been starting to take in the chutneys and stuff like that. I figure that we’re almost about to leave, and it would be a shame to eat nothing but the rich Mughal food all the time. One can only take so much ghee and rich food before one starts to go a little mad and want something that tastes fresh and bright, instead of deep and rich.

Talking to Satendra this morning, he let me in on why we were flying to Varanasi instead of driving or taking the train. Driving takes 12 hours, the train takes around 24 hours, and flying takes about 35 minutes. Gee, which choice are we going to take? Since the flight didn’t leave until later, we didn’t leave the hotel until about 11 AM. After a five minute drive to the airport, we ended up in the Khajuraho airport. The town has some pretty bold ambitions in store for themselves: there is a sign inside declaring that they will be a major international hub by 2016. Judging by what we saw, that seems like a tall order. The current airport is basically a shack. It has one or maybe two flights per day. There are no services at the airport. They don’t even have one of those fancy jet-ways that come up to the cockpit. No, you have to walk across the tarmac. The security is both less of a hassle than the US and more of a hassle at the same time. At this airport, the first thing you have to do is the passport check. Then, you get inside and you have to put a tag on your hand luggage. Meanwhile, your checked bag goes through a screening machine and then is piled on the floor next to the check in counter. Oh, did I mention that there isn’t enough space for all this to happen at the same time? So yes, imagine 28 people standing around to check in amongst all the bags and also the x-ray machine. Then, just for fun, add a 1960’s banding machine that is broken and 5 guys trying to fix it, along with a couple of paramilitary guys carrying assault rifles. Oh, and who could forget the random airport employees. Yes, this system clearly works. After this gauntlet, you get your boarding pass and proceed to the not yet open security screening area that is about 5 feet away (remember, only one flight per day or something). There, you can sit in a chair, and read the signs. Specifically, catapults are not allowed on the plane. Nor is “chilly” powder. Bribes are also not acceptable, and if you have a complaint you are encouraged to “Not wear your frown on your forehead.” (Just in case you were wondering about these things, because I know that I did.)

Next, you go through the “gents frisking booth”, or the “ladies frisking booth,” to get frisked and put through a metal detector before your boarding pass gets two stamps. At some point your carry on baggage gets a stamp too, but not before dumping its contents in entirely into various bins and scanning them all several times. Then, you get into the actual terminal. It’s roughly 20 feet by 50 feet and looks like something that you might see in a movie where they go to some remote military base or an airport in the middle of some banana republic in Africa in the middle of the 80’s. It certainly leaves something to be desired. If you are lucky, your flight will be delayed by an hour or so and you’ll get to spend some extra time there. (We got to.)

Finally, our plane arrived. It wasn’t hard to tell that it was our plane because it landed and this was the only plane that was at the airport that any of us could see. Time for boarding. To board, you present your boarding pass, they check that your hand luggage still has its stamped tag (really, what else could happen in a few hundred square feet?), and then you get to walk out on the tarmac observing the paramilitary types guarding the plane. Remember that thing I said about banana republics and whatnot? Certainly feels that way when the plane is flanked on each corner by a dude with something similar to an AK-47.

After a hot, unremarkable and short flight, we landed in Varanasi. After proceeding to the bus, we drove straight to the hotel. Along the way, we passed traffic that was less nuts than the traffic going to Orccha. This might be a function of how sane the driver is compared to the old one (new driver for this leg). I don’t know. We also passed a fish market. It’s hot out. Yet people were selling fish (even saw a huge catfish) unrefrigerated, with flies swarming about. Some were still alive. I don’t know how this is even potentially close to sanitary. It’s one thing to eat raw fish, or to catch something and then leave it for a couple of hours in a cooler, or on the counter. It’s another thing entirely to leave fish out all day in 90+F heat uncovered, un-refrigerated, and just on the street. How this is acceptable in a country where you have to take off your shoes to enter temples boggles my mind.

The road to Varanasi also seems to be home to more cows than the previous places. Paradoxically, it also seems to be a bit more modern, with several shops that seem to have more defined boundaries. Stopped to get money at the ATM and noticed immediately that stepping off the insulated world of the tour bus that the street is extraordinarily loud. There is an energy that is far different than the energy that you sense while contained in what ultimately amounts to a rolling palace of Western-ness on the tour bus. There is no AC on the street. It smells. There is no barrier between the ragged children that approach you. There is no barrier to the garbage. You can hear the call to prayer from the Mosque and glimpse the inside of a temple dedicated to the monkey god, Hanuman. It is completely different. I also witnessed a man “watering” a transformer right in the middle of the street. This is just my impression based on a couple of miles of road up to the hotel. Although Varanasi is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, there is not much of historic significance here that is not religious in nature. Maybe it will change tomorrow with a visit to the ghats.

The hotel, the Hindustan International, looks modern, even if the drive to the hotel doesn’t really. We were greeted with mango juice and beautiful necklaces made from seeds of some sort. The room is modern. We have a view of what I would imagine is the Ganges, and also of an old man’s serene courtyard. The Wi-Fi is awful, and expensive too. Poor India, how on earth can people exist with infrastructure that is flat out broken? It both boggles my mind and makes me glad that the US, despite its shortcomings, it’s at least functional.

After a short sojourn at the hotel where Sarah and I watched some BBC World News, we headed out to dinner. Dinner for once not at the hotel. Satendra, our guide, took us to a local vegetarian spot called Spicy Tadka. It looked a bit sketchy on the outside, but turned out being particularly great. Sarah and I both got “sizzler” platters, filled with roasted vegetables, cheese, and spinach cheese cakes. The mint chutney was pretty great. Since the place is typically Indian, they also had a ton of Chinese food and some “continental” cuisine. David, the person next to me, ordered a pizza. Pizza really doesn’t seem that unusual, given that India makes so many different types of breads: paranthas, roti, naan, poori, and many more. Pizza makes sense here, although this particular version did not appear to be pizza as we would have known it. The best part about this restaurant other than the food and the fact that it was not the hotel restaurant, was that it was cheap. We’ve been averaging about $1500 Rs (30$) for both of us for dinner if we get some beer. For both of us, with a bottle of water, a fresh lime soda, and an aggressive tip, was only 750 Rs. Way cheaper, and way better. The hotel may be objectively safer, but it’s way more expensive, and also not as good.

After a short and chaotic walk back to the hotel, we went to sleep.

Got a very early start this morning on our way to Orccha. Had breakfast at the hotel, and then made it on the bus. Our tour guide, Satendra, looks like he is beginning to fray around the edges. There’s been something brewing under the surface since Delhi and he seems mercurial. I feel bad for the guy. We have a couple of folks in the group who I would politely term “pains in the ass.” “40 bags for 27 people!” is what he told me this morning when I asked him if he’d heard the expression “herding cats.” And of course, he has to deal with them. It’s kind of funny that these people took a tour—they’ve clearly taken them before—and yet they complain about the things that happen on any tour. I find some parts about tours to be less than ideal (that’s why we never take them and just do our own thing), but I also know that we purposefully took a tour and have just rolled with it. It’s a great way to experience a country that is so obviously foreign for the first time.

Made it to the train station, and much to Sarah’s delight, it’s not nearly as crazy as all those movies seem to show it. Sure, I’m sure that there are stations that are nuts in India, and I’m sure it’s true that a significant number of people die courtesy of being hit by trains here. But it’s not anything like any of Sarah’s worst fears. In fact, the Agra train station is sleepy even by sleepy European train station standards. Sure the stations here are filthy and have that moldering falling apart character that seems to be everywhere in India, and there are some things that are pretty insane—like people actually crossing the tracks, including the sanitation workers—but it’s not even close to Sarah’s worst fears.

Our train is basically the same as a European train, except they have free water, free Mango Sip juice boxes, and talkative Indians. You don’t get any of that on the train in any European country. You also don’t get conductor types coming by and telling you that you’re talking too loudly. It’s all pretty damn civilized. When you think about the chaos everywhere else in the country, I don’t know how the train even exists. Maybe our experience will be different on other train rides from other points. We’ll find out going from Varanasi to Delhi.

Once out of the train, we had a minor scare with my bag—thought it had disappeared. It’s weird being with the tour company, because they hire porters to carry our stuff. The porters, all of whom are shorter than me by several inches, will carry two giant suitcases on their heads at a time. I don’t think this is something that Sarah and I would have ever done because we’re pretty self-sufficient. It’s really the same reason that we don’t ever valet our cars unless required to. Why bother? Here, it’s so cheap, I suppose that you might as well. So anyway, we thought that my bag might have gotten lost. Thankfully it was sitting by our new bus.

The old bus driver had a bus with no curtains. New bus? Curtains, that look like they came from the 70’s. And a fancy horn. About the new bus driver: definitely a bit riskier than the old one. Our first bus driver was a middle-aged guy wearing a Yankees hat. New guy? Wearing a uniform, but definitely not driving like he’s wearing one. On the way up to Orccha, we had numerous close calls. Sarah and I were sitting up front and kind of wondering when we’d actually run into something, whether it be a cow, goat, person, guy with a hand cart filled with lumber, dirt bike, garbage truck, semi, other tourist bus, or a dog that was sleeping in the middle of the road. Thankfully, we managed to hit nothing, although we had some pretty close calls.

Got to the hotel, which is really nice, peaceful, and laid out like a villa. Beautiful. We received some very pretty lei-like necklaces of marigolds on arrival. We lucked out and got a room on the main floor, which has views of the backyard. On other sides of the hotel, the rooms have views of the temples in Orccha. Pretty amazing. We explored the grounds, relaxed a bit, and visited the shop where the shop keeper asked us if we knew Josh Harnett, apparently he’d stayed there recently while filming a movie. After lunch, and the best baigan barta we’ve had yet,  we went to visit the cenotaphs in Orccha, and we also visited the Jehangir Mahal, which is a 17^th century palace. Visiting the palace with our too laid back guide who looked like he came straight out of an Italian movie, it was apparent that US building codes and safety ordinances don’t apply in India. There are parts of the palace where there is a drop of well over a hundred feet and no railing, or railing that comes to roughly mid-shin. It’s actually refreshing to see this, because the palaces and places we’ve been here retain more of their character just because they don’t have bolt-on safety additions that look like shit. But you probably should be just a little bit more careful wandering around, because if you trip or something…

The palace also has a second building where you can see paintings in the kings and queens rooms. The paintings, although deteriorated and not in great shape, are interesting to look at because they contain all of the incarnations of Vishnu, including the Buddha. I hadn’t consciously realized (although at one point in school I probably did) that Buddha had anything to do with Hinduism. Buddha was the 9^th incarnation of Vishnu. Hindu’s, like other major religions, are still waiting for the 10^th incarnation of Vishnu. Just like Christianity is waiting for the second coming of Christ. Common themes exist in all religions and are on display in a country like India, which has a rich and multi-faceted history encompassing many different ones.

After looking at the Jehangir Mahal, we explored the cenotaphs, which are deserted tombs. Since Hindu’s are cremated when they die, there aren’t graves. But there are memorials, and these cenotaphs are that. The cenotaphs look exotic and can be viewed from the hotel. You can climb up them and get some pretty spectacular views of the Betwa River and the surrounding areas. Because there isn’t a ton of development or people running around, you can easily imagine looking out across these vistas that it’s the 1600’s or something and you’re in a malarial backwater. Pretty cool. The last thing that was interesting about the cenotaphs is that they seem to be inhabited by vultures. The vultures are critically endangered because of drugs they give cattle, but we saw about a dozen of them nesting and flying around the cenotaphs. They have huge wing-spans and were interesting to watch.

After the cenotaphs, we walked through the small village. I bought some spices from a guy who was really into American pro wrestling, and Sarah bought some color boxes, which are little vessels that contain the pigments used in Holi.  She bought them from a really nice kid of about 12 named Harris. Harris took his time, neatly and meticulously packing each box with color. While he was doing so, she made friends with the girl who owned the shop next door, Neelan, about 17. Neelan tied a little bracelet with bells on it around Sarah’s wrist as a “gift”, but of course, it required an obligatory perusal of Neelan’s store. Her “store” was a blanket laid out on the street with a bunch of bangles in a pile. Sarah looked, and wanted to buy something because Neelan and Harris were both really genuinely nice, and not super pushy and salesy, but the selection left quite a bit to be desired. Sarah asked if she had any of the metal anklets with bells. She ran across the street and appeared with some. Sarah bought one, and we were on our way having made 2 Indian friends.

After walking back to the bus, we made it back to the hotel and had dinner. Satender seems to pick up on the fact that we like food and sent me three things to try at dinner.—baighan bharta (but with way more chili than ours came with), a pappadam covered with tomatoes, herbs, red onion and chili (basically like a salsa fresca except the pappadam), and chilis that had been salted and roasted. All were delicious. I was surprised at the similarities between the pappadam and Mexican food.

It was an early start today from Bharatpur so that we could get out to see the Taj Mahal. After breakfast, we left for Agra and made our way to Fatehpur Sikri. Fatehpur Sikri is an abandoned city left behind by Akbar. Akbar, although a Muslim, was famously tolerant of different religions and kept a wife from each of the major faiths—a Hindu, Muslim, and Christian wife. He built the compound and his descendants never inhabited it after he died. Lots of Mughal architecture and some interesting pieces. Specifically, there was the stone that people sentenced to death were crushed by elephants on (no joke), palaces for each of his wives, and the original king bed, that was even filled with water to make sure that the emperor could sleep soundly without worrying that someone would off him (the thought was that the sound and movement intruders would make would wake him).

After making our way back down to the bus, we had to brave the gauntlet of hawkers again. This is becoming a common theme everywhere we go. Perhaps it would be less acute if it was just Sarah and I, but we are traveling with 26 other people and a huge bus, so we stick out quite a bit.

Next, we made our way to the Agra Fort. Along the way, we got another taste of insane Indian traffic. There was one two lane road in particular on the outskirts of Agra that definitely left a significant number of us shaking our heads in disbelief. How else to describe the scene but chaos? Controlled chaos, but still chaos. Driving in the correct lane, on the right side of the road, or swerving haphazardly into oncoming traffic to avoid a scooter, car, pedestrian, cow, water buffalo, or motorcycle carrying a guy with a goat on the back all seem to be optional ways to deal with the chaos. It’s orderly, but not in the way that we typically perceive orderly in the Western world. A honk means, “I’m coming,” not “Get out of my way.” People move over when they need to, seemingly at the last second. So there are rules, but it seems to the uninitiated that there are none.

The Agra Fort is much cooler than the Red Fort that we saw in Delhi. They are very similar, but the Agra fort is a.) much larger, and b .) much more intricate. The Agra Fort has two moats, tons of carved arches, marble, optical illusions, some spectacular courtyards, monkeys, and panoramic views of the riverside of the Taj Mahal. Since there doesn’t seem to be a whole hell of a lot to do in Agra apparently, it makes good sense to come and visit the Taj Mahal and also the Agra Fort. After exiting the fort, we made our way to the restaurant where we ate lunch.

Conveniently, the restaurant was called “Only Restaurant.” I suppose that seems appropriate, except that Agra is a city of five million people. Surely there are other places to eat. The food was good—I even had a banana lassi. Although, the restaurant left a bit to be desired in terms of comfort, atmosphere and apparent cleanliness. And decorated in a tiki-type bamboo motif, it might as well have been on a Polynesian island. The food took a long time to come out, and our tour guide Satendra told me that the reason was because of the holiday yesterday.  En mass, people just elect to not show up to work. That surprises me in some ways just because of the sheer number of people in India that are obviously economically challenged in one way or another. I don’t get the impression that the restaurant workers and servers that we have encountered are always the best off, but what do I know?

Next, it was off to the Taj Mahal. To get to the Taj, you can either walk or take a horse drawn carriage. Our carriage was manned by a little boy who I would guess was 7 (Sarah thinks 10). Between the disheveled horse (it was very skinny and apparently they treat the horses poorly), and the small child driving us, I was more than a little uncomfortable. There is no way that this situation would exist in the United States or Europe. We didn’t have a choice since this was part of the tour, so we went along with it and tipped the boy more than we should have, which he was very gracious about.

The Taj itself is mobbed, and for good reason. It’s equally mobbed by Indians and tourists alike, rising out of the distance like a surreal mirage or a lucid dream sequence.  Beautiful, magnificent, and pretty damn cool to look at. It’s iconic for a reason. Looking at the Taj, we saw some enormous lines to enter, and were dreading waiting in the humidity and heat for our chance. That’s when we found out that we had purchased the premium tickets that let you skip the line. I would imagine that these tickets are primarily the choice of tourists and not Indians because they are expensive for India and they didn’t even check to see that we had them. They saw we were white and ushered us into the line. 750 Rs, compared to 20 Rs for the normal ticket. There is no industry within a wide area around Agra now because the Taj was deteriorating from the pollution created by leather tanneries. As tourism is the primary business, I would imagine that the extra entrance fee goes to good use and indirectly supports the local economy. I was really happy that our tour group paid for the extra tickets.

Once we passed all of the people that only paid 20 Rs, we got up to the platform that the Taj sits on. The Taj is perfectly symmetrical except for one thing on the interior. There are two tombs; one of them is off center. We waited in line for a couple of minutes before being stopped at the door that leads to the actual tomb. The door is small—basically a normal door with a four inch marble lip at the front (no idea why the lip exists). Sarah and I are both glad that the guard stopped us. Since the door is small, there’s only one way in, and one way out, and there’s not a lot of space there. No bigger than our apartment.  So traffic is one way at a time. Out, or in. The out traffic was intense. Seas of people. Although the space inside is small, there seemed to be six minutes worth of people spilling out of the entrance. Small children, old ladies, babies, men, and everyone in between were pushing, seething and trying their best to get out when they began letting people out of the tomb instead of in. The pushing was aggressive and I feared that we were going to witness some people getting crushed. Literally. It was like watching a mosh-pit or one of those crazy clown cars where they’ve stuffed 30 clowns in a small car. Insane, and we were very glad that we weren’t stuck in that crush but were instead the first people from a new group to go into the tomb. The tomb is beautiful but forgettable. If we go back, we probably won’t go inside again. The real show is on the outside.

We wandered around the rest of the grounds, took a lot of pictures, took a look at the dual mosques on either side (the Taj is Islamic architecture, which prizes symmetry), saw the Princess Diana bench from a distance, and posed for some pictures with Indian families. Sarah seems to be quite the attraction here and has been getting photo requests from what I would guess are fairly normal middle-aged Hindu women with children. I find it strange, and she does too. We’ve started asking for pictures with the Indians that want pictures of us because, you know, quid pro quo.

Apparently the allure is the Western dress (certainly not what I would consider even remotely revealing really), but also the light skin and blond hair. It’s totally bonkers, but if you have very dark skin in India, it’s not desirable. I don’t get it. I wouldn’t have thought that having darker or lighter skin would make a difference. One of the funniest moments of the day occurred while we were waiting for the sunset and just about to leave. I pointed out a large group of about 40 Indians all moving past us and suggested that it would be a good picture to Sarah. In the 15 seconds it took me to notice this group, they had swarmed two other members our group—both young women—sitting on a ledge at about chest level of the group. The Indian group wanted pictures and handshakes. Like I said, the attention is unusually different from my perspective, especially since it’s coming not just from men, but also the women.

After the Taj, we had the choice of seeing the marble inlay factory or just going to the hotel. The inlay techniques are the same techniques used on the Taj Mahal. Sarah and I went to see the factory, which was educational and interesting.  We’re glad we went, and surprised that the rest of the group (only 6 of us went), didn’t come. Apparently, it’s a dying art. The tables and other marble surfaces have inlays that feature thousands of different pieces of stone. The sales tactics, although clearly of the telemarketing/direct selling type of pitch, were comfortable and not pushy and aggressive like in the rug factory. It’s clear to me that the Indian sales people we’ve encountered have mastered the “ABC rule.” They’re always trying to close. It’s too bad this is the only thing that they’ve picked up en masse. It might be beneficial if some of them learned a thing or two from the marble folks about chasing after us when we’re not interested.

We went back to the hotel, and then had dinner at the hotel again. It kills me to do this every night. I know that it’s generally expensive compared to elsewhere, and there’s a bit of my snobby cultural traveler self that is repulsed by eating at the hotel. It’s the lowest common denominator thing to do as a tourist. If you eat at the hotel, you stay in your bubble, and don’t experience anything that’s really authentic. However, in some sense, we don’t have much of a choice because most of our hotels have been a bit off the beaten path and we’ve also gotten there pretty late. Definitely makes it a bit easier to eat at the hotel. If we do it again, we’ll probably take a different approach, but this time, it has been good to experience India in a safer way.  At least there is Indian food at the hotels! It seems strange to me that they also generally have menus that feature Americanized Chinese food and “Continental” cuisine. Despite my reservations about the hotel food, we haven’t had anything at the hotels that I would consider a real dud yet.

The hotel in Agra was by far the worst hotel that we’ve stayed in; the food was expensive (well, by Indian standards anyway), and there was even an extremely loud Indian wedding in a field next door to the hotel. And an equally loud generator that was powering the affair… or the hotel? Thankfully, I hadn’t gotten rid of my China Southern airlines earplugs or I wouldn’t have been able to sleep.

Along the way, we stopped at a truck stop type of place. I’m never quite sure who’s on the take from our cadre of Indian folks following us around—these truck stops make me feel like everyone. They drop you in a truck stop—an expensive one by Indian standards—that has lots of stuff to buy, and then take their time leaving. Makes me wonder. Anyway, waiting in the parking lot, we heard the Indian equivalent of a party bus come up, with music blasting, and about a dozen Indian guys came up and tried to aggressively “play Holi” with us – which is what it is to cover someone else in color. We were saved by a Sikh man in the parking lot, who fended them off. Some of the guys were a little less aggressive so, we let them put some color on us, and then the Sikh man brushed us off.

Then we drove to the hotel in Bharatpur. We celebrated Holi at the hotel on a large lawn. In some ways, this was disappointing, because we basically just went after the other two tour groups staying at the hotel and didn’t experience Holi authentically, but rather in a sanitized fashion. It was pretty fun—I had a great time—despite my reservations about authenticity. Got pegged in the head with a bunch of red pigment and it got in my eye, which was fairly painful, so I just threw away my contact. My favorite part was after I thought we were done and another group showed up all in white after we had gotten soaked and colored to the extreme. It was pretty fun to try and get all of the people in this “virgin” group a. wet, and b. colored. If we come back for Holi again, we will definitely go native.

There was a party set up for us on the patio of the hotel. Not huge on day drinking, we shared a club soda, and meandered over to the pool, where we dipped our feet in and relaxed for a bit. We soon got our room, and showered, attempting to remove the color. We weren’t all that successful. Sarah has pink highlights that appear to be permanent, and I have a very blue ear, and some oompa-loompa looking arms.

After showering, we had some late lunch in the crazy dining room of the heritage hotel we were staying at, and then headed out to the Keoladeo National Park. The park is famous for its birds and wildlife. We had a bicycle rikshaw ride to the center of the park, and saw a ton of birds. The peacocks were neat, as were the snake birds, owl, storks and corcorans. The park is peaceful and huge, if a bit malarial with all of the bugs that are about.

Our rickshaw driver was quite the Lance Armstrong – he had an ongoing battle with Dave and Alicia’s driver for most of the tour, seeing who could beat who from point A to B. At one point near the end, we actually collided, and our rickshaw pretty much took out the other’s wheel. We weren’t sure they were going to make it all the way back to the bus, but the rickshaw wobbled its way along.

After the bird sanctuary, we went back to the hotel and had some dinner and then called it a night.

We got up super early today so that we could go for an elephant ride. Had breakfast, and then we were off to the Amber Fort (or Amer Fort). The original inhabitants of the area ruled from Amer (and so did the Maharaj), before the building of the city palace. More or less, the fort is like the Great Wall of India. It’s got seven square miles of walls surrounding the hillsides, and sits perched atop a hill.

We got up to the top of the hill via elephant. Sarah and I rode Laxmi to the top of the fort, but not before waiting in line in a pleasant courtyard for an hour or so. All of the elephants are painted in neon paint. Some with flowers, some with designs, some with lions, or birds, and then just a lonely few with next to nothing at all. As a group, they are enormously entertaining to watch and look at. You’d think that an elephant ride would be a bit smoother than it is. It’s surprisingly bumpy. Like taking a jeep on a pot-hole filled road and driving way too fast. And of course, the driver wanted a tip and wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Please sir, the elephant is a baby! We need to feed it bananas.” What we left out is that we asked how old Laxmi was five minutes before. And guess how old she is? Certainly not a baby. She’s twenty.

The fort itself is a like a giant tree-house, filled with nooks and crannies and crazy steep staircases. There are also several well-decorated courtyards. One has a garden. Another has a room that is covered with paint and pieces of convex glass with silver on the back to create mirrors. One courtyard was the Maharaj’s harem for his 12 wives. After braving a sea of hawkers, we made it down to the main level of the palace and descended by jeep, in a similarly bumpy, but far faster manner than that of our ascent via elephant. Before we took off on the ride that could have been straight out of an adventure movie, we had one more chance to have hawkers hawk pictures of us riding Laxmi up to the top. They wanted two hundred rupees, then one hundred rupees, but I told them we only had five rupees. He said that was too little, and we tried to reason with him that if we left in the jeep without selling the pictures, they were worth nothing (we were already in the jeep at this point). This particular hawker stuck to his guns and actually ripped the pictures of us up in disgust. I guess that ten cents wasn’t enough. There were six of us in each Jeep, and the one ahead of us had an even more persistent hawker. He hung off the back of flying Jeep, trying to close his sale all the way back to our bus.

We got back on the bus and that’s when we heard the news: the elephant parade was cancelled. Apparently, animal rights activists had the government shut it down. It seems strange to shut down the elephant parade and elephant polo, but not shut down the sea of elephants ferrying tourists up a steep hill in the blazing sun. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s what happened.

Instead of going back to the hotel, we made a b-line for the market that we had seen from the bus the day before. It looked pretty crazy, and we knew that we had to at least wander around for a bit. We weren’t disappointed. We got dropped by the bus in a traffic circle and damn near got run over trying to get to the other side. The mentality here is completely different than in the Western world. Instead of waiting for cars to stop and then venturing out in the street, you just step out and figure that the cars will stop. Totally different mentality. We’re going to have to watch out when we get back home.

The market area is completely insane. Words don’t do the noise and chaos justice. Motorcycles, bicycle rickshaws, people, cars, cows, garbage, street vendors and tourists all descend on a limited amount of space and somehow manage to share it. It isn’t always comfortable. I bought two bananas after a bit of bargaining for 10 Rs. Then we went on the real shopping extravaganza—Sarah bought pants (two pairs plus a scarf), and bangles. Then we randomly stumbled into a Bengali sweet shop that was HACCP certified and has been around since 1728. It was an actual shop—which was exciting—so we tried a ladoo at the recommendation of the person at the front. He brought us a sample in his hand, which definitely wasn’t something that we were comfortable with just because of all the stuff we’ve heard about India and getting sick, etc. But we had a bite because we didn’t want to offend, and then purchased some for ourselves. Only 40 Rs for four ladoo’s and 4 bottles of water. That’s about $0.80, which is almost too cheap to believe.

We then ventured back out into the chaos, and since tomorrow is Holi, the festival of colors, there were many vendors selling colors. We hailed a tuk-tuk, and while doing that, got chased down by a couple of tweens that really wanted to nail us with colors. We’d let a couple of kids put some color on us, and that apparently was the invitation needed for anyone else to then “play Holi” with you. They were surprisingly aggressive, and the only reason we got into the tuk-tuk at the price he quoted back to our hotel was that he fended of the kids in Hindi for us. He was pretty nice, but he really wanted to take us to some shops, where I’m sure he gets a commission. He dropped us off at our hotel without too much trouble. It’s moments like these when I wonder if the entire country is on the take in some way. I guess on the flip side, we had a ten minute taxi ride that was 120 Rs, which amounts to a little over two dollars US. I don’t know any taxi anywhere in the US where the fixed fee just to get in is lower than that, much less with ride included.

We got back to the hotel, and then ventured out for the remainder of the elephant parade that got canceled. There were still a lot of Rajasthani performers of various types, so we went and watched them. It was a little bit boring, to be honest, but there were parts that were interesting. The first interesting part was Sarah taking place in a race where she had to carry a jug of water on her head—and took out an Indian woman for second place. Of course, since tomorrow is Holi, Sarah got covered in dyed water and probably ruined her shirt since it was dyed red. She was pretty excited though to win an elephant statue. She never ended up getting it though, because we had to leave the festival early. The second interesting thing that happened is that we got swarmed by an extortionary band of pirate children. You might think that you just read that wrong, but that’s what happened. The fair was on the polo grounds, and we were sitting in chairs off to the side of the polo grounds. Since the festival itself got very boring, very fast, we were amongst the last people in the stands and became a magnet for little kids carrying strands of beads, and even more terrifying, henna. I suppose the henna itself isn’t terrifying, it was the audaciousness of one 8 year old girl. Sarah and I watched as she grabbed a hand and just started henna-ing. Pretty bold. Especially since Henna can last for a couple of weeks, even with heavy washing. Even bolder still when you consider that she expects money for this service. She was surprisingly deliberate about completing the design and actually did a great job. This was in sharp contrast to the four or five year old girl also employing the same tactics. She definitely did Henna like a small child tries to color and draw straight lines. After what seemed like ages, our tour guide appeared again and we were able to leave.

On the way out, a guy wanted to swamp me with color. When I looked at him a bit funny, another Indian guy about my age just stared me down kung-fu master style and said “Respect the color.” Intense.

We got back to the hotel, and then went to dinner at a place called Durg. Not many people from the group came, which I was surprised by. The restaurant had Rajasthani folk dancers and music. They were pretty entertaining to watch. One woman balanced a stack of five pots on her head (I know this sounds kind of lame, but it was pretty cool). She also balanced flaming pots on her head. The main male dancer spun huge metal disks like basketballs, and also breathed fire. He was definitely ingesting some of the kerosene given the strong smell. Probably not the healthiest thing.

Sarah and I got suckered into dancing with them. They said it was going to be two minutes, but it felt like much longer than that. It was pretty fun. They were even cracking up because I nearly fell off of the edge of the pedestal they were dancing on. Oh, and the guy really smelled like kerosene up close.