Late last night we decided we would try to see the Taj Mahal in Agra. Swathi and I asked the clerk at the hotel reception how we might get to Agra to see Taj Mahal. He said that we should rent a car or hire a taxi, though some people go the cheap route and take the bus, but he did not recommend it, saying that the touring was very rushed and that the bus seats are usually crowded and hot. Renting a car would be ₹7,000, and hiring a taxi would be even more. Knowing his bias against buses, we decided to explore on our own what the buses were like, so we looked at Lonely Planet and saw that "Deluxe A/C" government buses go frequently between Delhi and Agra. However, we read the blurb wrong and thought that the Idgah bus station was in Delhi, additionally, Google Maps led us to believe the bus station was just a few blocks away from our hotel, when it's actually in Agra. We couldn't find any information online about the government bus stations because many Indian websites either have very little relevant information or are difficult to navigate.
Knowing there were buses, and thinking that the bus station was close by, with a bus departing at 7:30 am, we woke up at 6 am with the intention of walking or taking an auto to the station in time to purchase a ticket and board the bus. We managed to wake up early, despite going to bed at 12:30am, and got out the door by 6:30 am. We were well-packed with two 1L bottles of water, my 800mL Kleen Kanteen, my camera, a tripod, sunscreen, and various other knickknacks all crammed into Swathi's 20L daypack. As we were walking in the direction that Google Maps pointed, we were accosted by auto rickshaw drivers, asking if they could take us to our destination. We tried to tell them where we were going but got nothing but confused looked when we told them "Idgah bus station" or "government bus station." We even tried showing them on Swathi's phone where it was on the map, but they still didn't understand. I couldn't believe it; we never had this sort of trouble communicating our destination before. The drivers eventually discovered that we were trying to go to Agra. Our acknowledgement to their discovery sent us stumbling into the rabbit hole where we would spend the next 20 hours.
One of the drivers said he could take us to a bus which could take us to Agra, and after some hesitation, we got into the auto and he drove off. We were heading in the opposite direction that we thought the nonexistent government bus station was, and we were quickly several streets over, looking at buses from various private travel companies parallel parked on the side of the road. There were no obvious signs of this being a bus station, this was just some strange street and some strange buses.
The driver got out of the auto and approached the first bus. After a few minutes, he came back and said the bus was full. We went to the next bus in line and it was the same story. We were annoyed, we had asked the driver to take us to the government bus station and he was taking us hostage on the off-chance he might get a commission for getting us to buy some private tickets. The driver started up the auto again and sped off, this time in the direction of the phantom bus station, and I felt some relief, thinking that he was finally taking us to the government bus depot, like we had asked in the first place. He stopped in front of a hotel and we got out. We were near the marker that Google Maps was showing, but there was no bus station. The driver went into the hotel lobby and asked the clerk about busses to Agra. There was much back and forth in Hindi, and the clerk who also seemed like the owner of the hotel, made a few phone calls.
It was now 7:10 am and hope of getting to Agra on the 7:30 bus was fading. The phone calls ended and we were presented with an offer: ₹1,500 each for a round-trip ride in an "A/C bus" to Agra, with 60 minutes at Agra Fort and 90 minutes at the Taj Mahal, then through Mathura, the birthplace of Krishna. We would be dropped back at our hotel at 11 pm. We talked it over and agreed that getting to Agra today (as opposed to tomorrow or some other day) would be nice, and that ₹3,000 is less than the ₹7,000 we would have spent on a rental car that we would have to drive ourselves. We accepted their offer, but had to go to an ATM first, since ₹3,000 was all we were carrying and we wanted to have some money for food and emergency in Agra. The auto driver, who was still tagging along, took us to an ATM and then back to the hotel where the tour company was. We paid the clerk who then said the bus had boarded all the passengers and was waiting for us at a different location. He rode with us in the auto to a white SUV which was parked on the side of the road, then got out and said that it would take us to the bus. Despite our doubts, we paid the driver and got in.
After several blocks, my mind started to digest the situation. Swathi and I were alone in a strange, unmarked car being driven by a strange man. We had trusted the honesty of an auto rickshaw driver and bought into a tour package that we knew close to nothing about from a tour company that was unknown to us and were now being taken to some unknown destination where who knows what would happen to us. In that moment of lucidity, I again felt the sensation that we might die. I felt like insisting upon going no further until some validation of the driver's company and identity could be satisfied. I took a picture of the driver and held my tongue.
Swathi was equally afraid, making mental notes of the places we were passing based on sign boards and trying her best to listen into the phone conversation the driver was having. After some kilometers, the car stopped behind a bus by the side of the road. A man, his pregnant wife and their two children, ages 4 and 2, were there, waiting to get into the SUV with us. Swathi sighed, relieved that these people had at least enough faith in this man to place the security of their children in his hands.
My fears dissolved when we parked behind another tour bus and were allowed to get out of the car and onto the bus. There were only four seats available in the very back, one for myself, one for Swathi, and two for the young Muslim family that joined us in the SUV. We sat down and I started to breathe easier.
It would be a three and a half hour journey in the bus and although I was still anxious about the tour company we chose, I was glad to be sitting down, comfortable, and on the way to Agra.
Knowing there were buses, and thinking that the bus station was close by, with a bus departing at 7:30 am, we woke up at 6 am with the intention of walking or taking an auto to the station in time to purchase a ticket and board the bus. We managed to wake up early, despite going to bed at 12:30am, and got out the door by 6:30 am. We were well-packed with two 1L bottles of water, my 800mL Kleen Kanteen, my camera, a tripod, sunscreen, and various other knickknacks all crammed into Swathi's 20L daypack. As we were walking in the direction that Google Maps pointed, we were accosted by auto rickshaw drivers, asking if they could take us to our destination. We tried to tell them where we were going but got nothing but confused looked when we told them "Idgah bus station" or "government bus station." We even tried showing them on Swathi's phone where it was on the map, but they still didn't understand. I couldn't believe it; we never had this sort of trouble communicating our destination before. The drivers eventually discovered that we were trying to go to Agra. Our acknowledgement to their discovery sent us stumbling into the rabbit hole where we would spend the next 20 hours.
One of the drivers said he could take us to a bus which could take us to Agra, and after some hesitation, we got into the auto and he drove off. We were heading in the opposite direction that we thought the nonexistent government bus station was, and we were quickly several streets over, looking at buses from various private travel companies parallel parked on the side of the road. There were no obvious signs of this being a bus station, this was just some strange street and some strange buses.
The driver got out of the auto and approached the first bus. After a few minutes, he came back and said the bus was full. We went to the next bus in line and it was the same story. We were annoyed, we had asked the driver to take us to the government bus station and he was taking us hostage on the off-chance he might get a commission for getting us to buy some private tickets. The driver started up the auto again and sped off, this time in the direction of the phantom bus station, and I felt some relief, thinking that he was finally taking us to the government bus depot, like we had asked in the first place. He stopped in front of a hotel and we got out. We were near the marker that Google Maps was showing, but there was no bus station. The driver went into the hotel lobby and asked the clerk about busses to Agra. There was much back and forth in Hindi, and the clerk who also seemed like the owner of the hotel, made a few phone calls.
It was now 7:10 am and hope of getting to Agra on the 7:30 bus was fading. The phone calls ended and we were presented with an offer: ₹1,500 each for a round-trip ride in an "A/C bus" to Agra, with 60 minutes at Agra Fort and 90 minutes at the Taj Mahal, then through Mathura, the birthplace of Krishna. We would be dropped back at our hotel at 11 pm. We talked it over and agreed that getting to Agra today (as opposed to tomorrow or some other day) would be nice, and that ₹3,000 is less than the ₹7,000 we would have spent on a rental car that we would have to drive ourselves. We accepted their offer, but had to go to an ATM first, since ₹3,000 was all we were carrying and we wanted to have some money for food and emergency in Agra. The auto driver, who was still tagging along, took us to an ATM and then back to the hotel where the tour company was. We paid the clerk who then said the bus had boarded all the passengers and was waiting for us at a different location. He rode with us in the auto to a white SUV which was parked on the side of the road, then got out and said that it would take us to the bus. Despite our doubts, we paid the driver and got in.
After several blocks, my mind started to digest the situation. Swathi and I were alone in a strange, unmarked car being driven by a strange man. We had trusted the honesty of an auto rickshaw driver and bought into a tour package that we knew close to nothing about from a tour company that was unknown to us and were now being taken to some unknown destination where who knows what would happen to us. In that moment of lucidity, I again felt the sensation that we might die. I felt like insisting upon going no further until some validation of the driver's company and identity could be satisfied. I took a picture of the driver and held my tongue.
My fears dissolved when we parked behind another tour bus and were allowed to get out of the car and onto the bus. There were only four seats available in the very back, one for myself, one for Swathi, and two for the young Muslim family that joined us in the SUV. We sat down and I started to breathe easier.
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