A Tale of Two Indian Cities: Delhi and Agra

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was a season of beauty, it was a time where I stood, exacerbated, with animal feces on my foot. And, it all took place within eight hours and two cities.

My scam detectors were on high alert as I wandered Delhi's shopping and pedestrian hub -- Connaught Place-- by foot and completely on my own. I could hardly walk ten steps before someone would come up to me -- often asking the time as an icebreaker -- and going through the motions of the "tourist" questions: "Which country are you?"; "How long you in India?"; "You are student?"; "First time in Delhi?"; "Where you go next?"; "You are doing shopping?" I patiently answered the first few such interviews, as everyone claimed they simply wanted to practice their English (though nearly all of them tried to funnel me into certain shops or "Government of India" tourist information shops which aren't actually run by the Government). I had finally broken away, exploring a bizarre underground bazaar which tried exceedingly hard to be hip, featuring some items that had me questioning how they possibly came to be sold in India -- like the split-screen "RIP Aaliyah and RIP Tupac" graphic t-shirt.

I exited the bazaar to head to the metro, and was greeted with the same set of questions, and yet another guy following me. However, as I neared the metro, he pointed down to my foot where a huge splotch of dung sat on top of my shoe. I knew full well how it got there -- this is a popular scam in India. A shoe-cleaner purposefully drops it on your shoe, and -- what are the chances? -- is there to point it out to you with a full set of shoe cleaning materials at the ready. I knew exactly what had happened -- I even told him "you put it there!" -- but the beauty of the scam is that the victim has no options. I can't walk around with it on my shoe; I don't want to clean it myself; and anyone who offers to clean it up will charge ridiculous prices as well. Having no other option, I stood there, fuming, as he cleaned my shoe of the feces he put there, paying him far too much for the service. Meanwhile, another guy came over who claimed to be an "ear cleaner." "Do not touch my ear!" I said loudly. There I was, one foot up, while a man cleaned crap off of it, while I protected my ear from a would-be "cleaner." I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Let's be honest -- it's robbery that uses shit as a prop.

I walked away -- counting in my head all the reasons I hate this place -- and headed to the train station to catch my train to Agra -- the site of the Taj Mahal. Though I was hopeful the train journey would swing my India-meter back towards positive, early on, the prospects looked grim. I took sleeper class -- the lowest reserved class -- and found my berth packed with two girls and three guys. The girls, friendly and smiling, talked to one-another while clinging to the window seats. The three guys, meanwhile spread themselves out taking up the room of a few people thanks to their gregarious posture. I maneuvered my way to my seat, and, upon them not moving an inch as I squeezed in, forced my elbows out pushing them back towards the general vicinity of their assigned seat (rather than spilling into mine).

They proceeded to spend the train ride listening out-loud to their mobile phone's music (at first I thought it was just ringtones -- then I realized just how high-pitched and grating a lot of Indian music is), and sitting sprawled out on the benches. One of the more amusing aspects of Indian "guy" culture is how they show affection to one another. I've become accustomed to them holding hands in public, but on this train, they sat legs out, interlinked, with one guy's feet inches from the other's groin, while the other playfully rested his hands on the other's ankles. Yet despite being quite free with showing public displays of Bromance, it is heavily frowned upon for me to even hold a girl's hand in public! As it began to rain, one yelled to the girls to close the window. They tried, but they couldn't force the old, rusty window down. They yelled something again, but remained enamored with their mobile phones, leading me to climb over them, reach over the girls and close their windows as the girls' clothes began to get wet. I'm not saying this to pat myself on the back, as I firmly believe lots of people would have volunteered to close the window as well, but it does reinforce the strange gender relations I've observed during my time in India.

As I was jumping -- in India you don't step -- off the train, in my head I was literally counting the hours -- not just the days; the hours -- until I would be leaving India. I forced my way through the crowd of people milling about and lying on the ground, and made my way to the rickshaw-wallas, mentally preparing myself for a battle over the price of a ride to my hotel. Expecting a price in the hundreds of rupees, I was shocked when the first man I met offered me the extremely fair price of eighty rupees. I accepted and hopped in his ride. On the way to the hotel, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the Taj Mahal in all of its majesty. The sight of it for the first time, is quite honestly, breathtaking. It's one of those sights I've seen in pictures my whole life, but, even in making all the effort to come out here, wondered to myself if it would be worth it. The first glimpse of it suggested it would be -- and more.

My India-pendulum was swinging back to positive as I checked into my hotel and made my way up to their rooftop cafe. There I sat, eating a delicious meal, watching as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon and the Taj Mahal's famous silhouette darkened and eventually blended in to the night sky.

"I love this place," I thought to myself.
I also hate it.
All in the same day.

The underground bazaar:


The Delhi metro is a bit crowded:


Delhi trainstation:




My sleeper car:


My first site of the Taj:


View from the rooftop cafe:

The Taj Mahal (Part III)

The third and final installment of Taj Mahal pictures (because two just weren't enough)!







A monkey came by to check out the Taj, too:




A panoramic I stitched together:


Taj, reflected:

The Taj Mahal (Part II)

Some more photos from the Taj. I woke up at 4:40AM to make sure I was among the first in line, and it was totally worth it. When I entered I got the chance to see the Taj completely undisturbed and peaceful, and to take photos without any other people in them. By 7:30AM it was already filled with people, and I can't even imagine what it looked like mid-day. If you are going to the Taj, believe me, waking up early is worth it!

Some more photos:













I hired a guide to take me around the Taj Mahal, figuring it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Unfortunately, his knowledge of the Taj was approximately equal to mine after I read my guidebook. That said, it was worth it as he pointed out spots to photograph, and offered to take many photos of me in front of the Taj. Unfortunately, he also had quite the knack for strange poses, which results in painfully awkward posed photos like this one:

The Taj Mahal (Part I)

The Taj Mahal can't possibly live up to the hype and high expectations right? Actually, it exceeded them. Seeing it in person is incredible, and it's one of those moments that reminds you of why you travel. This post has some of the standard shots of the Taj that you've just got to take. The next one will have some (hopefully) more unique shots.

Ridiculousness in India

India is full of surprises, and, especially as a Western traveler, I've found many little things to be quite entertaining. Below are just a few of the things that shocked, amused, or confused me and my American sensibilities while in India:

Apparently not only are you not allowed to "spite" someone in Mumbai, you also aren't allowed to bleed profusely from the mouth:


Curry and pudding at 35,000 feet. Awesome:


Let me get this straight, I traveled halfway around the world from Georgetown and still have to see double-popped pastel collars?


This guy is WAY too creepy to be trying to sell me anything, let alone cookies:


So a cat was just walking around the airport (past security, I might add). And no one seemed to think anything of it...


An underground bazaar in Delhi selling some ridiculous items. My favorite being the split-screen RIP Aaliyah/Tupac t-shirt:


So nice that while I am using a toilet here, I can enjoy the traditional Indian scene of a snow-covered cabin in the mountains:

Wandering Mumbai In Search of Falafel

After walking out of (surviving?) Crawford market, the regularly packed and bustling streets of Mumbai almost seemed calm. Some photos as I wandered around mostly aimlessly, though with the vague goal of returning to the falafel shop we had walked by the day before:



A synagogue nestled away amongst the windy alleyways of the city:








A fountain in the heart of the city:

Crawford Market - Mumbai

"Sir, you need watch?"
"Very good prices, here. Something special."
"Sir...pillowcase?"

Wandering the crowded Crawford Market in Mumbai opens a traveler to calls like these from the time one enters to the time one leaves. Though a few stalls face the streets, narrow alleyways lead an ambitious traveler beyond the storefronts into the back where a maze of shops, stalls, and people await. Unfortunately, the shopping is not that interesting as most of the stands sell one or more of the following: watches, beltbuckles, underwear, and cheap toys imported from China. That said, it's an experience just to be surrounded by so much humanity, and the constant noise and yelling that, miraculously, after half an hour or so there, almost seems normal.

Some photos:

His-N-Hers Lingere??


Heading into the madness:

Dining at the Taj Hotel, Mumbai

Security guards surround the perimeter. Metal detectors and x-ray machines block the entrance, while trained dogs sit obediently at their master's feet. Was I entering an airport? Nope; a hotel. But not just any hotel, it is Mumbai's finest one -- The Taj Palace, which was one of the targets during the 11/26 attacks on the city.

Upon entering the lobby, I believe I can say with confidence, that is it the best smelling room in all of India. I would gladly sit in there for hours at a time just for the air conditioning, fragrance, and bathrooms (more on these later). Unfortunately for me we didn't have long to linger, as we were headed up to the top floor of the Taj Tower for dinner at Souk (http://www.tajhotels.com/FoodandWine/The%20Taj%20Mahal%20Palace%20&%20Tower,MUMBAI/SOUK/default.htm), a Lebanese restaurant overlooking the Gate of India.

Soon after being seated, complimentary vegetables were brought to the table. Unlike nearly every other vegetable I've eaten in India, the sticks of carrots, cucumbers, and spicy jicama were crisp and crunchy, and were served with two dipping sauces: ranch, and a slightly spicy tomato sauce.

For appetizers we shared four different mezzes, which ended up being enough for just a small taste of each item for each of us. The highlight, in my mind, were the Sigara Boregi -- thin phyllo dough filled with feta, and rolled into tiny cigar shaped cylinders.

Taking a brief respite, I went to check out the restrooms at the Taj, which are supposed to be legendary (especially among backpackers like us used to the bare minimum in India: a hole in the floor). After exchanging an awkward hello with the bathroom attendant, I chose my stall, which had a heavy wooden door that extended from the floor to the marble ceiling below. The strange part, though, is that they have a mirror on the side of the toilet -- but not a full length one, only one that extends about three feet up from the ground -- just enough for you to uncomfortably see your side reflection as you sit there taking care of business. Upon exiting, my buddy the bathroom attendant, was ready for me, starting the water, adjusting its temperature, pouring soap in my hands, and, when I was finished, not just handing me a cloth towel, but rather draping it delicately over my hands, beginning the drying process. Though friendly, he reinforced one of my biggest pet peeves: bathroom attendants. I'm very good at, and have lots of practice with everything that goes on in a bathroom, and would very happily just do it on my own, thank you very much.

I returned to the table after my adventure just in time for the entrees to be served. I ordered a traditional Lebanese dish which features minced chicken and spices stuffed in a puff-pastry shell. The combinations and contrasts in it were wonderful: the salt of the chicken with the hint of sweet from the pastry; the bite of the filling with the crunch of the shell. It was served with a simply prepared salad of chic peas, and diced onion and tomatoes in a light olive oil coating.

Though we had no room left for dessert, our waiter brought us Moroccan mint tea, and, for some reason, after pouring each of my friends' small glasses about halfway, he decided to fill mine, literally, to the edge. It made it hard to drink, but it was a nice palate cleanser following a flavorful meal.

Before leaving the hotel, we once again toured the lobby, breathing in as much of the lovely smell as we could, posing for pictures in which we pretended to actually be able to afford to stay here, and comparing and contrasting our Taj hotel bathroom experiences.

The Taj Hotel is, without question, worth a visit, And, if you're going to be inside anyway, you might as well make your way up to the top floor, where a delicious meal awaits.

Security at the entrance:


The lobby:


Souk:










Textbook tea drinking form: