The other reason why walking around Agra was not leisurely was that it took a great amount of effort and concentration to succeed in not dying. I don't mean to alarm you all, but I haven't seen a sidewalk yet and the rickshaws, motorcycles, bicyclers, cars, trucks, cows, dogs, camels, etc. make quite an obstacle course. There are no rules on these tight roadways. Vehicles stay vaguely on the left side of the road, but they will veer for really any reason. Remember the little trial driving games you played/watched in Drivers' Ed? This is that demonstration magnified 61 times. Seriously. I figured it out.
I did have a lovely evening meal on the roof-top, however. Unfortunately, the water cooling system in my room did not really work, because it stayed around 92 degrees in my room during the night and the humidity made it unbearable. Being a warm sleeper in India is not a good quality. After not much sleep, I was still motivated to get up at 5:45 to beat the heat and crowds at the Taj Mahal. It was also sunrise, which made the lighting quite lovely. I'm not sure exactly what else to say to describe it. I've always been more of an expository writer rather than a creative one, and trying to impart the magnificence of the Taj Mahal is very possibly past my abilities. I think in the face of such excellence I simply resort to empty adjectives. Just look at my report of it so far--lovely, magnificent, excellent. Very poor, Ms. English Teacher, C-, and I'm being kind.
After a bit of breakfast, I gave in to one rickshaw driver who offered to take me around to see some of the local sights. One of the big tourist draws in the area is actually a little town 40km west of Agra called Fatehpur Sikri. I went there first to see this fortified ghost city that was the short-lived capital of the Mughal empire between 1571 and 1585. The rickshaw driver warned me many times to beware of the "guides" who want to swindle you. I understood, and deftly swatted them away as I entered the deserted palace. I was just sort of wandering when a man about my age came up and started telling me about the chamber I was gazing in. I broke into my "not interested" tone, but he persevered. After making it clear that I wasn't going to pay him, I let him walk me around the ghost city. I had no idea where I was or what I was looking at, and it was quite nice to have a friend.
He was a good host, and when I said I was starving he brought me to a nice restaurant up on a hill overlooking the countryside. I bought him a drink and some naan, but that's all he would accept. He asked me if I knew any other languages, and I told him I knew some Spanish. He then proceeded to talk to me in Spanish, which really confused me and also tested my honesty (I think I did alright, Profa!). He told me that he had been to Barcelona and was trying to go back, but his visa was being held up. He said that if he got his visa, he would probably not return to India. I asked him what his profession was, and he dropped his head when he told me he worked in his brother's shop. I felt for this poor young man. I mean, I know that he was trying to come on to me, but I could certainly understand his limited position. I felt badly when he wrote his friend's number down in my notebook (because he doesn't have one), and I feel worse looking at it now and knowing I'll never call him.
After leaving Fatehpur Sikri, I told the rickshaw driver to take me to Akbar's Mausoleum at Sikandra. This sandstone and marble tomb was quite impressive, but the real reason I wanted to visit it was because of Lonely Planet's promise of a "peaceful garden, where deer graze, monkeys play in the trees and raucous peacocks and parakeets also make their presence felt." I didn't see any of these, but I took advantage of the lawns. Have I mentioned lately that it's hot here? Maybe I should just reiterate that I am sweating profusely at this time in the story and at this time in the present. I am a sticky mess--but, remarkably, I'm apparently still beautiful!
So I was tired at this point. And hot. And dirty from the dust that I picked up during the 80km rickshaw ride. (Very, very stupid idea on my part. I will never do that again.) And the driver told me that Agra Fort was not worth 300 rupees. He would show me a good view from the outside, and I could take a photo. So I relented. Then he said he would take me to see other places in the city. I was immediately suspicious (as everyone should be when travelling in southeast Asia, Ian and Adam!), and I told him firmly, "I do not want to buy ANYthing." He said, OK, and took me to a carpet-making factory. I can't believe I actually went on the tour of the facility, but it was actually kind of interesting and I got to tie a knot on a fancy Indian carpet. And, of course, the tour ended in the air conditioned showroom where numerous carpets were laid out for me to buy. Feel free to be disappointed in me, my worldly friends, but I gave in and bought a little piece of carpet (and I mean little!) that was made by the local school children. My only excuse is that I'm a teacher and . . . I like children. . .? Does that work?
So then I was mad at my rickshaw driver, and I told him to bring me back to the motel! I needed dinner! Despite my orders, he took me to another shop. This time I refused to go in, and he was forced to give in to my demands. And at the end of the day, when he dropped me off at the train station, he had the audacity to ask me to write in his little book. "Write what you feel!" he urged me. Ha!
But, I made it to the train station on-time, and I had few complaints. The whole night before I had been longing for this moment--an air-conditioned train-ride in a sleeper car. This would be the best night's rest I had experience since coming to India.
And where was I headed? Well, one of the holiest cities in India, of course--Varanasi.
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