Worlds Apart - PART 7

14th February 2004: Agra.

We’ve left Rajasthan behind and taken the five-hour bus journey from Jaipur into the region of Uttar Pradesh. We’re currently in Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. Fittingly, we’ve arrived at the ‘city of love’ on Valentine’s Day although I would suggest it smells of something other than ‘love’. The Taj Mahal is supposedly very romantic though, built by the husband of Mumtaz Mahal as a symbol of his love following her death. Being a sucker for useless information, I’m going to mention that the main domed building (built in 1648 and almost entirely clad with inset marble) is surrounded by four towers, positioned symmetrically around the tomb. Not only are these scaled down to heighten the effect of the dome, they’re also on the piss and lean ever so slightly away from the main building. This is apparently because at the time the towers were constructed it was uncertain if the foundations, being right next to the river, would be able to sustain the weight. Rather than risk it, they decided to build them leaning outwards so in the event they collapsed, they wouldn’t crash onto the tomb. Here we are some 356 years later and similarly to Elton John, they’re still standing. It’s all very impressive although a socialist must have devised the entrance fee scales. I think it was 700 rupees to enter the monument (about £8.50) compared with only 70 rupees for the locals. You have to pay extra to use your camcorder. Only when the fee has changed hands do you discover this only allows you to video from a balcony located fifty yards from the ticket booth. From here, I managed to stretch the footage to maybe ten seconds as I panned out from the monument to reveal the surrounding gardens. What a lot of people also don’t realise is you’re only witnessing a replica of the actual tomb. The original tomb lies underneath, but was closed following a crush of people. Two children died. There are those who say the legend of the Taj Mahal is a complete farce and that it’s actually the ancient Hindu temple palace of Lord Shiva. If that’s the case, you’re paying good money to see replica tombs of Lord knows who, but hey, it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m prepared to see it as a monument to love … partly because this was to be the highlight of my trip to India and I paid £8.50 to get in.

In an attempt to look my best for our Valentine’s evening meal, I decided to get my haircut. With the chair bolted to the floor and the lead for the clippers not long enough, it wasn’t dissimilar to a wrestling match. The kind Indian gentleman, unfazed by the giggling onlookers who’d come in off the street to see the distressed foreigner have an Indian style trim, forced my head to the correct position by applying liberal pressure to my neck with his left elbow. I decided against making a meal of my discomfort once he produced a cutthroat razor to finish the back and around my ears. I’m sure I detected a glint in his eye as I caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Anyway, he did a very good job and although I left with chronic neck ache, I tipped him on the basis my ears were still attached to the side of my head.

I hope Bob’s remembered to give Mel the Valentine’s chocolates I left for her. Knowing him he’s probably eaten them himself or given them to Ellie.

15th February 2004: Orcha.

Caught the early morning express train to Jhansi before transferring to our accommodation in the medieval temple town of Orchha. The guesthouse is plain and simple but very agreeable and comes complete with en suite squat toilet (which I’m determined not to use). Took a tour of the local palaces and temples. I mean they’re very impressive but temples, schmemples, once you’ve seen the Taj Mahal it all gets a bit passé to be honest. I was much more interested in the colours and smells witnessed during our excursion to the local market in the main square. India revealed its uniqueness once more. It must be one of the few places where nobody bats an eyelid at a dead dog lying only a few yards from the food stalls. I thought it was disturbingly still the first time I walked by, but on my return, I realised numerous flies were having a delicious lunch on one of its eyeballs.

Soaked up a bit of sun by the river Betwa in the afternoon. It was very relaxing for all of five minutes until we were joined by a few of the locals. One guy turned up to start with, sat on the crossbar of his pushbike and stared at us. Then his mate came, then a few others. Before long, there was a group of five blokes, stood no more than twenty feet away, just staring at us. I found the whole thing very unnerving to start with, and then I just began to feel pissed off. The tour guide prevented me making a scene, saying that in their eyes, they weren’t doing anything wrong.

‘They’re just being inquisitive,’ she said, putting herself between me and the small gathering. ‘Only in the west are we taught staring is rude.’ Whether they’re taught it or not, it surely doesn’t stop it from being intimidating. I didn’t argue. Sian seemed to be enjoying the attention.

Posted a load of my crap home I don’t need/am fed-up carrying. This includes my malaria tablets. A bold step for me, Mr Conservative, but they’re really making me feel ill. Apparently only a tiny percentage of mosquitoes carry malaria and there are thousands of different strains of the virus. Anti-malaria drugs on the other hand would only appear to protect you from one type of the illness. By my reckoning therefore, if I’m unlucky enough to get bitten by one of these malaria carrying mosquitoes, the chances are my stupid tablets won’t protect me in any case. Our tour guide informs us there’s only one way to guard against the disease – don’t get bitten. I’ve therefore made the management decision to stop taking them, so that was £60 well spent in Boots. I’ve taken care to disguise them in another box in case Mum opens the parcel and has a hissy fit. Not taking them helps me psychologically with the whole rufty-tufty traveller thing. I mean you don’t see Indiana Jones popping pills every five minutes.