Intimidation, Part Two: The Taj Mahal

Now, with the Himalayan Mountains under our belt, we stopped briefly in Manali to do some serious shopping. The north is famous for shawls and Tibetan work, so I was definitely happy that I had extra space in my backpack. We ate dinner at some crazy place that advertised itself as having authentic Tibetan and Chinese food. I'm not sure how authentic the food was, but I do know that the manager was very happy that a group of Americans decided to enter his restaurant just before closing time. It probably sounds like I'm being sarcastic, but I'm not (for once!). We were the only ones in the restaurant, so it gave him the chance to blast Bryan Adams and Eminem at alternating intervals. I heard songs that brought me right back to the awkward high school dances where I'd hop from foot to foot, surrounded by the most awkward, whitest people I'd seen in my life. Oh, Orono, how I miss thee. Anyway! We finished our meal and hopped onto the most hellish experience I had on the entire trip.

In order to get from Manali to Agra, our next stop, we had to take a bus to Delhi and then a train to Agra. The bus to Agra was an overnight bus, supposedly twelve hours. For some reason that only nature understands, I simply cannot sleep sitting up. It's not "won't," or "is difficult to," it's CAN'T. Planes, cars, trains, buses, whatever... if I can't lie down, "sleep will not come," as they say over here. But hey, I figured, how bad could it be?

Famous last words, right? Well, the important thing is that we got to Delhi in time for our train. However, at some point between our departure at four in the afternoon and our arrival at ten the next day, I went temporarily insane. It might've had something to do with the baby in front of me who cried for two hours straight (I timed it, folks), or maybe the dirtiest and most spider-infested bathroom I'd experienced thus far, or maybe the hairpin turns that our bus made for the first two-thirds of the journey. I can't even count the number of times that I'd start to drift off and then wake up with my head slamming into the seat in front of me as the bus narrowly avoided God-knows-what. Either way, I will never ever complain about a car journey ever again. Getting off the bus and breathing in the Delhi air was nothing short of blissful.

So, we collapsed into the Delhi train station and waited for our train to Agra. A few short hours later, we arrived at the Taj Mahal. I know, it's cliche, but we had to do it. Arriving at the ticket office, we saw a happily stenciled sign that let us know that if we'd been Indian, we'd have entered for a mere twenty rupees (roughly 45 cents). Instead, us foreigners had to shell out seven hundred and fifty rupees. You do the math.

Either way, it was definitely worth it. All three of us were feeling the aftermath of our bus journey and the "food" that we ate on the way, so we decided to split up and walk at excessively leisurely paces for the next few hours. It was about three PM by then, so we had a few hours until sunset. Barefoot, I walked through groups of incredulous tourists wearing gauze booties to protect their bare feet from the floor. I briefly flashed back to a time when I didn't drink tap water or eat street food. Oh, back in the days of my innocent youth, aka July.

We'd been to a miniature (smaller, but still building-sized) version of the Taj during one of our ACM trips, and I was worried that seeing the real thing might not be as exciting as a result. Every detail had been duplicated, at least at first glance. However, as I got closer to the tomb, details jumped out that the miniature couldn't possibly reproduce. Semi-precious stones dotted much of the outer face, and Arabic script decorated columns that rose higher than I could fathom. After half an hour of gaping, I plopped down on the West-facing side to wait for the sun to go down. A flock of birds circled one of the towers, dive-bombing each other as the light dimmed.

All of a sudden, a woman planted herself in front of me and bashfully asked if I would take their picture. "Of course!" I said and started to hop down from my perch. "No, don't move! Stay exactly where you are!" Turns out she wanted to take my picture. After she left, I sort of chuckled to myself until I looked up and saw a line forming. The British woman had started a trend, apparently, as six groups of Indian men asked to pose with me. After months of people taking "snaps" of us American women without our permission, I was just happy that they'd asked my permission. However, after seven pictures or so, it was enough. If I ever end up getting famous, God help the paparazzi...

Post-Taj, we headed to the Agra station to board our train for the desert.

Love,
Sarah!

iPod: "Red Letter Day," Get Up Kids