The air conditioning did work, but only reached the first half of the bus. This previous passengers had destroyed the overhead console, removing the speakers and air vents so that all the cold air was spent on the first few rows. We were sitting in the very last row, and almost no cold air could be felt from the vents. The windows could not be opened, and the starboard window had been broken and replaced with a large piece of plywood. Fragments of glass could still be found on the ground near the seat anchors. Swathi and I were port side, she had the window seat, and the father of the Muslim family sat next to me as he and his wife tried to keep their sons from getting out of hand.
The eldest son was obviously not very happy about not having his own seat in the bus. The moment we were placed in our seats and about to leave Delhi, he stood in the aisle, looked wistfully at his dad and asked in Hindi, "Maiṁ kahāṁ baiṭhoon?" ("Where do I sit?"). He would repeat this over and over, and eventually turned it into a song by varying its tone and continuing the chant. After making several suggestions which were largely ignored, the exasperated dad said "Mērē ser par baiṭhō " ("You can sit on my head.")
As the trip progressed, we became more comfortable with the idea of being with this group. All of the passengers were headed to Agra, as we had hoped, and we made friends with the young family.
The uncomfortable ride finally came to a halt at our first destination, Agra Fort. A man, presumed to be part of the tour company, asks us for money to pay for entry into the fort. Swathi's entrance fee was ₹20 and because I am a foreigner, mine was ₹300. We give him a ₹1,000 inr note to pay for the ₹300 inr ticket. I asked him for change and he said that he would give it to me, then walked away. The other passengers began to stand up and get off the bus. We followed their lead, down the steep stairs of the bus and into the blinding light of the sun. We were parked on the side of the road, street vendors and pedestrians on our left, cars whizzing by on our right. I could not see the man who took our money.
Our water reserves were already depleted from the bus ride, so we got more from the street vendors, then followed the group across the street. We could not tell who was part of the group because everyone was so spread out. It looked to me like everyone was there on their own accord. Swathi spotted our friends from the bus and they led us back to the group.
The fort was massive, its red, multi-leveled walls were guarded by stout towers and a moat. It wrapped around the entire complex and would have been intimidating for anyone wishing to capture it.
After a gender-segregated security check and haphazard ticket counting, the man, who was now clearly the tour guide for our group, gave me the promised ₹700 change. Beyond the great red walls, a long ramp with horizontal grooves (to give the horses traction) rises up to the courtyard. A marble plaque at the top of the ramp gives some information about history of the fort. I have copied its words here:
Swathi was keeping me company and occasionally filled me in on small tidbits of information the guide was giving out in Hindi. Of course, I couldn't understand a word he said, so I just tried to keep out of everyone's way and take pictures.
When we got in front of the harem complex, the guide approached me and asked for my camera. I am fairly defensive of my camera, so I asked him why he wanted it. He just insisted, with his hand outstretched, "give me camera." I reluctantly handed it over. At once, I understood that he meant to take our picture when he gestured to have us stand in front of the harem.
The fort is beautiful, strong, and old. How many times this place has been sacked and rebuilt, or what debauchery took place within these walls is beyond even the historians.
The tour of the fort ended, the bus was reloaded, then drove away. We stopped at the Agra Marble Emporium and saw the fascinating things made of marble they they were trying to have us buy. They also sold camel leather and silk articles.
After the shop, we went for lunch at this fairly dirty Indian restaurant. It is very common for restaurants in India to have a unisex wash area that is apart from the main toilet area. The washroom floor was covered in water that was seeping out from under the bathroom stall doors, and there was no soap. I went braced myself and went into full-Indian mode, rinsed my hands, shook the water off, and then dived into my food, fingers first. Swathi was amazed at the gusto at which I consumed the spicy food. I didn't care, I was hungry and the food tasted good enough for me. Swathi was more hesitant in her approach and a small voice in my head echoed my mother's words of warning about the dangers of eating at dirty restaurants. I ignored it and continued to indulge myself on naan, curry, and rice. I don't know about Swathi, but my hunger was sated.
We waddled back over to the bus and sat down. It was a bit of a drive to the Taj Mahal, our next destination, so I had plenty of time to appreciate the inner warmth of digestion.
Getting off the bus, we were prompted again by the guide for money for the entrance fee for the Taj Mahal. This time, it was a hefty ₹800. We were warned about various articles which we could not take in, so we left Swathi's Swiss Army knife and our snacks at her seat on the bus, then boarded the electric carts which took us to the security screening area. Again, there were two lines, one for gents, one for ladies.
The tour guide signaled for me to follow him (alone) and he walked with me to the front of the line to get screened. I was a little baffled by this continued singling out and wished I could just blend in like the rest of the Indians. I made it through security and waited for Swathi while the tour guide wandered off into the monument. After about 5 minutes of standing by the metal detectors, I saw her come through, then taken aside by the guards for something in her backpack. It was the tripod and flashlight. We were not warned about these items, and I had hoped to use the tripod to take some self-portraits of ourselves in front of the Taj Mahal. She was asked to leave and found a nearby shop keeper at another marble shop who was willing to hang onto the items while we were inside the complex. After going through security again, she was allowed to enter.
The path leading away from security led us to an open area housed the attendants. To our right, a high wall and gate stood. The heavily reinforced gate house, adorned with arabic calligraphy inscriptions, was both a welcome and a warning against disturbing the eternal sleep of the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan's beloved wife. It reads: "O Soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you."
As we walked up the steps and into the entranceway of the Great Gate, the Taj Mahal became visible, filling the arched doorways. It stood there, distant and massive. It was obvious that the designers had planned the layout of the Great Gate and the positioning of the mausoleum so that viewers were stunned at first sight. The effect worked and did not fade. I was not expecting much out of the visit here. I had expected that it might be big, but nothing like this. It was difficult to fathom how many hands and lives toiled to construct this, a monument to love lost.
Seeing how we were now without a tripod, we tried to figure out how to take the stereotypical tourist photo. There were photographers standing around, asking people if they could take their picture in exchange for money. I felt duped. I suspected that the photographers had conspired with the security team in order to prevent people from using tripods for self-photos. It was crowded near the gate, so we walked until we found a square platform positioned in the middle between the Great Gate and the Taj. there, we found another photographer who asked to take our photo, this time for ₹50. He was wearing a Nikon D5000 fitted with the cheap 18-55mm kit lens. I asked him if he could take our picture, but use my camera. We haggled back and forth for some time until he finally agreed.
Once we had our picture, we went exploring, but needed to either remove our shoes or put on some thin shoe covers before we could explore any further. Most temples and mosques have such a requirement. I'm not sure if this requirement was out of respect or for preservation, but the white marble and grounds look pristine and I appreciate their efforts to keep it that way.
We followed the line of people to a stairway which let us up onto the marble platform. I felt dwarfed by the size. I tried to capture just how big it was using my camera, but I was still a little stunned by the appearance and momentarily forgot how to use the zoom on my lens. I was using a Canon 17-40mm F/4L lens which was just barely wide enough to fill the frame when standing by the minarets. When we had walked halfway around the structure, I remembered that I could zoom out and finally got some usable pictures.
Photos are not allowed inside the mausoleum, which is unfortunate. The interior was peaceful, only hushed voices and light footsteps could be heard. The silence was occasionally broken by a guard yelling at a tourist for trying to take pictures. Light filtered in from the delicately carved marble screens.
The sun began to set and we were running out of time. The tour company allotted 90 minutes to explore and that was just about gone. We went down the stairs, back onto the lower level where we could remove the shoe covers. Red waste bins were placed there to receive the spent covers, but in typical Indian fashion, the waste didn't quite make it inside the bin.
The rest of the time was used up exploring the other buildings and the garden. We made it back just in time to retrieve Swathi's tripod from the marble merchant and catch a ride on the electric carts back to the bus.
Just before we stepped on the bus, the tour guide approached Swathi and asked for a tip. Swathi gave him ₹200. I felt that was excessive, given the chaos and general disorder at Agra Fort, him not helping when Swathi had trouble getting through security at the Taj, and the lack of working A/C on the bus, but I digress.
Back on the bus, we waited for the other passengers to get on, and the bus pulled away. After a short time, it stopped in front of a hotel and some of the passengers got off to stay the night there and explore other sights around Agra. Swathi and I were done and wanted to go back to Delhi, so we stayed on the bus.
It was nearly 7:00 and twilight was quickly becoming night as the bus started away from the hotel. Remembering the promise from the travel agents that we would be back in Delhi by 11:00, and knowing that it takes roughly 4 hours to drive back, I thought we would be going straight there. I was wrong. Still on the sightseeing agenda were Mathura and Vrindavan, the birthplace and hometown of Sri Krishna, respectively.
The ancient temple was constructed at the site of Sri Krishna's birthplace, originally an underground prison. This massive temple was the focus of our visit to Mathura, and, being a temple, cameras are not allowed inside, and I did not want to leave it on the bus, so I deposited it, along with Swathi's daypack, at the temple's cloakroom. The temple was a large complex that had several high buildings with very elaborate colors and statues inside.
Just inside the entrance, past the male and female security checkpoints, sinks were placed for the washing of hands. Some of the buildings were at the top of long flights of stairs. Before we could climb the stairs or enter into the temple, we had to remove our shoes and check them into the shoe guardian.
As we were leaving, Swathi saw vendors were selling "Mathura ka peda", an unusual food made with milk and cardamom which was only served at the temple. She purchased some for me to taste. It came in a box and appeared to be glistening brown balls, about an inch and a half in diameter. It was moist, soft, and strangely sweet.
Slowly, the rest of the group started exiting the temple and we made our way back to the bus. The ride back to Delhi was considerably more comfortable than the one to Agra, now that the sun was down, and we were able to doze off for a bit. The bus dropped us off at our hotel at 3:00 a.m., four hours later than we were promised, exhausted and hungry.
The eldest son was obviously not very happy about not having his own seat in the bus. The moment we were placed in our seats and about to leave Delhi, he stood in the aisle, looked wistfully at his dad and asked in Hindi, "Maiṁ kahāṁ baiṭhoon?" ("Where do I sit?"). He would repeat this over and over, and eventually turned it into a song by varying its tone and continuing the chant. After making several suggestions which were largely ignored, the exasperated dad said "Mērē ser par baiṭhō " ("You can sit on my head.")
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| two seats for a family of four |
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| This shirt is perfect for him |
The uncomfortable ride finally came to a halt at our first destination, Agra Fort. A man, presumed to be part of the tour company, asks us for money to pay for entry into the fort. Swathi's entrance fee was ₹20 and because I am a foreigner, mine was ₹300. We give him a ₹1,000 inr note to pay for the ₹300 inr ticket. I asked him for change and he said that he would give it to me, then walked away. The other passengers began to stand up and get off the bus. We followed their lead, down the steep stairs of the bus and into the blinding light of the sun. We were parked on the side of the road, street vendors and pedestrians on our left, cars whizzing by on our right. I could not see the man who took our money.
Our water reserves were already depleted from the bus ride, so we got more from the street vendors, then followed the group across the street. We could not tell who was part of the group because everyone was so spread out. It looked to me like everyone was there on their own accord. Swathi spotted our friends from the bus and they led us back to the group.
The fort was massive, its red, multi-leveled walls were guarded by stout towers and a moat. It wrapped around the entire complex and would have been intimidating for anyone wishing to capture it.
After a gender-segregated security check and haphazard ticket counting, the man, who was now clearly the tour guide for our group, gave me the promised ₹700 change. Beyond the great red walls, a long ramp with horizontal grooves (to give the horses traction) rises up to the courtyard. A marble plaque at the top of the ramp gives some information about history of the fort. I have copied its words here:
"Agra fort is the most important fort in India. The great Mughals: Babur, Humayun, Akbar, Jahangir, Shah Jehan, and Aurangzeb lived here, and country was governed from here. It contained the largest state treasury and mint. It was visited by foreign ambassadors, travellers and the highest dignitaries who participated in the making of medieval history of India. No other Fort of India had this honour.The interior buildings contrast the smooth, reinforced appearance of the exterior walls, being finely crafted from red sandstone and marble with amazing amounts of detail. The scale of the buildings put to shame modern architecture. We have so many tools and technologies available to us, but what we construct in our vast cities are ugly and frail in comparison.
"Agra fort stands on an ancient site just by the river Yamuna. It was brick fort and Chauhan Rajputs held it. It is mentioned for the first time in 1080 AD when a Ghazvanid force captured it. Sikandar lodhi (1487-1517) was the first sultan of Delhi who shifted to Agra and lived in the fort. He governed the country from here and Agra assumed the prominence of the second capital. He died in the fort in 1517 and his son Ibrahim lodhi held it for 9 years until he was defeated and killed at Panipat in 1526. Several places, Wells and a Mosque were built in the fort during the lodhi period.
"After Panipat, Mughal captured the Agra fort and a vast treasure –which included the diamond later named “Koh-i-noor” was seized. Babur stayed in the fort in the palace of Ibrahim. He built a baori (step-well) in it. Humayun was coronated here in 1530, after the defeat at Chausa in 1539, he returned to Agra. Nizam water carrier (Saqqa) who had saved Humayun from drowning was crowned here for half a day and he issued a menial currency. Humayun was defeated at Bilgram in 1540. Sher Shah held it for 5 years. The Mughal defeated the Afghans finally at Panipat in 1556.
"Realizing the importance of the central situation, Akbar (1556-1605) decided to make Agra his capital. He arrived here in 1558. His historian Abul Fazl recorded that this was a brick fort, known as ‘Badalgarh’. It was in ruined condition and Akbar ordered it to be rebuilt with Red Sandstones. Foundations were laid by expert architects and it was massively built with bricks in inner core and stones at external surfaces. Some 4000 builders daily worked on it and it was completed in 8 years (1565-1573).
"The fort has a semi-circular plan, its chord lying parallel to the river. Its walls are 70 feet high. Double ramparts have massive circular bastions at regular intervals, battlements, embrasures, machicolations and string courses. Four gates were provided on its Four sides. one " Khizri Gate' opening on the river, where series of ghats (quays) was also built.
"Abul fazl recorded that 500 buildings in the beautiful designs of Bengal and Gujarat were built in it. Some of these were demolished by shah jahan to make room for his white marble palaces. But they were mostly destroyed by the British between 1803 to 1862 for raising barracks. Hardly 30 mughal buildings have survived on the south-eastern side, facing the river. Of these, the delhi-gate and akbar-gate and one palace: 'bengali-mahal', are representative akbari buildings. The delhi- gate faces the city. A draw-bridge and crooked entrance made it impregnable. Two life-size stone elephants, with their riders were placed on its inner gate which was called "hathi-pol" delhi-gate was monumentally built as the king's formal gate. 'Akbar Gate' was renamed 'Amar Singh Gate' by the british. This gate is similar to the Delhi-Gate. Both are built of red stone. The Bengali-Mahal is also built of red stone and is now split into 'Akbari-Mahal' and 'Jahangiri-Mahal'.
"Akbar died and Jahangir was coronated in the fort in 1605. The latter mostly resided at Lahore and Kashmir, though he visited Agra regularly and lived in the fort. Agra continued to be the capital of the Mughal Empire. Shah Jahan was also crowned in the fort in 1628. He was a great builder and its white marble palaces belong to him. He built three white marble mosques in it: Moti-Masjid, Nagina-Masjid and Mina-Masjid.
"After the battle of Samogarh in 1658, Aurangzeb besieged the fort and stopped its water supply from the river. Shah Jahan could not drink the well water and surrendered. Aurangzeb imprisoned him , his own father, in the fort where he lived as a prisoner for 8 years. He died in 1666 and was buried in the Taj Mahal. The barbicans around the two gates and on the river-side were built by Aurangzeb to strengthen its defences.
"Though Shah Jahan had transferred his capital to Delhi, formally in 1638, he continued to live here. But after his death, Agra lots its grandeur, Aurangzeb remained busy in the Deccan conflict. Yet, time and again, he lived here and held the Durbar. Shivaji came to Agra in 1666 and met Aurangzeb in Diwan-i-Khas. He was betrayed and imprisoned, though the wily Martha ultimately escaped. Aurangzeb's death in 1707 threw the affairs of the Mughal empire to Chaos. The 18th century history of Agra Fort is a saga of sieges and plunder. It was held by Jats and Marthas. The British captured it from the Marathas in 1803. They garrisoned it and converted it into an arsenal.
"The Mughal palaces have remained in a small, south-eastern portion of the fort and only this area is protected and conserved by the Archaeological Survey of India. Agra Fort is a Unesco World Heritage Site."
Swathi was keeping me company and occasionally filled me in on small tidbits of information the guide was giving out in Hindi. Of course, I couldn't understand a word he said, so I just tried to keep out of everyone's way and take pictures.
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| Gateway to Jahangir Mahal |
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| Jahangir Mahal |
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| The location of Akbar's harem |
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| Taj Mahal in the background |
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| our guide |
The fort is beautiful, strong, and old. How many times this place has been sacked and rebuilt, or what debauchery took place within these walls is beyond even the historians.
The tour of the fort ended, the bus was reloaded, then drove away. We stopped at the Agra Marble Emporium and saw the fascinating things made of marble they they were trying to have us buy. They also sold camel leather and silk articles.
After the shop, we went for lunch at this fairly dirty Indian restaurant. It is very common for restaurants in India to have a unisex wash area that is apart from the main toilet area. The washroom floor was covered in water that was seeping out from under the bathroom stall doors, and there was no soap. I went braced myself and went into full-Indian mode, rinsed my hands, shook the water off, and then dived into my food, fingers first. Swathi was amazed at the gusto at which I consumed the spicy food. I didn't care, I was hungry and the food tasted good enough for me. Swathi was more hesitant in her approach and a small voice in my head echoed my mother's words of warning about the dangers of eating at dirty restaurants. I ignored it and continued to indulge myself on naan, curry, and rice. I don't know about Swathi, but my hunger was sated.
We waddled back over to the bus and sat down. It was a bit of a drive to the Taj Mahal, our next destination, so I had plenty of time to appreciate the inner warmth of digestion.
Getting off the bus, we were prompted again by the guide for money for the entrance fee for the Taj Mahal. This time, it was a hefty ₹800. We were warned about various articles which we could not take in, so we left Swathi's Swiss Army knife and our snacks at her seat on the bus, then boarded the electric carts which took us to the security screening area. Again, there were two lines, one for gents, one for ladies.
The tour guide signaled for me to follow him (alone) and he walked with me to the front of the line to get screened. I was a little baffled by this continued singling out and wished I could just blend in like the rest of the Indians. I made it through security and waited for Swathi while the tour guide wandered off into the monument. After about 5 minutes of standing by the metal detectors, I saw her come through, then taken aside by the guards for something in her backpack. It was the tripod and flashlight. We were not warned about these items, and I had hoped to use the tripod to take some self-portraits of ourselves in front of the Taj Mahal. She was asked to leave and found a nearby shop keeper at another marble shop who was willing to hang onto the items while we were inside the complex. After going through security again, she was allowed to enter.
The path leading away from security led us to an open area housed the attendants. To our right, a high wall and gate stood. The heavily reinforced gate house, adorned with arabic calligraphy inscriptions, was both a welcome and a warning against disturbing the eternal sleep of the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan's beloved wife. It reads: "O Soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you."
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| The Great Gate |
Seeing how we were now without a tripod, we tried to figure out how to take the stereotypical tourist photo. There were photographers standing around, asking people if they could take their picture in exchange for money. I felt duped. I suspected that the photographers had conspired with the security team in order to prevent people from using tripods for self-photos. It was crowded near the gate, so we walked until we found a square platform positioned in the middle between the Great Gate and the Taj. there, we found another photographer who asked to take our photo, this time for ₹50. He was wearing a Nikon D5000 fitted with the cheap 18-55mm kit lens. I asked him if he could take our picture, but use my camera. We haggled back and forth for some time until he finally agreed.
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| Massive. Note the scale of the people standing on the platform. |
Once we had our picture, we went exploring, but needed to either remove our shoes or put on some thin shoe covers before we could explore any further. Most temples and mosques have such a requirement. I'm not sure if this requirement was out of respect or for preservation, but the white marble and grounds look pristine and I appreciate their efforts to keep it that way.
We followed the line of people to a stairway which let us up onto the marble platform. I felt dwarfed by the size. I tried to capture just how big it was using my camera, but I was still a little stunned by the appearance and momentarily forgot how to use the zoom on my lens. I was using a Canon 17-40mm F/4L lens which was just barely wide enough to fill the frame when standing by the minarets. When we had walked halfway around the structure, I remembered that I could zoom out and finally got some usable pictures.
Photos are not allowed inside the mausoleum, which is unfortunate. The interior was peaceful, only hushed voices and light footsteps could be heard. The silence was occasionally broken by a guard yelling at a tourist for trying to take pictures. Light filtered in from the delicately carved marble screens.
The sun began to set and we were running out of time. The tour company allotted 90 minutes to explore and that was just about gone. We went down the stairs, back onto the lower level where we could remove the shoe covers. Red waste bins were placed there to receive the spent covers, but in typical Indian fashion, the waste didn't quite make it inside the bin.
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| view from east |
Back on the bus, we waited for the other passengers to get on, and the bus pulled away. After a short time, it stopped in front of a hotel and some of the passengers got off to stay the night there and explore other sights around Agra. Swathi and I were done and wanted to go back to Delhi, so we stayed on the bus.
It was nearly 7:00 and twilight was quickly becoming night as the bus started away from the hotel. Remembering the promise from the travel agents that we would be back in Delhi by 11:00, and knowing that it takes roughly 4 hours to drive back, I thought we would be going straight there. I was wrong. Still on the sightseeing agenda were Mathura and Vrindavan, the birthplace and hometown of Sri Krishna, respectively.
The ancient temple was constructed at the site of Sri Krishna's birthplace, originally an underground prison. This massive temple was the focus of our visit to Mathura, and, being a temple, cameras are not allowed inside, and I did not want to leave it on the bus, so I deposited it, along with Swathi's daypack, at the temple's cloakroom. The temple was a large complex that had several high buildings with very elaborate colors and statues inside.
Just inside the entrance, past the male and female security checkpoints, sinks were placed for the washing of hands. Some of the buildings were at the top of long flights of stairs. Before we could climb the stairs or enter into the temple, we had to remove our shoes and check them into the shoe guardian.
As we were leaving, Swathi saw vendors were selling "Mathura ka peda", an unusual food made with milk and cardamom which was only served at the temple. She purchased some for me to taste. It came in a box and appeared to be glistening brown balls, about an inch and a half in diameter. It was moist, soft, and strangely sweet.
We claimed our belongings from the cloakroom and started walking down the hill to where the bus was waiting. A wedding procession was moving slowly down the street, the groom was riding a white horse and a marching band lead the way. Fireworks started going off as we got into the bus.
A few kilometers down the road, the bus stopped again, this time in the middle of some ancient and narrow streets. This was an old part of the city Vrindavan, where Sri Krishna grew up.
After walking through some winding streets, we came upon a small temple, which was once the location of Sri Krishna's childhood home. Again, photography and shoes were not allowed inside. I was able to keep my camera with me, but the shoes had to be left unattended near the entrance. Being wary of thieves, we stowed our shoes behind an overturned bench in the corner. There were murals inside and out of various life events of Sri Krishna as a child, him stealing the clothes of women, or the theft of a neighbor's butter, and punishment for the theft by his mother.
The overriding theme of the place was surrounding the importance of family and the respect of parents. The floor and walls were covered in tablets etched with dedications to parents, donated by visitors. Inside the temple, we sat on the floor as a man spoke about the significance of the location in Hindi. I was getting bored and very tired of the long incomprehensible discourse, so Swathi and I separated ourselves from the group and waited outside when they started asking for donations and conducting religious ceremonies.
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| Note the band on the left, room on the right, and the guests preparing fireworks in the foreground. |
After walking through some winding streets, we came upon a small temple, which was once the location of Sri Krishna's childhood home. Again, photography and shoes were not allowed inside. I was able to keep my camera with me, but the shoes had to be left unattended near the entrance. Being wary of thieves, we stowed our shoes behind an overturned bench in the corner. There were murals inside and out of various life events of Sri Krishna as a child, him stealing the clothes of women, or the theft of a neighbor's butter, and punishment for the theft by his mother.
The overriding theme of the place was surrounding the importance of family and the respect of parents. The floor and walls were covered in tablets etched with dedications to parents, donated by visitors. Inside the temple, we sat on the floor as a man spoke about the significance of the location in Hindi. I was getting bored and very tired of the long incomprehensible discourse, so Swathi and I separated ourselves from the group and waited outside when they started asking for donations and conducting religious ceremonies.
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| Entrance to a temple which was once the home of Sri Krishna |
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| Swathi in front of a mural depicting Sri Krishna stealing the clothes |
