I wasn't really fussed about seeing the Taj Mahal. In the past I have built myself up before seeing famous things, imagining great beauty or power, something really awe inspiring only to be let down. The Taj Mahal was just a big white marble building famous for a dead princess having sat in front of it.
I was wrong
It was worth sitting on a bus for 6 hrs for. I have never been so captivated by a building, it is incredible. Sometimes no matter how many pictures you see of a thing you can't grasp the proportions and beauty until you are there, seeing it for real. This is one of those.
It is not a lump of solid white marble, it is inlaid with with Lotus flowers in coral stone, (Hindu symbolism), green leaves of malachite, beautiful patterns in bright greens and blues, amethyst, jade and opal, and columns of Muslim scripture in black onyx. The tomb chamber itself has filigree sheets each carved out of a single marble block, like Chinese ivory carving but 5 feet tall. The building took 20,000 men 22 years to build. It is flawless, a true wonder of the world. Shah Jehan had it built to house his wife's body, he planned to build a matching building in black marble on the opposite side of the Yumuna river (Jumna), he had got as far as laying the foundations. But his younger son Araungzeb imprisoned him in his own fort during a war with the heir and favourite, Dara, over the inheritance of power. Araungzeb won and Shah Jehan lived out his days in the Agra Fort, his project abandoned..
The most amazing thing is that this masterpiece was build in the 17th Century - no machines, everything was done by hand. We went to a marble factory to see how it is done, the direct descendants of the men who built the Taj are still doing the same work, but for table tops. Their work is amazingly beautiful - if I were a squillionaire I would have one for my dining table. Until then I'll just have to dream. By the way, they are guaranteed to be the direct descendants by the caste system. Trades are passed from father to son, you can't just pick a job and do it; here roles are very clearly defined.
The hawkers in Agra are very aggressive salesmen, you can't shake them off and they won't take no for an answer. In the space of 20 yards a wooden backgammon set (which was lovely) started at Rs800 ($20) and by the time I was climbing on the bus having been bodyguarded by the guys from the bus who tried to rescue me it was Rs 120. I think I should have bought it actually, it was really nice. Instead I bought a jointed wooden cobra (but of course!) which is a very brotherish present.
Along the road to Delhi it is obvious where all the buses have to stop for road taxes etc; the road is lined with beggars, snake charmers, men with monkeys that get thrown at the bus and cling to the window, then sit on top of a stick held by the man. Then he yanks at the rope round its neck and it does a backflip. A miserable thing to see.
The Agra Fort is an imposing red sandstone building. If you must be held in a prison, this is a pretty good one to pick! The bedchambers are marble inlaid with flowers like the Taj Mahal, which is visible through the arched windows. There's also a large courtyard with flower garden surrounded by bedrooms where the hareem lived. Nuff said!
Friday 28 September 2007
Saturday 15 September 2007
Delhi!
The start of a new adventure - I am in Delhi for a few days before going down to Pushkar to the vet hospital. The flight over was very quiet so I managed to get a row of 4 seats and bunk down properly thank goodness, and arrived bright and early at Indira Gadhi airport New Delhi (looks a bit like a big shed built on a minefield.) Two drivers had been sent by accident, so they had a squabble about who should take me! Eventually it was all straightened out and it was off to the town. The driver seemed to know a short cut - down the wrong side of the road into the oncoming traffic. I don't know why they paint lanes on the road here, correct road positioning is "where my car fits". We were overtaken on the inside by a family of 5 on a wee moped.
Honking the horn serves as a measure of courtesy (you toot to let people in), to let people know you are there, and for 100 other mystifying reasons. Indicators don't work or arent used, you just stick your arm out the window. This is also used to protect you from other vehicles. I have no idea how they manage not to kill anybody, but it seems to work , in an odd way, no wing mirrors to confuse things and give way to cows. There was even a cow walking down the motorway on the wrong side.
As soon as we set foot in the hotel I was whisked away to the tourism office where I had to sign lots of official looking books, have my passport inspected and detail my plans. It was easier getting through customs! Then the guy told me I was doing it all wrong and drew up an itinerary of his own, which was nearly the same but entailed me paying him a vast sum and sitting in a car lots (which makes me very travel sick). I had to sit and listen to his schpeil for ages before he paused for breath and looked at me expectantly. I then pointed out I was doing everything on his listr but in a way that fitted in with my schedule, didn't make me sick, made maximum use of my time, was much cheaper and was already fully booked and payed for. He got very huffy, sat picking his fingers and said "I'm only doing my duty"!
The hotel is bright and clean, the air con works and there's a fan and a good shower. So a quick shower, clean clothes and it was off to Old Delhi!I got as far as the lobby and the monsoon burst. So it was lunch in the hotel instead, Lamb biryani. Mutton actually, and it was wonderful. I also asked for a lemon soda, which turned out to be a mistake as it was a bottle of soda and a lemon squeezed into a glass, no sugar, just a heartburn carry out. By the time I'd eaten and paid the extortionate 1.50 (!) it was drying up, so again I set off for Old Delhi.
Old Delhi is the best argument for colonialism I've ever seen! People literally live on the pavement - they set up a little kitchen in an alleyway or in the gutter, they sleep on their pedal rickshaw, the pavement or bedframes over which have been woven old rope to make a sort of sling hammock effort. Many of these people have no shoes, some no legs. Cows and dogs curl up to sleep wherever they can be it the middle of the road, the central reservation or the rubbish dump. The cows wander freely and graze off the peelings from fruit vendors stalls. Most seem healthy but thin.We took a rickshaw up through the second hand market to Chandni Chowk. I was really looking forward to seeing this historic street which was designed by the favourite daughter of the great 17th century emperor Shah Jehan with a canal running up the middle of the broad tree lined avenue approaching the Red Fort. The street is named after the moonlight it reflected......
Not any more. Old Delhi is falling down and nobody is doing anything about it. Every now and then there is scaffolding of tied together sticks propping up the front, but many buildings are partly collapsed, whilst throught the holes in the brickwork you can see families living in what's left standing (for now)
It is difficult to explain what it is like to be here for the first time. The smell changes every few feet; popcorn, incense, sweat, spices, faeces, chicken tikka, the myriad sweets frying at the roadside. The colour is brown over all punctuated with splashed of lurid colour from a womans sari, piles of green fruits and red apples on handcarts and the green and yellow auto-rickshaws. Chandni Chowk is a bustling bazaar, difficult to negotiate. It is crammed with stalls selling bright shirts, saris and lengths of cloth. Each of the side streets is a specialised market - spices, the gold and silver market, the elecrical market, textiles, wedding clothes. And at the head of it all the Red Fort, stronghold of Shah Jehan after he moved the court from Agra to Delhi when his wife died (and he built her tomb -the Taj Mahal). I wouldn't like to try and storm the walls, it's pretty impressive. There is a 10m deep moat which was filled by the river but is now a shallow swamp fed by the monsoon rains. As with all old building the nooks and crannies have been filled by birds nesting, but here it's not just pigeons- luiminous green parakeets run up the red sandtone walls, squawking to each other.
I fell prey to a real charmer at the gate, just past the man selling fake beards. He had great plans for me - take me here, take me there, see this, very good very good. All on his "Indian helicopter" a muddy rickshaw. I talked him down into taking me back to the hotel. He certainly had the patter well rehearsed and was proud of Old Delhi - "very cheap good quality" as opposed to New Delhi - "Cost much not good". After drop off and complaints about the price paid "Oh Madam - this is very less!" it was back to the hotel restaurant for a fabulous dinner of various potato combinations. Then a quick wander before bed down the thin streets lit by neon hotel signs with names like "Yes Please Hotel". Didn't do much sleeping, still awake at 4.30 am and waiting to go for the bus to Agra. This could be interesting........
Honking the horn serves as a measure of courtesy (you toot to let people in), to let people know you are there, and for 100 other mystifying reasons. Indicators don't work or arent used, you just stick your arm out the window. This is also used to protect you from other vehicles. I have no idea how they manage not to kill anybody, but it seems to work , in an odd way, no wing mirrors to confuse things and give way to cows. There was even a cow walking down the motorway on the wrong side.
As soon as we set foot in the hotel I was whisked away to the tourism office where I had to sign lots of official looking books, have my passport inspected and detail my plans. It was easier getting through customs! Then the guy told me I was doing it all wrong and drew up an itinerary of his own, which was nearly the same but entailed me paying him a vast sum and sitting in a car lots (which makes me very travel sick). I had to sit and listen to his schpeil for ages before he paused for breath and looked at me expectantly. I then pointed out I was doing everything on his listr but in a way that fitted in with my schedule, didn't make me sick, made maximum use of my time, was much cheaper and was already fully booked and payed for. He got very huffy, sat picking his fingers and said "I'm only doing my duty"!
The hotel is bright and clean, the air con works and there's a fan and a good shower. So a quick shower, clean clothes and it was off to Old Delhi!I got as far as the lobby and the monsoon burst. So it was lunch in the hotel instead, Lamb biryani. Mutton actually, and it was wonderful. I also asked for a lemon soda, which turned out to be a mistake as it was a bottle of soda and a lemon squeezed into a glass, no sugar, just a heartburn carry out. By the time I'd eaten and paid the extortionate 1.50 (!) it was drying up, so again I set off for Old Delhi.
Old Delhi is the best argument for colonialism I've ever seen! People literally live on the pavement - they set up a little kitchen in an alleyway or in the gutter, they sleep on their pedal rickshaw, the pavement or bedframes over which have been woven old rope to make a sort of sling hammock effort. Many of these people have no shoes, some no legs. Cows and dogs curl up to sleep wherever they can be it the middle of the road, the central reservation or the rubbish dump. The cows wander freely and graze off the peelings from fruit vendors stalls. Most seem healthy but thin.We took a rickshaw up through the second hand market to Chandni Chowk. I was really looking forward to seeing this historic street which was designed by the favourite daughter of the great 17th century emperor Shah Jehan with a canal running up the middle of the broad tree lined avenue approaching the Red Fort. The street is named after the moonlight it reflected......
Not any more. Old Delhi is falling down and nobody is doing anything about it. Every now and then there is scaffolding of tied together sticks propping up the front, but many buildings are partly collapsed, whilst throught the holes in the brickwork you can see families living in what's left standing (for now)
It is difficult to explain what it is like to be here for the first time. The smell changes every few feet; popcorn, incense, sweat, spices, faeces, chicken tikka, the myriad sweets frying at the roadside. The colour is brown over all punctuated with splashed of lurid colour from a womans sari, piles of green fruits and red apples on handcarts and the green and yellow auto-rickshaws. Chandni Chowk is a bustling bazaar, difficult to negotiate. It is crammed with stalls selling bright shirts, saris and lengths of cloth. Each of the side streets is a specialised market - spices, the gold and silver market, the elecrical market, textiles, wedding clothes. And at the head of it all the Red Fort, stronghold of Shah Jehan after he moved the court from Agra to Delhi when his wife died (and he built her tomb -the Taj Mahal). I wouldn't like to try and storm the walls, it's pretty impressive. There is a 10m deep moat which was filled by the river but is now a shallow swamp fed by the monsoon rains. As with all old building the nooks and crannies have been filled by birds nesting, but here it's not just pigeons- luiminous green parakeets run up the red sandtone walls, squawking to each other.
I fell prey to a real charmer at the gate, just past the man selling fake beards. He had great plans for me - take me here, take me there, see this, very good very good. All on his "Indian helicopter" a muddy rickshaw. I talked him down into taking me back to the hotel. He certainly had the patter well rehearsed and was proud of Old Delhi - "very cheap good quality" as opposed to New Delhi - "Cost much not good". After drop off and complaints about the price paid "Oh Madam - this is very less!" it was back to the hotel restaurant for a fabulous dinner of various potato combinations. Then a quick wander before bed down the thin streets lit by neon hotel signs with names like "Yes Please Hotel". Didn't do much sleeping, still awake at 4.30 am and waiting to go for the bus to Agra. This could be interesting........
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