Day 8 - Speechless.

15:00
Took me ages to get to sleep last night. I think/hope this is because my body doesn’t need the extra snooze anymore, and is sufficiently rested. Thankfully, the DIY project concluded around 00:30, so at least my wakefulness was peaceful. I started to doze off around 02:00, and think I drifted into a longer sleep around 03:00.

I wake with my alarm at 08:00, not feeling too jaded. I’ve decided to forego any food until after I’ve been out for a wander. I don’t want to provide unnecessary ammunition to my stomach. I’m showered (much needed) and packed by 10:00, and leave my bags at my guesthouse for the day. Somewhere along the way, my rucksack lock has got damaged, so need to pick one up today. My pack’s either been in my line of sight, or in my locked room throughout my trip so far, but I’m more conscious of security on overnight trains. The security at my guesthouse doesn’t seem like the best, so I pack my valuables into my day pack, and head off to the Taj East Gate, just 100m from my hostel.

On arrival, the queue to enter is shambolic - even by Indian queuing standards. It’s not folks buying tickets - there’s a separate building for that, or you can buy them online. This is for people with tickets, and there are 6 different queues depending on a variety of factors - one being gender, one being nationality (Indian vs foreigner), and even price of your ticket. Now, the only indication of which queue is which is at the very front of the queue, where there’s a teeny-tiny little printed card for each queue, which is entirely illegible unless you’re stood right next to it. Genius. I’m directed to three incorrect queues before finding the correct one.

Through this first Herculean trial, it’s time to deal with the security portion of proceedings. There was nothing like this on my first visit. A quick check of the ticket, and through you go. I'm unsure what the cause of the additional security checks is, but they're thorough. I put my rucksack through the scanner, then walk through a metal detector. When I go to collect my rucksack, I’m told it’s too big - it needs to go into the cloak room. This is fine. At the cloakroom, the attendant tells me that my day pack can’t go in the cloak room because it contains valuables - my laptop and iPad. I ask him if there’s another left luggage facility nearby, and he dismissively waves me away. I walk away, calling him a sister-fucker almost under my breath. Peering back over my shoulder, I can see he’s stuck between pride ay my knowing a favourite Hindi curse word, and fury at being called a favourite Hindi curse word.

Back at Joey’s, the reception dude takes pity on me, and says there’s an unused room I can use for my luggage for the day, giving me a bit of breathing space. I put my essentials into my little sling bag, pop by camera around my neck, and head back to the East Gate. Now that I’m an expert in the queuing matrix, I head straight up the male, foreigner, full ticket queue - only to be told I’m in the wrong place. As I’m re-entering, I have to go in a separate entrance. If you ever wonder why India has high levels of employment, it’s because of jobsworthery (not a word) such as this. Finally back at the security checkpoint, I’m told that my vape isn’t allowed inside the monument. I must put my sling bag, containing my vape into the cloak room. This means a fresh encounter with the man that I have just called a sister-fucker. To be fair, he does the decent thing, and accepts my bag, but I’m immediately wondering whether there’ll be anything missing, or perhaps some form of punitive addition when I collect it.

FINALLY into the monument park, I can feel my excitement levels rising. I can remember the raw sensation of visiting the Taj Mahal on my first India trip, and the views I’ve had of the mausoleum across rooftops have done nothing to diminish my fervour to see it up close. The first building is a magnificent gateway in red sandstone, with ornate Pietra Dura features. This sculpture style is staggering, and covers most of the mausoleum building. What looks at a distance to be painted or inked on is actually an inlay technique. Fiendishly complex grooves are cut into the white marble, before corresponding shapes in black marble are laid into the gaps. On the mausoleum itself, the entirely of the Quran is recreated using Pietra Dura, and it’s one of the most magnificent things I’ve ever seen…

Walking through the gatehouse, I emerge into the stunning gardens in front of the mausoleum - that world famous view down the central ponds up to the glowing marble edifice. Now, I’m here late morning, and my last visit was at dawn. Even so, I can’t believe the numbers that are here. Perhaps it’s the ubiquity of digital photography in 2025, but the crowds seem staggeringly immobile. I have a rye chuckle at some folks taking very earnest selfies. A favourite pose seems to be holding out your arm, so that it *looks* like you’re holding the spire at the top of the main dome.

The view down to the mausoleum is mesmerising. I find a little corner to one side of the main throng to have a sit down and contemplate. It’s just jaw dropping - one of the most incredible things on our planet. If you ever have the chance to come and see it, just do it. I wander around with an inane grin on my face for a couple of hours. Up close to the main mausoleum, I’m speechless at the scale, intricacy and beauty. It took 20,000 men 22 years to build. It was commissioned by Shah Jahan, to commemorate the death of his beloved wife. As tributes go, it’s a fairly spectacular one. Sadly (for him), he was imprisoned by his own son, at the Red Fort, a few kilometres across town. I’m not entirely sure what his transgression was. It can’t have been *too* bad though, because his son granted him the favour of life imprisonment in a cell with a view over to the Taj Mahal, so he could gaze towards his wife for the rest of his days. What a love story, huh?

Back at Joey’s, I reason it’s definitely time for some food. I’ve got about 6 hours to kill until my train this evening. I’ve got some chores to do, but need to test my stomach a little first. LET’S GO.

19:00
I’ve spent the remainder of the afternoon at Hippie Café, the rooftop place at Joey’s. I had fleeting plans to head off to some of Agra’s other attractions - Agra Fort, the tomb of Itimad ud-Daulah. I’m minded that I’m still recovering though, and not at full match fitness. As a result, an afternoon of reading in the hazy sunshine feels pretty special. I have an aloo parantha - a chargrilled bread stuffed with a lightly spiced mashed potato concoction, served with a pot of cucumber raita. It’s wonderful - a hug of a dish. My stomach doesn’t even hint at objections.

There’s a kite festival today. Or rather, there’s a Hindu observance called Makar Shakranti, which is frequently celebrated by kite flying. The guys at Hippie Café rope me in, providing me with a basic bitch kite. I am, it’s fair to say, not a good kite flyer. Across the rooftop view of Agra, there are countless practitioners that put me to shame. I quickly relinquish my kite, and settle instead for watching others having fun. There are kids as young as 3-4, there are adults in their 40s, and everything in between. Apparently, age is of no great import. As the sun sets to the West of me, there are kites, bird murmurations, and just the haziest warm glow to the sun. Kinda magical actually.

I’ve had two whole meals today, and haven’t yet had to resort to urgent toilet trips. This is stunning progress. I’m gonna take it easy for the next few days. I’ll be spending 3 hours at a time in a bumpy jeep on Thursday and Friday, and don’t want to do anything that could interfere with my enjoyment of safari time. My plan is to stick to fairly bland foods - rice, bread, maybe the odd dhal - and avoid booze. Oh, and I think I’ll probably stick to veggie food when I’m not in Goa, and even there it’ll probably only be the spanking fresh fish that’s landed daily by the local fishing boats.

I’ve also decided to stay here at Joey’s as late as is practical, in case my train has another substantial delay. I don’t *think* it should, as Agra is the first station out of Delhi, but you never know. Proximity of a decent toilet, cool people and comfy seating is much more attractive than the alternative. It’s also getting pretty chilly out, and I don’t fancy sitting around in it unnecessarily…

22:30
I would like to issue a retraction. Yesterday, I intimated that this train will take 18 hours to reach Nagpur, and potentially 24 hours with delays. LIES. It’s 12 hours. I should be pulling into Nagpur around 09:30 tomorrow morning, or early afternoon if things go awry…

Anyways.

Around 20:30, I figure I should probably get my shit together. I need to repack a touch, and I’m conscious that long train rides need a bit of preparation and planning to make sure what you need is where you need it, when you need it. This is even more true as I’m in a shared compartment with at least 1 and possibly 3 other passengers. I’ve travelled in these compartments before, and they’re comfortable, spacious and clean. Pissing off your colleagues banging around at 02:00 trying to find a bottle of water can put a real dampener on team spirit.

I jump in the back of a tuk-tuk, and we scream off to the other side of the city, where Agra Cantt Station is located. It’s been a few days since I rode around a busy city, and the nighttime driving is particularly shocking/hilarious. We wing at last 2 pedestrians on this relatively short journey. For those unfamiliar, the auto-rickshaw/tuk-tuk so ubiquitous across much of Asia can best be described as a a flying tin-foil death trap on wheels. The driver sits on a single seat at the front, basically on top of a whiny 2-stroke engine and a single wheel. At the back, there’s a two wheel rear axle, on which is placed an uncomfortable bench of sorts. Comfortably, they’ll fit 2-3 Westerners. I have witnessed them carrying 9 children to school. Tuk-tuk drivers simply don’t appear to have grasped that the fundamental design of the vehicle is a wedge. They see a gap that the front will just, JUST squeeze through, and who gives a shit what happens at the back.

I was in the back of a tuk-tuk once with two other travellers heading up to Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve. I’d just come from Agra, where the weather was a balmy 25C. In Umaria, where we jumped off the train at 04:00, it was about 3C. I was inappropriately dressed. We huddled together in the back of a tuk-tuk for the near 1 hour journey up to the town bordering the reserve. About 2/3 of the way there, the driver realises we have a flat. We passengers jump out and look blankly at each other, wondering what happens next. The driver motions to two of us to lift the tuk-tuk so he can change the tyre. Jan (for twas his name) and I look at each and start laughing. Supermen, we are not. The driver insists though, so we give it a go. It’s deeply troubling to this day just how light the thing was. Fuck knows how it’d hold up in a head-on collision… I’m fine taking them around towns, where the speed is low. Longer distances and on main roads - forget it. I’m getting picked up in a car tomorrow morning at Nagpur to head up to Pench - my Bandhavgarh surrogate on this trip.

Interesting. I just involuntarily thought it’d be nice to have a beer while I’m writing. That hasn’t happened in about 5 days. Onwards! Upwards!Meer informatie