• Beijing which included
  • Walking the Great Wall at Mutianyu
  • Temple of Heaven, Hutongs, Summer Palace
• Xi’an
• Shanghai

India

• New Delhi
• Agra
• Chand Baori
• Fatehpur Sikri
• Ranthambore
• Jaipur

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The trip from Ranthambor to Jaipur goes by without incident – I’m getting used to overladen trucks on the road and laying on their sides after dubious overtaking efforts, and I am dropped off at my hotel, the ITC Rajputana. I only take the time to check in and dump my bag before heading back out past the Amer Fort to the Rajistali Resort hotel where my brother and sister-in-law are staying with their one year old.

Rajistali Resort

It takes me a while to realise what bothers me about the Rajistali. It’s a new hotel complex at the foot of the Aravalli hills and consists of a large building in what I’ll call Nouveau-Mughal style plus an array of tents all on an estate served by golf-carts. All the buildings I’d seen to date in the Mughal style have been ancient. Seeing a brand new building in the style seems incongruous – like seeing the Eiffel Tower at Las Vegas!

It might be because its so new, or perhaps we’re in the off-season but the hotel feels empty and I enjoy a good few hours with my family, swimming and eating in one of the restaurants with nobody else around. Very occasionally we see someone heading off to one of the other rooms, but that is the exception rather than the rule. I get the low down from my brother and by all accounts the hotel is lovely, and the room my brother en famille are in is spacious and suitably luxurious.

I had arranged for my driver to pick me up early enough to get me back to my hotel in time for a decent amount of sleep and I regret not spending more time with family as I’m whisked from the darkness of the outskirts of Amer back into the bright lights of downtown Jaipur.

Amer Fort

I’m up at dawn the next day for my last day of sight-seeing for the trip. I get dropped off at the carpark of the Amer Fort (sometimes called the Amber Fort) where a steady procession of elephants take tourists up to the interior of the Fort. I join what I think is a queue and pretty soon reach the head where I’m told the price, pay my fee and ushered up some steps to the top of the wall where a platform sways into sight. It’s at wall level so there’s the simplest of steps and then I am on the back of an elephant, heading up the hill.

All the tourists sit side on to the path of the elephant and some elephants take two or three tourists at a time, so I don’t feel bad for my steed. The drover (driver? pilot?) attempts to curry favour by demanding he take a photo of me wearing his turban, and I agree.

We’d been warned by the officials at the loading point not to tip the drivers but as we reach the top and enter a holding pattern waiting for dismounting, my driver duly demands a tip. I just shake my head and he gets the idea pretty quickly, but I’ve read about tourists being told that they need to tip otherwise “there could be problems dismounting”. It would be tempting in that situation to point out that if you can’t get off, then they can’t get their next fare.

The other interesting thing I was told as I got onto my trusty steed was that it was forbidden to take photos of other people on the elephants, and I soon see why. There is a cottage industry of budding photographers taking photos of the tourists on the elephants as they head up the last section before the Fort entrance and then sprinting up the path to accost the tourists after they dismount with the products of their labour. I manage to dismount safely without being extorted for extra “unloading” fees or demands to purchase a majestic shot of me ascending, and take in my surroundings.

The Amer Fort is a complex of palatial rooms overlooking the lake which provides its water. I’m intrigued by the secret passage leading up to the Jaigarh Fort which sits on the hill above the Amer Fort and served as an even easier to defend position in case of seige.

By the time I head down after investigating both forts it’s a lot later in the day and the rest of the tourists have left. The elephants have stopped their shuttling and I get some strange looks as I make my way down the path, dodging the elephant droppings on the way. I guess nobody else went up to the upper fort.

City Palace

I connect with my driver and we head into town to visit the City Palace. I pass Jantar Mantar which apparently mirrors the one in Delhi which I visited at the beginning of my Indian trip, so I pass it by and concentrate on the Palace.

It’s a bit underwhelming to tell the truth – the other places I have been have had more impact because they are so much older – the City Palace is only from the 18th Century. It also loses impact by being smack in the middle of the city. Where it does excel though is in the other trappings of political power – the photos, furniture and furnishings which show this as being an historically significant place.

As we leave we pass the Hawa Mahal – the Palace of the Winds where the ladies of the court would eavesdrop on the conversations of the common people. I don’t know if I’m becoming all templed out but while I recognise that it’s beautiful, it doesn’t have the impact on me that the guide books suggest.

Monkey Temple

The final place on my list of things to see in Jaipur is the Monkey Temple (Galta Ji). Before I decided to get a driver and a car, I was seriously contemplating taking the bus to the far side of the hill which the Monkey Temple sits on and walking back to Jaipur via the Temple. I’m glad I don’t though because by the time I go there it is just before noon and the sun is boiling ball of hate.

My driver parks at the bottom and suggests that I get a guide. He indicates one of the young men loitering at the entrance, hiding under the shade. As I walk up the young man comes over and offers his services. I look suspicious and he tells me no charge, I’ll show you around. I smirk and wonder what the conversation will be like at the end of the tour and agree to be shown around.

We head up to through the complex, and I ask some questions which he answers. There are other youths lurking around and my guide’s presence keeps them at bay. One overly eager fellow comes up and demands money but is chased off by my guide. I can see why my driver suggested getting the guide!

We head up to the succession of water tanks are and watch with jealousy all the local youths jumping and playing in the water. There are seven of them of differing sizes and it is considered auspicious to swim in them. We keep heading up til we reach the monkeys – I haven’t brought any bananas but my guide somehow finds one and makes some great friends in the tribe of monkeys that surround him. As soon as they realise that he has run out, and I do not have any, they quickly lose interest.

We head back down and a holy man is talking to a small group of other tourists and beckons me over and asks if I would like to see his temple. I look over at my guide who shrugs and when I head over to have a look around my guide bids me farewell and heads off to where I first saw him. Somewhat surprised by the lack of a shake down I follow the other tourists and the holy man (who is in his 20s at most) and head into the temple.

He keeps an amusing line of patter and leads us further into the temple complex. He leads us to a shrine and bids us sit down, and offers to make a mark on our forehead with paint or dye. One of the other tourists says no, but the other couple does, and I cant see the harm so I do too.

As soon as he’s done so he indicates that we should put some money in the shrine for luck. As the other tourists do so he looks expectantly at me and I tell him quite plainly that I’m not going to be doing that. He looks as to insist so I shrug my shoulders and leave. I make it back to the car without further incident and tell my driver to take me back to the hotel.

The Pool

When I get back to the hotel I get a call from Julia, a Canadian tourist I had met in Ranthambor. She had also gone on to Jaipur and I had given her my details with the offer of a swim in the pool. She agrees to come by and arranges a tuk-tuk from her hotel. She swings by and we cool off in the pool and then have dinner in the restaurant. She’s not overwhelmed by the ITC but she’s appreciative of the pool as her hotel doesn’t have one. We have a good old chat about her travels and son back home and by then dusk is approaching so she heads off before it gets too dark.

The Drive Back

The next day I checked out and got my driver to take me back to Delhi. On the way there he tried to talk up the trip we had made in order to get a good tip. He started with I’m a safe driver. Well you did manage to avoid all those head on collisions, I allowed. His smile grew bigger. I had noticed that whenever an overloaded truck had swerved into our lane as part of an ill-advised overtaking manoeuvre, my driver had always been watching my reaction. I continued but you did hit that other car at the toll booth.

His smile faltered. He had merged aggressively at low speed into a queue at a toll booth and had hit the guy in front while travelling at maybe 2mph. He and the other driver had got out to investigate the damage and muttered at each other but I doubt there was much more than a scuff. It certainly derailed his argument though. I made sure to give him a 10% tip when we got to Delhi though, which seemed to make him happy.

Would I go back?

I don’t think I would – Jaipur for me was only on my trip because Rajastan is more efficiently done as a triangle, and the best part for me was catching up with my brother. I did get to ride on an elephant though!

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The last of my big four reasons for coming on the trip to China and India (after the Great Wall of China, the Terracotta Army and the Taj Mahal), was the opportunity to see tigers in the wild.

I’d done a lot of research, including talking to a friend who’d gone on three safaris and not seen any tigers, so I had an idea of what I was in for. The Indian Government website allowed you to select the zone in the park you wanted to visit and the type of vehicle you wanted to take, but I couldn’t get it to take my payment details. And I had limited knowledge of which zone I wanted to visit – all I knew is that I wanted to take the Jeep (gypsy) not the truck (canter).

I noticed in my research someone mentioning that foreigners couldn’t book the safaris online, so resigned myself to booking through one of the hotels that provided this service. Lo and behold, I found a lot with 300% mark ups. So we’re talking about £50 per safari. So then I did a search for the Government rate – ₹1750 at the time (for a gypsy – now ₹2250), and up came the Rhanthambor Regency.

I had a look at the reviews and I couldn’t find anything that concerned me, so I emailed them with my requirements and mentioned that I belonged to IATA (International Air Transport Association – a travel association I belonged to as a result of working for TripAdvisor at the time). They offered a discounted rate and confirmed their safari rate and so I booked two nights and three safaris with them. Breakfast and dinner were also included.

I was dropped off by my driver in the early evening and made arrangements to be picked back up in two days time at noon to continue my trip to Jaipur. Checking in was a breeze, though there was the usual pause at the visa dates (see: Arrival in Delhi) and I was shown to my room.

The room itself was a good size, with a large comfortable bed and air-con. I went down to the dining room and helped myself to the buffet. There was a naan oven just outside the dining room with a couple of the staff sitting and chatting, and as I sat down with my plate one of them came jogging over to me, theatrically tossing a piece of freshly baked naan from hand to hand to illustrate its hotness and freshness from the oven.

They must have put it on as soon as I arrived and made a big show of delivering it. As I was one of the first ones in the dining room I was the only audience to the show but I appreciated the gesture and gave a big grin.

The food itself was great – each dished labelled clearly and indications on which were hot and which not, which I was very appreciative of – I’m not known for my capacity with spices! There was a selection of non-Indian dishes but I couldn’t pass up the local delicacies. Although I did avoid the fish – I’m sure it was fresh from a local lake or river, but I didn’t want to risk my safaris on getting that wrong. Beer and wine weren’t included in the room rate, so I availed myself of one of the juices on offer instead. Suitably sated I headed to back to my room.

In the morning I was back at the buffet, this time for breakfast before hitting the National Park on the first of my three safaris. the spread this time leaned more towards western food and I appreciated the wide range of hot food. No naan theatrics in the morning though!

Safari One

There’s a bunch of us at the hotel heading into the National Park for the safari and we halt at the gate until the full complement of gypsies and canters arrive. Once we’re all here we head into the park and split up along the different routes. We drive for a few minutes before we spot the first group of animals.

The animals have evolved a symbiotic relationship: the langur monkeys have superior sight and can climb the trees, dislodging fruit that the chital deer enjoy eating. the deer have superior sense of smell, so each warns the other of potential threats.

I’m actually just enjoying the drive – the sun isn’t too hot this early in the morning and it’s pleasant driving through the wilderness where the animals aren’t too concerned with our progress. We periodically stop for the guide and driver to communicate with others over the radio and occasionally one of the other jeeps passes us, or we pass one as they pull off the path and peer into the bush.

We’ve been driving for about an hour when the radio springs to life and the garbled voices say something which makes our driver and guide attentive. We move forward with a bit of urgency and see another jeep on the side of the road with everyone peering intently over the riverbed into the low hill beyond.

There, laying amongst the branches of the shrubs is a Bengal Tiger. Before long we’re joined by all the other jeeps and everyone quietly oohs and aahs at the tiger. There’s a bit of jostling for position by the drivers as there’s only so much space so that everyone can see past the trees to where the tiger lies.

After maybe twenty minutes the jeep that discovered the tiger drives off and then a few moments later we do too. None of the other people in our jeep have been on a safari before so we’re blase about the sighting.

We head further along the route and before too much longer the jeep pulls up and the guide and driver excitedly point to the track. Even I can see the paw print of the tiger on the dusty part of the road. Presumably the tiger crossed the road after the other Jeeps went by. It gives me pause – could this be the same tiger that we previously saw – but the guide assures me that the route we have taken was more direct that the one that the tiger would have taken.

Not long after that we spot the new tiger in the brush. I’m a little confused – surely if it wanted to rest it would do it in the shade, and while its not in the direct sun, there are more trees elsewhere with more shade. And while its not yet ten, the sun is starting to beat down with more and more ferocity. I guess by noon it’d find itself a cooler spot.

We pause on the way back out for a toilet break and the guide and driver seem giddily happy that we’d seen two different tigers. The rest of the passengers like me are happy to have seen them on our first time out, but there is a marked difference in the intensity of feeling. We get back to the hotel and the passengers thank the crew and disappear into the hotel. We have a few hours before the afternoon safari and I shower the safari dust and sweat off and have a nap.

Safari Two

The afternoon safari sets out along a different route – while the first one was surrounded by dry brush and high canopy forest, this one is along rivers and lakes and a much more tropical feel. We again see the troops of monkeys living alongside the spotted deer, but this time they are accompanied by peacocks and larger deer. We also see crocodiles on the banks of the lake prompting a few jokes about the advisability of swimming in the National Park.

We pause with a bunch of other jeeps. Someone has found some peacock feathers and the consensus is that one of the tigers has taken a peacock. So four jeeps have converged at the spot and thirty pairs of eyes attempt to pierce the dense lush bush for some sign of the great cat. Time ticks by and hushed voices of guides and drivers are the only noises. After about half an hour, eventually, reluctantly we move on from the spot.

At the end of the route is a dam and a lake. We pause there awhile and my attention turns to my fellow passengers. In the front seat is an Indian gentleman in a sandy-tan safari suit and wide-brimmed hat. He’s quite short and has a camera with an enormous lens that matches his suit. The lens is seriously about half my height and must weigh a ton.

Each bench on the jeep takes three passengers and beside me is an Indian couple. I don’t know if they speak English so break the ice by nudging the guy, and nodding towards the super large lens and then back to my little lens and making a frowning sad face. He gets the joke and laughs and we make small talk for a while.

He and his wife are from the south of the country and had tried to come on the safari in the morning but hadn’t been able to get a seat because they were all booked up. I knew that the number of tourists allowed in the park was limited, but hadn’t made the realisation that you might miss out if you didn’t book ahead.

We head off and join up with the other jeeps at the entrance and it’s then that I realise just how much of a big deal it is to see a tiger.

So my friend had gone out three times when he was in  India and didn’t see one at all. When I was researching, before I realised I couldn’t actually book from outside India, I had tried to see which zone was the most likely to have sightings based on the time of the year and whether the tigers had recently had cubs and when it had last rained. Exhausting. So it was a bit of a relief when I couldn’t make those decisions and the zone I went to was decided by the hotel. Or the safari permit people. Because I had no control, I realised that I had no influence on whether we saw a tiger or not and the only data point I had (my friend’s experience), indicated that it was incredibly possible not to see any tigers.

So my expectations were low. From the looks on the passengers in the other jeeps and especially on the face of the guy with the metre-long lens in my jeep, I realised that other people hadn’t managed their expectations quite as well. It really did look like we were at a funeral – sombre looks all around.

When we got off the jeep at the hotel, the Indian guy beside me said goodbye and I said it was a pity that we (indicating the passengers) didn’t see any tigers, which explained why we all looked sad, but I couldn’t figure out why the driver and guide looked so down.

Ah, said my friend, when they do find the tigers, the passengers tip very well – no tigers, no tip. My mind flashed back to that very morning when all the passengers (first timers remember!) had just got off the jeep and gone to their hotels without tipping the crew. And we had seen two tigers!! Ooops!

Realising how lucky I had been, on the way past reception I stopped by and had a word with the guy behind the desk. I let him know that I’d been lucky enough to see a tiger first up and thought my third safari spot would be better given to someone else to have a go – what else did they have for me to do the next morning?

He didn’t have to think too long before suggesting a trip to Ranthambor Fort. I’d seen the trip to the Fort on their website and coincidentally enough the cost for a single person was exactly the same as for the safari so I readily agreed.

The Fort

I got up and breakfasted at dawn the next day ready for the trip to the Fort. I was in good spirits because I had ticked off the four things I wanted to do on this trip and now anything else was going to be bonus territory. I met my guide and we set off in a jeep but parked not far from the entrance to the park. I soon saw why – a steam roller blocked the road ahead.

Apparently they didn’t want cars driving over the area that they were paving. I was happy enough strolling along beside my guide in the cool morning air. Occasionally a moped would nip by – always with a passenger on the back.

I asked my guide why there were so many people heading up to the Fort. He smiled and said that there was a famous shrine in the Fort and that this was a holy day: Akshaya Tritiya. I try and memorise the name but have to look it up later.

We make it to a bunch of buildings at the base of the Fort and begin the walk up. I learned in Agra at the Fort there that the favourite form of breaking down the gates on forts during sieges was to get an elephant to take a run up and bash them down. So that the more well designed forts have simple methods of countering that – things like curves before gates so that elephants can’t build up speed before hitting them. 

The stairs switch back on themselves and below I see pilgrims beginning the ascent, all heading to the Temple. I ask a few questions about the holy day and apparently it is an auspicious day to start new things, to buy property or gold.

The plateau that the Fort sits on is huge – the lip of it is well defended with thick walls and there are many ponds or lakes at the top, making the Fort incredibly defensible. There are temples to Ganesh and Kali as well as a Jain Temple and a Mosque. It’s amazing that the Fort has served so well for so long through history – testament to the natural barriers to conquest.

Once we get to the Temple of Ganesh, my guide invites me in. I doff my hat and put the lens cap on the camera and head in. A crowd is lining up at barriers not unlike sports stadium concession stands and slowly move forward to receive the blessing of a brahmin. My guide indicates that I can go forward for the blessing if I like but I demur and just take in the sight.

There’s a general murmuring between recipient of the blessing and those blessing and then a mark is made on their forehead. Finally the recipient gets or buys a small hand size square of cake and then leaves. My guide and I leave and he offers me a small section of the cake. I try it – it’s nice enough.

On the way back down my guide tells me of a story about the lake. Many years ago he says that the lake actually dried up. For the first time in centuries. The crocodiles that lived there all had to move on to find water and so the roads were covered in literally hundreds of crocodiles all trying to find enough water to live in. Then the next year the rains came and the lake refilled, and so the crocodiles all walked back. He grins and says the moral of the story was that crocodiles are resilient creatures. I retort that I think the moral is to swim at the pool in the hotel. He laughs.

So we head back to the hotel, and everyone we meet of the staff comes up to my guide and he shares a little corner of the cake he got at the temple. He sees me watching and explains that he is sharing the luck that comes with the blessing which strikes me as being an awesome approach. Before long it’s time to be picked up by my driver, so I go to pay the bill.

The owner makes a point of coming down – he wants to say goodbye and thank me for staying which is a nice gesture, and this certainly impresses my driver. I try to pay using my credit card and for whatever reason the machine isn’t working, so the owner despatches one of his staff to accompany me to the nearest ATM in town to get out the remainder that I owe them (I had had to pay a USD100 deposit to secure the booking).

I’m surprised by this until I’m told that the credit card machines use the cell network and that if the local cell tower has too many connections, it can’t add additional ones and so therefore the credit card machine can’t connect to the banking network. I’m glad that the ATM in town works and I’m super alert for skimmers on the machine or people standing too close to me. I make a point of handing the staff member the money in front of my driver so there’s a witness that I’ve paid and then we leave him to walk back to the hotel and we head off to Jaipur.

Would I go back?

I loved the Ranthambore Regency. I loved the fact that they charged me what the government charges them for the entry to the Park. I loved the food and the theatrics of the naan baker. I loved the fact that it had a pool and the rooms were large and the bed comfortable. But what I liked best was something that they had no control over – I loved that I saw a tiger. Two tigers. I’ve done that now though, so it unlikely I would return. If I wanted to do another tiger safari though, I’d start and end my search with the Ranthambore Regency.

Previous: The Step Well at Chand Baori | Part of Trip: Pollution & Tigers | Next: Jaipur

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Water is essential to life and especially precious in a land of searing heat. At both forts I’ve been to there have been deep wells ensuring security of water supply during sieges. I wanted to visit a step well on the way between Agra and Ranthambor and the one at Chand Baori wasn’t too much of a detour from the main road connecting those two towns. Atlas Obscura has a good overview of the step wells.

The road had been long and boring – except when punctuated by drivers dangerously overtaking and overloaded trucks on the verge of tipping over. Vast plains stretch off in every direction and shrubby bushes and scrawny trees dot the brown landscape with a relief of green. So it’s a shock when we pull off the main road and see the bright colours of the street-side market and its customers at Bamanpura on the way to the step-well.

The step-well itself is in a small village and has no entrance gate so I walk in. By this time the sun is directly overhead and with the walls of the complex protecting against the slight breeze, there is little relief from the heat. I move quickly to soak up the full impact of the geometric shapes of the construction of the well. It’s quite amazing the uniformity of the staircases – I’m tempted to walk down the steps to the water line, but there is a fence blocking access to the green water down at the bottom, so I don’t think there would be any point.

On the way out through the covered area there are two gentlemen with a large book who stand up and demand that I fill in my details. They’re dressed in green overalls without insignia and I decide it’s just another shake down and ignore them, figuring that if they really are officials that they will chase me down and insist on payment. I casually walk out giving them time to decide whether I’m worth pursuing. They don’t so it is either a scam, or they don’t like the thought of running in the noon day sun, and let me escape back to the air conditioned luxury of the car.

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I had negotiated a couple of stops on the way to Ranthambor from Agra and the first of which was a trip to the UNESCO World Heritage site of Fatehpur Sikri.

Fatehpur Sikri is the remnants of the ancient capital of the Mughal Empire – much of the surrounding city is no longer in evidence but the palatial remains on top of the hill are certainly worth an hour or so of wandering around. The entrance is through Buland Darwaza, an impressive gate at the top of steep red stone steps, guarded this early in the morning by sleepy goats and small clusters of bored locals.

The interiors are filled with interesting mosaics but what really strikes me is the difference in architecture between here and Agra – while the red stone is the same as that in the Agra Fort, the Mughal influences seem stronger. I find out later that at Agra later rulers had a lot of the original architecture pulled down and replaced by white marble palaces.

It’s early enough that I’m largely left to my own devices with very few people around and it doesn’t take too long to see everything. Halfway through my travels I come across a tour group enjoying a guided tour in German. If it had been in English I might have been tempted to follow just within earshot, but instead I rely on what noticeboards there are and make my way through the complex at my own pace.

Soon enough I decide I’ve had enough and head back down to where my driver is waiting, my walk only interrupted by an overly friendly local deciding to rest his hand on my shoulder as he walked by. I very quickly express my desire for an uninterrupted journey and he grins and scampers off.

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Arrival

I arrive in Agra on the train from New Delhi in the early hours of the evening and grab a tuk-tuk from the station to my hotel. On the way I ask the driver how much it would cost for a day shuttling me between the sights of the city. He thinks that 1000 rupees would cover it.

At £10 for a day’s travel, I’m thinking that’s a bargain, so I ask if he would like to do that tomorrow. He says that he has plans, but that his uncle would do it. I arrange to meet him out the front of the hotel at 7am for an early start, and then head in to the hotel.

I’m staying at the ITC Mughal using points and considering the exhausting day I’ve just had, plus the early start the following day, I elect to grab an early night. There is the usual consternation with the visa (see Delhi) but, as usual, the reality of being a long way from the airport in Delhi makes the point moot.

In the morning I get room service breakfast and eat it in my breakfast nook. It’s a lovely dhosa with a curry and selection of yoghurty things. I figure I’m safe with food from a five star hotel!

Agra Fort

I head out past security to the roadside where I arranged to meet the driver. Sure enough there is an older guy who admits to being Aslan (“like the lion”), my driver for the day. I tell him of the things I want to see and we head off into the day.

The streets are relatively clear save for herds of cows and we zip along making good time. I have no idea how long I’ll be at Agra Fort but Aslan doesn’t mind – he points to the carpark area where he will meet me afterwards and settles in for a snooze.

I head across the main road and find myself at the gates of an impressive fort. Entrance costs ₹550 (£5.50) and is worth the money – the complex is very large. I find it strangely unmoving though – maybe a guide would have been a good idea, but with nothing to connect the location with contextual history, it’s just a large fort commanding the river and main road crossing the river.

After spending a few hours wandering through the fort I head back to the carpark area and find Aslan. “Baby Taj?” I ask and he hesitates, before nodding. I think nothing of it until we hit the traffic crossing the River Yumuna.

I trace the route afterwards on Google Maps – 3km (2 miles) – takes over half an hour – if it wasn’t for the heat I could have walked it! The funniest parts for me are the potholes – I wonder how people don’t have broken axles more often – and the Hare Krishnas with an enclave under the bridge.

In London the Hare Krishnas dance and sing accompanied by guitars, drums and castanets and try to foist books on you as you walk by. Here in Agra they blare dance music at deafening volumes from behind the sort of walls that gangs erect to hide from prying eyes. It somehow matches the heat which is starting to peak.

One thing about the tuk-tuk is that when it’s moving the passing air cools you down. When the traffic is bumper to bumper it’s a different matter though!

Baby Taj (Tomb of Itimad-ud-Daulah)

The mausoleum is tiny and after taking it in, I spend some time staring at the river from the site. Garbage litters the banks while cattle wander along along the embankments.

Aslan has been stewing while I was inside – apparently he had wanted to do the Baby Taj on the way to Mehtab Bahg later in the afternoon to avoid the traffic.

He hadn’t made that clear at all and I agree that spending some time back at the hotel for lunch would be a good way to spend the time before the evening – apparently the view from Mehtab Bahg towards Taj Mahal is quite delightful around dusk.

By the time we get back to the hotel there’s about three hours before we’d need to head back. Which is great because I have built up quite the appetite.

ITC Mughal

I have time to soak in the surrounds of the hotel – it’s on a good chunk of land and there are well manicured lawns with a train randomly parked in the garden. No track except what its sitting on. I’m sure there’s a story there somewhere. They also have a delightful love-seat on the roof with views to the Taj in the haze. The heat is beyond bearable now so I head back to my room and have a cool shower.

It’s tempting to have a swim, but I all I want to do is have something to eat and maybe a nap. I order a biriyani with a fruit salad and am glad when it comes with a reika – a cooling yoghurt based dish.

When my meal arrives I point to the colourful items in the small dish just next to the can and enquire as to what they are. The waiter smiles says and states that they are an assortment of pickles. I later learn the hard way that he should have said “an assortment of pickles and chilis” but apart from that the food is delicious.

Mehteb Bahg

The shadows are beginning to lengthen and I head out to meet Aslan again. He seems in better spirits (maybe he had a nap too?) and we head back to the bridge, making better time than we did earlier.

Mehteb Bahg is a sprawling expanse of green sitting on the north bank of the Yamuna River. It is directly opposite the Taj Mahal and the sunlight is supposed to bathe the white stone of the Taj with a rose glow as the sun goes down.

I’ve got over an hour before dusk, so find a nice spot on the wall and look around me and take a few shots. There are a few tourists around, some locals, a few goats – the vibe is very rural idyllic. A small group of Asian tourists sit on the wall maybe three metres to my right and I smile at them. They smile back but don’t try talking so I leave them to their chatting and giggling.

A young couple sit beside me to the left and I idly strike up a conversation. They’re Dutch and have been in India for quite some time. Turns out that Kelly is a trainee doctor come to do some practical experience in the north of the country and Joel is an enthusiastic traveller with an eye for a good photo. They’d also heard about the “magical light at dusk” at Mehteb Bahg and so thought they’d come down for a look.

The shores of the Yamuna become more congested when a couple of tour buses disgorge their camera-toting tourists closer to sunset, so the air is soon full of the chatter of many different languages. It’s a pleasant scene but the colour changes are very subtle at best. I enjoy the calmness and generally friendly vibe of a bunch of fellow travellers all at one place for the same reason.

I take some shots and then discover that there isn’t much post-sunset light and it’s gotten very dark very quickly. Guards come along and let people know its time to leave, so I swap FaceBook details with my new friends and head back across the gardens to the carpark and attempt to find Aslan in the dark.

I pass the huge buses parked on the side of the road and get to the area where I had arranged to meet Aslan and manage to locate him. He smiles as I express surprise at the number of tourists that end up at Mehteb Bahg.

The locals call them “helicopter tourists” because they fly in and the then fly out without enriching the locals. I guess my surprise is because I was there before the crowds arrived so naively assumed that Mehteg Bahg wasn’t so well known.

We drive down the very dark streets when there is an almighty clang on the metal frame of Aslan’s tuk-tuk. It seems that helicopter tourists aren’t liked very much – enough for someone to throw a stone at me in the tuk-tuk! I’m guessing throwing stones at the buses isn’t the same. I was just lucky whatever they threw hit the heavy iron frame of the tuk-tuk.

We make it back to the hotel without further incident and I arrange to meet Aslan at dawn the next morning to visit the Taj Mahal before returning o the hotel, paying Aslan and getting picked up by my driver for the trip to Rhanthambor.

Taj Mahal

I’m up at dawn to see the Taj. I wanted to see it from Mehteb Bahg as well as visit it at dawn, which meant I had to sacrifice the “big reveal” of seeing it for the first time at dawn, merely because that’s the way the days had panned out. I was so tired on arrival in Agra that I didn’t want to head out so early on day one. In retrospect that might have been the better option – allowing the maximum impact of seeing the Taj for the first time, while still enjoying it bathed in both sunrise and sunset.

I certainly didn’t regret the way I had done it though. And I must admit it was kind of exciting having the building come into view as I passed through the Great Gate (Darwaza i rauza). Bam! There it is! Looking every bit as gorgeous in person as you’ve seen it in pictures or from the other side of the river the night before.

I take a million pictures and wander around the site before I realise I really have seen it from every angle. It’s about 9am and it’s starting to get full already with tour groups of women in saris arriving with armed soldiers. I’m mostly ignorant of Indian politics, religion and castes so have no idea why there’d be such a need of security. I head back out to the agreed upon meeting area and get Aslan to take me back to the hotel.

When it comes to pay Aslan I pay him 2000 rupees – double what his nephew had said, because he had been a good driver. He looks disappointed and starts to complain, mentioning that I made him go over the bridge in rush hour and that he had taken me back to the hotel during the day. I’m torn. On one hand 1000 rupees was probably an unrealistically low amount, but I had doubled it.

I agree to throw another 500 rupees in and he visibly brightens and shows me his guest book. He then tells me something heart breaking. He says that he gets all his passengers to write something in his guest book. But that he can’t read. So he can’t enjoy the kind things that people say about him. And he can’t tell if people are unkind. And so when he tries to use it as a sales tactic he won’t know if he’s showing good reviews or bad.

I bid Aslan farewell and head into the hotel to check out.

Would I go back?

I wouldn’t go back alone – for me Agra and the Taj are one and done – but I would go back if someone I was with hadn’t seen the Taj.

Previous: New Delhi | Part of Trip: Pollution & Tigers | Next: Fatehpur Sikri

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Arrival

I landed in New Delhi after a week in China with some trepidation. Of all the countries I had been to, India had thrown up the most warnings about tricks and scams in my research, so I knew that I was going to have to be alert. Getting to my hotel should be easy – I’d arrive, get a Visa on arrival and some cash from the ATM at the airport, have plenty of time to get a metro to the central station and then either catch a tuk-tuk or else walk to my hotel. I could almost hear Reality chortling to itself.

So! Landed, no luggage to collect (carry-on only), moving with purpose through the airport. Manage to get some cash from the ATM, and see the sign pointing behind the stairs for the Visa on arrival office. Upon entering the room my jaw drops. OMG. There are no queues, just a mass of people at a counter with two very bored looking over-weight middle-aged men wandering between the counter and their desks behind, occasionally thrusting pieces of paper at the tourists with a sneer.

It takes me a second to figure out the system. You somehow get a form, fill it in and then return it with your passport, a fee and a photograph to the cheery agents who then return to their desks, make the necessary additions to your passport and then return everything to you for you to depart.

Right! So I wait behind maybe ten Asian tourists before I’m joined by a collection of Canadian and fellow New Zealand middle-aged women on some sort of organised tour. One of the Immigration officers waddles over to the counter and flips a passport at one of the Asian tourists then looks at me expectantly.

“Uh…could I get a couple of forms please” I manage before anyone realises that I wasn’t next. He asks how many I need and I say six and distribute them to the women behind me at random. I don’t bother asking about why they don’t have the forms on this side of the counter where anyone could help themselves, I’m too busy calculating in my head how slowly they’re getting through the waiting tourists who have already filled in their forms and are leaning over the counter clamouring for their attention, and whether I would be able to make the last metro trip into town.

I fill in my form quickly but clearly – I don’t want bad penmanship delaying the processing! and then look up. Some of the Asian tourists remain, and a couple of the Canadian/Kiwi women have beaten me to completing the form, so I’m still standing right at the counter but by any objective viewing of the situation I am maybe 4th or 6th “in line”.

The moustached Immigration Officer brings another passport over to one of the Asian ladies, placing it down in front of her and explaining how she needs to fill in the form again as she got something wrong. I think it was the flight number. The lady has the hysterical air of someone who has travelled overnight and is in no mood for bureaucracy but she leaves the counter with her partner to have another attempt, looking very upset.

He then nods at me and so I pass over my forms and money, looking guiltily around me but nobody raises a fuss. I realise that I am being complicit with his overt sexism and racism, and the only consolation is that I might just make the last metro because of it. I tell myself that if I didn’t have a pressing time constraint that I would have indicated for him to take one of the ladies in front of me’s forms. I don’t know how convincing I am. It’s been said that the English invented bureaucracy but it took the Indians to perfect it.

I wait and try not to be too obvious about checking my watch lest it be seen as a slight on their turn-around times. Finally I receive my passport and I escape the airport for the Metro, managing to grab the last one and heading into New Delhi on an eerily empty but very new and clean train.

I leave the metro station and look around. It’s dark. Like really dark. there is none of the typical feeling of being surrounded by high rose buildings emblazoned with neon which flood the pavements and roads with illumination – instead it’s like being in a country town where once you are away from the shops there is nothing but mystery hiding in the darkness. I’m hailed by a tuk-tuk driver who asks if I need a ride. Immediately going on the defensive, I tell him I’m fine and cross an enormous car park towards the train station.

If my research is accurate, a half hour walk beyond the train station will take me to my hotel through the centre of New Delhi. I was assuming that the centre of town would be like the cities of the West – or even like any of the Chinese cities I’d just been to – well lit, but now I realised that I really wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

The tarmac gives off an oppressive heat like it has underfloor heating and a swarm of tuk-tuks buzz around the entrance to the station. I weigh up my choices. I can’t see any sort of over pass to get over the rail lines, so to walk to my hotel I would have to head up or down the lines and find a bridge or tunnel. With the distinct lack of street lights and the general lateness of the hour, the appeal of that plan is evaporating quickly.

I find a couple of policemen and walk up to them. They pause their conversation and I ask them if there is any way over the train lines, as I want to walk to my hotel. They look at me like I’m insane and politely suggest I take a tuk-tuk, before turning away and continuing their conversation.

Tuk-Tuk

I look around and think they might be right, so walk up to the first tuk-tuk I see. “Le Meridien?” I ask “How much?”. He gave me a huge grin and said “20 Rupees”. The Rupee vs Pound was running about 100 to 1, so even if that was twice as much as it should have been, it was only £0.20 so I agreed and jumped into the tuk-tuk. It wasn’t even five minutes before we were pulling up outside a nondescript set of shops and my driver indicated that I should enter a “Tourism Office”. Aha! I knew this one from my research! My first scam!!

With a grin I grabbed my suitcase and entered the shop. I hadn’t paid the driver so it was obvious that he would wait at the door. I entered and was welcomed by a middle-aged man who indicated that I should sit in a very comfortable leather chair with a high back. I told him I was fine to stand and he explained that the driver had brought me here because there had been a political parade during the day and that the road may still be blocked. He would be happy to ring the hotel to find out for me.

I raised an eyebrow and smirked before asking what the political parade was, to which he answered that it was for the upcoming elections. I then asked him which part of the government he belonged to because I couldn’t see any signs of ministerial crests or anything. At this point he asked me for the phone number of my hotel and made a point of writing it down in front of himself so I could see him dialling that number.

He chatted on the phone for a few seconds and then smiled and said that there would be no problem and the roads would be clear. I nodded in agreement and lack of surprise as we headed back out to my tuk-tuk driver. The tuk-tuk driver looked up expectantly and a look of disappointment crossed it as the Tourism Office official confirmed that he was to take me to the Le Meridien.

The scams are many but basically all tuk-tuk drivers know that if they take you to your hotel they will get the fare and that’s it. If they take you to the Tourism Office, if the guy behind the desk can persuade you that there is an issue with your hotel, or the roads between here and there, then the tuk-tuk driver will get a cut of the overpriced new hotel stay.

Le Meridien

So off we drove to the hotel, and I was amazed at the lack of street lights and the lack of high rise buildings. We must have arrived at the hotel about 1am and I paid the driver and walked into the hotel, feeling pretty good about the way I dodged the scam.

The lady behind the counter found my reservation and asked for my passport. She frowned at my Visa on Arrival and I asked what was wrong. She explained that the date on the Visa had the previous month for the ending date. I pointed out that the starting date was in the correct month so it was obviously an error. She said that I’d have to go back to the airport and get them to sort it out.

I told her I wasn’t going to do that at this time of the night because the chances were the office would be closed and anyway I was on  a train first thing in the morning so it wasn’t going to be possible to fix it. She bit her lip as she thought about it for a few seconds and then decided that if they faxed through the visa after I left then it would be ok for me to stay tonight. I thanked her and went to my room to get some well deserved sleep.

Jantar Mantar

I have a mid-afternoon train to Agra, so head off early to have a look around New Delhi. I start off with Jantar Mantar which is a collection of astronomical observance buildings from the 18th Century. It’s kind of fascinating how scientific observations were made in the past given what we think science is now – lab coats and microscopes, not buildings and star positions.

After exhausting Jantar Mantar, I head off to seek a bank where I can split some of my larger bills and maybe grab something to eat for breakfast. As I’m walking a young local chats with me as we happen to be walking in the same direction. I explain I’m looking for a bank to change some money and he suggests that he knows someone who sells tours and who would be happy to split my larger bills for me.

Sure, I say, lead on. It’s the middle of the day and I feel safe enough with my new friend. We head down the main road and then my new friend abruptly takes me down a side street to the right and then left, so we’re now travelling parallel with the main street.

I find this interesting but say nothing and we arrive at his friend’s shop. I expect him to hang around to get whatever “finders fee” will be coming his way but he wanders off pretty quickly. The guy in the shop is happy enough to break one of my big bills and the notes he gives me seem legit. He asks if I need transportation anywhere and I tell him, no, I’m all sorted there thanks.

So I leave and head back to the main road. As I leave the side street I realise why my friend had introduced the detour – a cluster of banks huddles together not 5 metres away. An older gentleman with a bushy white beard sits on a stool outside one of them, a very large and very old looking gun of some description resting on his lap. I’m used to security being subtle and usually not gun-related, so such an blatant show of security makes me wonder if armed crime is an issue here – in downtown New Delhi. I find a street vendor and buy a couple of bananas before heading off towards the India Gate.

India Gate

India Gate is at one end of a long road called the RajPath. At the other end is the Indian Parliament. The sun is beginning to get really hot, but there is a welcome breeze which takes the edge off. I have a wander around the monument and see the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the inscriptions on the India Gate. I weigh up having a look at the Parliament buildings, but time is against me and so I flag down a tuk-tuk and head back to the hotel to check out and on to the Train Station.

The Train

India will soon overtake China as being the most populous country and it feels like all 1.2 billion of them are at the New Delhi Train Station. I arrive early for my train not because I think it will be on time, but merely because I’m aware that there are scams and I need to find the correct platform. I’m glad I did because with the size of the crowd it takes a while for me to get through the security check, have my ticket checked (I bought online and printed it off) and then make my way past pilgrims, holy men, goats and assorted locals dressed in a bewildering array of clothing. I eventually negotiate my way to the correct platform and settle in for the inevitable wait.

Why the train? I asked myself that very question at various times during my trip. I happened to be telling my brother about my plans for India a few months before arriving and he mentioned that an acquaintance of his had made a trip to India and had been adamant about travelling by train in the lowest class possible to “really get a feel for how the locals live and travel”. You know the type – everything has to be “authentic” and you “have” to eat at street stalls because travel has to be about going somewhere and then living as the locals live.

I asked how that train trip had gone and he said that the acquaintance had ended up getting really bad worms and spending a month in hospital on their return. I’m travelling in the second highest class available on the train so hope that doesn’t happen to me, but the real reason for me to travel via train is that I have seen footage of trains festooned with people travelling on the roof and I guess I am curious about how the locals travel long distances.

I find a spot in the shade on the platform and settle in to wait. My train was scheduled to leave at 1pm. Initially it shows up as delayed and then an hour later the signage changes to say its expected at 3pm. As that approaches it finally switches over to 3:30pm. About 2pm I see a white couple making their way along the platform. It’s inevitable that they make their way to standing beside me and we start chatting.

They’re from Montreal and I figure that they’ve been in India a while if they feel confident enough to rock up for a train an hour after its scheduled departure time. My new friends grimace when I make that suggestion. “We got caught up in traffic and have been panicking about missing the train. We’re lucky it’s delayed, to tell the truth”. We chat some more to fill the time and eventually our train pulls in. It’s got a different number on the front of it which confuses us for a while.

So it is with some relief that I see my name on the manifest posted on the train door.

The berth is not exactly built for 193cm of westerner but I try to fold myself into as comfortable a pretzel as I can make while periodically stretching a limb to fight off cramp. My new friends are in the berths near me and the girl makes friends with the locals. It’s immediately obvious that we won’t be able to see out the windows at any station signs and there is some shared concern that us westerners won’t know when we’ve arrived at Agra.

The locals smile and say that they will let us know when we arrive at Agra that it’s three stations along – I suggest that would make it three stops from Delhi and they find that very funny. Oh there will be many more stops than that – but only three stations! It’s not a malicious laugh so I figure frequent inter-station stopping is common. Which unfortunately is true. I’m not sure if it’s because of cows on the track or roof-travellers falling off, but there are very frequent halts.

I’m very happy we are on good terms with the locals as they let us know when we get to Agra. It’s pitch black outside by that time and I can’t see anything from my seat so if I had been alone I don’t know what I would have done. I say farewell to my Montreal friends and grab a tuk-tuk to my hotel.

• Agra & the Taj Mahal
• To Ranthambor: Fatehpur Sikri
• To Ranthambor: Chand Baori
• Tiger Safari in Ranthambor National Park
• Exploring Jaipur

Much Later

New Delhi is the starting and ending point of my trip. I have an overnight stay booked at the Four Points which is a hotel out near the airport. At every hotel the dates on my visa have caused concern. With the exception of the first night, I have had the excuse that to fix it I would have to return to New Delhi which is obviously not possible since I’m here.

So I check in to the Four Points not expecting any issues and make it to my room, and let out a sigh after a long week in India. Then the phone goes. It’s reception. I won’t be able to stay here because of the visa. I ask what my options are and they say if I can go to the airport now and get it fixed, then they will honour the booking, but otherwise they are liable and face a large fine if I stay.

Realising that any other hotel will face the same situation, I wearily get to my feet and head out to catch a tuk-tuk to the airport. I try not to think about how I will get into the airport the wrong way in order to get to the Visa on arrival desk. It’s about 5pm at this point.

I arrive at the airport and head towards Arrivals. I figure there’s zero chance of getting through Departures – any chance of getting to the Visa desk will be from here. There are soldiers on the doors and they stop anyone from going into the Arrivals lobby. They’re not interested in my sob story of the Visa and point over my shoulder. I look around and there is a booth selling tickets to the Arrivals hall for 100 Rupees.

Rolling my eyes heavenwards, I stomp up to the booth and buy a ticket. Entering the Arrivals lobby I find the door where all the people arriving are coming out. A security guard on the other side of the door takes an interest in me as I approach the door. I explain the situation and ask what they think I should do. They say that periodically the people from the Visa desk come out for a smoke, and that I should wait at that door over there until that happens and then have a chat with them and ask if they can fix the Visa.

I look incredulously at them and ask how I could possibly know what the Visa people look like and they give a little “not my problem” shrug. At that point another security guard appears on the outside of the door so I abandon my less than helpful officer and rock up to the new guy. Again, I explain the situation.

This time he pulls out a walkie talkie and has a chat with someone on the other end. Then he says that someone from the Visa office will come out and that could I please take a seat over there. I’m much more happy with that than waiting for an unknown person to come out for a possible smoking break so take a seat and settle in. I don’t know how long it will take, but at this stage time is my friend. I’ve seen forts, palaces, monuments and tigers – now I guess I’m seeing the essence of India – bureaucracy.

The security guard periodically comes over to let me know that someone from the Visa office is definitely on their way, which I think is just so that I don’t get it into my head that I need to go against the flow of arriving tourists like a salmon, and after twenty minutes, lo and behold a younger, slimmer Visa person comes out to the door.

I explain the situation and he says that he would need to take my passport to the Visa office so that the adjustment could be made. I like my passport. I like that it opens doors and allows me to travel and visit many countries. The thought of allowing it out of my possession in a foreign land when I would need it the following day to go home triggers no end of alarms in my brain.

I calm myself by realising that everyone looks official, there is obviously going to be video surveillance of the Arrivals Hall so provide proof of my side of the story should anything untoward happen. Reluctantly I surrender the passport and watch as it leaves into the bowels of the airport. I head back to my seat and wait maybe ten minutes before the same young man returns and presents me with my passport.

I turn to the visa page and someone has merely crossed out the incorrect month and written the correct one alongside. The visa guy has the good grace to say that the Visa officer apologises for the inconvenience caused. I smile at everyone and thank them for their help and head off to find a tuk-tuk to the hotel. On the way I notice a guy standing near the booth selling the 100 rupee tickets to the Arrival Hall and give him mine. I don’t know if that gives him an advantage for his taxi or if he can resell the ticket but he gives me a huge grin and thanks me.

I head back to the hotel and start thinking of whether I could have avoided the inconvenience. The obvious thing to do would have been to check the visa at the time I got it. But truth be told it was such an odious office all I wanted to do was to get out. And I was trying to catch the last train. So couldn’t really kick myself too much for that.

Should I have gotten it fixed the first day? Hmmm… maybe. I would have missed out on Jantar Mantar and India Gate – but I might have missed my train. How about making the change myself? Surely they wouldn’t have known? Now that would have been dangerous. See, I think they fax the visa page to some central office somewhere. If they collated all of my visa page faxes, they would have seen the change that I made and when, and then I might be doing five years in jail for doctoring official documents.

So I guess the only thing I really lost was a few hours on the last day in which I could have been relaxing – and 100 rupees plus two tuk-tuk journeys only one of which I paid for (the hotel paid to get me to the airport). I’d done my research on scams but hadn’t considered the dangers of human error.

Would I go back?

India is a hugely diverse country – more a federal collection of nations really. I have just scratched the surface with my trip to Rajastan, so would certainly go back to explore some other parts, but feel like I’d seen what I wanted to in Delhi.

Previous: Shanghai | Part of Trip: Pollution & Tigers | Next: Agra

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