The day started with a 5:15am wake up call and a cold shower.

After confirming the hotel checkout time, we wandered the hotel garden and up the path to the gates only to find them locked. Thus begun the search for an employee with access to the keys to unlock them… after 15 minutes of wandering the grounds, we managed to find someone to let us out for our early morning pilgrimage.

While waiting for the hotel gates to open, we met up with 3 Canadians. I guess my University of Alberta t-shirt gave away my nationality *grin*. This was the first visit to India for the Albertan from Red Deer, but his two traveling companions from BC had been here before. It’s amazing how small the world can be at times.

The gates open to the Taj Mahal at 6am for those who’d like to watch the sun rise over the Taj. Of course, that’s 6am IST (Indian Stretchable Time) so the ticket office didn’t open until about 6:10 and the gates a few minutes after that.

It was still pitch black as we walked through the gates of the Taj Mahal. You could barely make out the outline of the building in the darkness. We stood at the gates for 10 minutes with the other hearty souls who ventured out so early. Then, we headed down to the platform in the middle of the grounds. Few others had made it that far so early in the morning and we were able to get a number of pictures as the sun rose over the Taj wherein no humans appeared.

It was a stark contrast to the teeming masses of humanity visiting the Taj the night previously.

Sunset was memorable, sunrise was spectacular! Watching the sun rise over the Taj Mahal on what would have been dad’s 68th birthday, combined with an overwhelming sense of peace and tranquility, was well worth the lack of sleep. It set the mood for the upcoming hectic pace of the day touring the city.

We walked around the gardens and outbuildings waiting for the sun to rise higher.

As we waited, we saw a pair of monkeys strolling around the grounds. We caught up with one of them sitting, deep in contemplation, at the steps to the Royal visitor’s house.

We wanted to see the inside of the Taj in the best light possible. Seeing it in daylight is completely different than at night. In the darkness, with the lap glowing above the tombs, it’s far more romantic. In daylight, it seems more stark.

View from above. Who’s that with me? Why, it looks surprisingly like MOT.

At 9:45am we left the Taj Mahal to return to our hotel for checkout. After picking up some paranthas for breakfast, we toddled out the gates of the hotel for the last time to meet our tour guide. Leaving the Taj Ganj behind for the last time.

The previous night, we had arranged for the auto-rickshaw driver who took us from the Agra Cantonment (Cantt) train station to drive us around the city for the day.

It was time to see Agra, capital city of India under the Moghuls.

First stop on the tour was Akbar’s Mausoleum. Akbar was Humanyun’s son and was responsible for the construction of Agra Fort. The mausoleum was located in Sikandara, a few kilometres west of Agra.

Entrance fees were reasonable and there were hardly any visitors.

The grounds teemed with long-tailed langur monkeys and black bucks.

We easily spent 45 minutes aimlessly wandering the grounds. The tomb was neglected and decaying, but sometimes those buildings left to fall into antiquity as ruins can be more beautiful than those maintained in pristine condition in perpetuity…

Next stop on the tour was Agra Fort. Built by Akbar the Great and improved upon by Shah Jahan. Shah Jahan changed many of the existing red sandstone buildings by plastering the walls and white washing them, before tearing down others and replacing them with beautiful marble and inlay buildings. Shah Jahan, of course, if famed for commissioning the building of the Taj Mahal, this fort was home to the ruling monarchy for years and eventually became .. prison when he was overthrown by his son. Romantics suggest that each day he gazed across the river Yamuna at the Taj Mahal from the rooms he would never leave. However, history records that he died in 1666 after a lengthy round of sex and drugs. His death was caused not by grief, but by an overdose on opium and aphrodisiacs.

Diwan-I-Am (Hall of Public Audience)

Agra Fort was the ruling seat of prior to being taken over by the British and was the site of a fierce battle during the mutiny of 1857.

The inlay work at Agra Fort was dazzling and in many places, far more intricate and beautiful than that found at the Taj.

Diwan-I-Am

After leaving Agra Fort, we drove around the city to catch a glimpse of Itmad-ud-Daulah, known locally as the Baby Taj. The Baby Taj was designed by Nur Jahan, the daughter of Ghiyath Beg and the most powerful woman in Moghul history.

Gazing at the Baby Taj wasn’t nearly as interesting as watching what was going on around us. Water buffalo were being herded along the streets and people were hanging out their laundry.

We took a few shots of the roadway, then crossed the river Yamuna on a bridge built by the British and gazed at the Taj from across the depleted waters.

Riding on the bridge was an experience. It had obviously fallen out of regular maintenance and huge potholes dotted the roadway. A short teeth-jarring ride later and we were back on the other side of the river.

At one point our auto-rickshaw driver needed gas. We drove through a warren of back streets, little better than slums, in order to land at a pristine new gas station. There are few gas stations in Agra and the driver wasn’t familiar where this one was, so the tour of the backstreets was partially due to being lost more than our desire to see (and smell) this section of town.

Across from the station we found a vendor selling vegetables. Ted is rather fond of the red carrots and wishes they were available in the US.

Gas in tank, we headed off to Jami Masjid (Friday Mosque) to see the oldest and largest practicing mosque in Agra. Built by Shah Jahan and dedicated to his favourite daughter, Jananara Begum, it had been on our list of “must see” sights since we’d read about it in the guide book.

Our auto-rickshaw tried repeatedly to talk us out of going to the area, because it was a difficult warren of back streets not usually navigated by vehicle. We left our driver parked outside the Agra Fort train station, crossed the tracks and emerged on the other side in a sea of sewage, the air heavily laden with the scents of refuse and urine. The air around the area of the bazaar was easily enough to make a westerner gag, but we continued on. Shortly after emerging from the tunnel we ascended the steps to the mosque.

Upon arrival at Jama Masjid we quickly took off our shoes and handed them to the attendant. I was glad I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt to meet minimum dress code standards. Faded signs regarding appropriate clothing were posted at the entrance. Tourists are welcome but out of respect we didn’t even consider taking our cameras out of our pockets. I’m not sure what is considered appropriate when it comes to mosques, but I wouldn’t take pictures in a Christian church and believe the Muslims deserve the same respect.

It was at the mosque that we saw the only working fountain during our tour of the city. We were the only tourists present and no one seemed to mind our wandering around the courtyard.

Agra has a large Muslim population and the center court can easily fit hundreds, if not thousands, of devotees for prayers. Men, women and children sat together along the sides of the mosque chatting and laughing. No burquas were present, rather the women wore sarees and salwars. No separation of the sexes was apparent here.

After reclaiming our shoes, leaving a small donation to the mosque and wandering back out into the street, we searched for a petha-walla vendor. Ted’s guide book recommended a visit to the area to taste the flavoured sweets made of crystallized pumpkins.

I’m not fond of Indian sweets, finding them far too sweet and sugary, so I left Ted to taste testing and let my eyes wander the area.

Candy in hand, we made our way back across the train tracks and back to our waiting auto-rickshaw driver.

We headed back to the Agra Cantt train station intent on making our way back to Delhi. We had purchased our return tickets the day previously, but when we boarded the train we were told that our 1500 rupee tickets were not actually guaranteed seats. Apparently we were wait listed.

Advised by the people sitting in our seats to disembark the train and find the ticket collector, we were worried about missing the train and furious that the ticket agent at the train station tourist booth hadn’t warned us that we were on a waiting list for a seat. A porter took pity on us and told us to sit in a different section of the first class compartment (1A) and wait for the ticket collector to finally arrive. We were both fuming, and I was worried we’d be thrown off the train with no idea of how to get back to Dehli. Ted, of course, was certain everything would work out fine – mostly because he flat out refused to be thrown off the train… When the ticket collector arrived 2 hours later, we were moved – and upgraded – to a better first class compartment. The upgrade came at no cost and I was very surprised considering all the warnings we had read about fines, ticketing and harrassment of tourists on India’s trains.

We shared a small private compartment with a kind Sikh gentleman on his way to Delhi on business. He shared stories of his home town and made an otherwise exhausting journey pleasant. Ted returned to snoring loudly while I desperately tried to keep my eyes open.

Despite the upgraded seats, we were still treated to a vision of a few crawling beetles on the floor and walls. Luckily none seemed to find their way into my hair, clothes or backpack. Four and a half hours later, and two hours late, our Pak Mail train arrived at the station in Delhi. It was midnight, we were exhausted, and in a few short hours we’d have to head into work. We caught a taxi to the service apartment, collected our belongings, checked out, and headed to the new hotel. Sleep came quickly.

I didn’t see snake charmers in Dehli or Agra, but I did see lots of monkeys. On my last day in Dehli I saw an elephant working at the side of the road and two camels hauling carts of goods. Of course, neither Ted nor I had our cameras with us – isn’t that always the way it goes?

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