India Pt 5

I knew that there was one thing I needed to see before I left the filth and graft and disease of India far behind. Everyone say it with me, the Taj Mahal. I mean, who comes here and puts up with everything this place throws at you and doesn't go to the Taj Mahal? Even if you've been to India before, you still want to see it again. It's as close to a pereect building as you're likely to see. The symmetry, the way that the four towers line up in relation to the main building to the apex of the arches of the massive entrance halls, everything about it is so close to perfect. The intricate carving on the walls, the inlay of the Islamic prayers inside the memorial hall, the way that if you hold a flashlight to the marble you can almost see right through it, it's of such fine quality. There's the remarkable echo inside the main hall, personally I would want to be around when there is someone singing prayers in there. There's the immense gates on all four sides of the grounds, and they even line up with the Taj Mahal itself. There's the iconic reflecting pool outside where so many photographs have been taken. With everything I have said, plus the pictures you have no doubt seen, assuming you haven't been there, how could this part of the trip be such crap too? It starts, as always, with the hotel. The name of the hotel is Ray of Maya, an offshoot of the better known hotel Maya, right next to an entrance to the walkway leading to the western gate of the Taj Mahal. It really is ideally situated for an early start to the great monument if you want to see it by sunrise. It is also at the end of a two foot wide mud path which is raised and runs between two construction sites. This path begins at the gauntlet of autorickshaw drivers and runs past a hotel and restaurant before it gets to a vacant lot littered with garbage and rusted, decrepid buildings. Next stop along the path, we pass a new hotel being built adjoining the Ray of Maya, and then past the hotel gym, which is actually an unfinished underground parking lot, filled with one tank for water and one tank for septics until the sewer line is completed. We arrive quite late, so I get one of the hotel staff to show Siobhan and Dominic to the room while I do the check in. Hotel checkins are really rigorous in India. They want to know where you've been, where you're going, how you got here, how you're leaving, when you're leaving, have you got a phone number, have you got an email address, have you been to India before, why are you here anyway? Then there's the stuff you expect, the passport and visa numbers, names and home addresses. They are even more suspicious if you're staying in a town near the Pakistan border. I finish up and get to the room. Then the banging starts. Faster and Faster, louder and louder, and for those dirty birdies reading, we had no neighbours. No, it's coming from the construction site next door. Once again angry ( this happens a lot lately), I meet a fellow resident who wants to know if I'm going down to Find out about this banging. Actually he asked if I was going to ask about the f***ing banging to which I replied "abso-f***ing-lutely". The man on desk said he'd find out. The banging stops. It's 1 am. We want to be up for 5 am to catch the sunrise at the Taj Mahal. The banging starts again, only this time faster and louder with no breaks for a breath. I am going to kill. No really. It's time for death. I go back downstairs and I am assured it's only going to last another 5 or 10 minutes. So you know about the banging. Yes. Is he one of yours? Yes. DOES HE KNOW WHAT F***ING TIME IT IS? Yes. So sorry. Die. Everyone should just die. Back to bed. 5 am comes. I don't care. 5:15. Fine. Let's get up. 5:30. Crap. Getupgetupgtup! Outside we see that everyone else has had the same idea. Supercrap. We get in the slowest moving electric autorickshaw we can find and get to the Taj Mahal. There are metal scans and bag checks. Siobhan has to empty her bag. Bloody nuisance. Fine. Let's go. We start walking and are promptly set upon by guides. How the hell did they get in? we were the first lot through the gates. Surely they don't work for the monument? Annoyed. We get to the reflecting pool, and photographers are there taking pictures of the tourists sitting on the stone bench. Seriously, how do they get in before we do? Do they sleep here? We get up and try to take our own picture when we hear a photographer say "shoo!" like we are dogs getting in his shot, and he's the only one allowed to take pictures there. I know that shouting loudly at the locals on the site of a world monument is not done, but this little pissant just tried to shoo me away. I'm so shocked all I can do is verbally and loudly abuse him, knowing I look like a dick. I don't care. I hate India. The skies open up. The weather has closed in. Rain hurls itself down with such ferocity the huge gates can't be seen from the monument. Fortunately we are only steps away from the entrance, but we still manage to look like wet dogs by the time we get inside. As I mentioned earlier, the inside of the Taj Mahal is almost as remarkable as the outside. The intricate carving, the jeweled inlay on every marble panel which is every surface on every facet of every wall, the ebony arabic prayers, set in the marble and runs up each of the six corners and around the top of the mausoleum. The tombs are in the centre, walled off from approach. A hall runs the circumference of the Taj Mahal and again every intricately carved wall with it's floral motifs is carefully inlaid with garnet and lapis. Just from a strictly architechtural standpoint, it's a truly incredible achievement. Apparently engineers have done several surveys of the structure, and the towers and main buildings line up almost perfectly, to within a few centimetres on either side. The towers are actually angled out slightly, so that if an earthquake happens, they will fall away from the mausoleum. Simply an incredible feat of engineering and aesthetics, and quite likely the most beautiful building I have ever seen. I like to think I have seen many all over the world. We walk past the main entrance to the mausoleum which looks out over the main gate, and there's no one there. it's been open for an hour and the usual masses of people are trapped under the eaves of the massive gate as the rain thrashes down and shows no sign of abating. A few brave souls decide theve've had enough standing around and say "rain be damned" as they head out into the maelstrom. Once the first lot start moving, others soon follow. In moments, the grounds are swarming with tourists. It's time to go. The museum doesn't open for another hour, and we're not standing in the rain just for this, so we go back to the hotel for some rest. Mission accomplished, we head out for some dinner. The hotel restaurant is actually across a busy road. Genuinely, even little annoyances like this are becoming enormous rage starters. I can't seem to find the little happy things anymore, which I find very troubling. I am always the one trying to find the good in everything, whether it be the food in the restaurant or the facades on the buildings or just the water pressure in the shower, but I am having real trouble finding anything to feel good about and now I'm actually looking for things to gripe about. I don't have to wait either. There's always something to be angry about now. We just want to get to Delhi now. One step closer to Thailand. The train is an hour late, which for a three hour train ride takes some doing. Or not doing as the case may be. We arrive eventually, and go to our hotel which is on Connaught Place in the outer circle. It's upstairs in what appears to be a little hole in the wall. The walkway to the hotel crosses a hallway which has "Do Not Enter" signs painted on the walls. Eeep. A door at the end of the murder hall opens up to a really quite nice, if not small, lobby. Freshly painted, the whole place smells like paint and chemicals, but it's a very modern looking place with all new beds and appliances. A very welcome change. There is hope that things might actually work as they should here. There is crap internet in the first room, so we get another. I'd like to say that things like internet shouldn't matter because we are not touring the internet of the world, but everything is done on the net now, and if you say you have good strong internet, you really ought to. So we move. The room we go to is smaller but the internet is marginally better. We need laundry doing so we try to find a laundry service, and find none save the hotel's own. This is gonna cost. And it does. We make an inventory of what needs washing and do the math on what it should cost. It's one of those places that charge by the item, not by the kilo like we are used to. We go out to have a look at the area. Connaught Place was built by the British, it's a large circle with an inner and outer ring, lined with shops all round and small streets running fron the outer ring to the central park. I'm sure the place was really lovely once, but left to the devices of the Indians, the place has become filthy and stained with betel nut spit and smelling of feces. People are sleeping under bits of cardboard and legless people shuttle themselves along on bits of plywood with casters on the bottom. It's almost cartoon poverty, it's so prevalent and obvious. There's no attempt to help the beggars other than to give them a few rupees, and this help comes from passersby, not the government. There's no income tax for the average people, so there's no money for civil services. The way to get anything done is through bribes, not bids, so a greased palm gets you what you want. It seems that what's wanted is personal advancement. There's no thought about the people who actually spend their lives living in the rubbish heaps of the big cities, scavenging what they can to sell for scrap or even feed their own.It really is such a shame. A lot of money went from Britain to India in the way of aid and investment. They spent the money on building a whole new section to the city of Jaisalmer and other towns like it. Then the locals moved in and the shiny new construction, within a year, looked like four walled crap. It seems like an incredible waste of money and time, trying to help those who just treat their cities and towns so poorly, and considering where the money could be going in our own country it's doubly galling. But western guilt says we must help, and so help we do. Maybe it's best not to know where the money goes, so we can feel like we've done some good without knowing if it's good or not. There's an underground market on the outer circle called Palika Bazaar. An escalator leads down to 3 floors of shopping. There appears to be only 4 or 5 shops, just repeated over and over. The sari shops, t-shirt shops, cosmetics shops, jeans and jacket shops, and sunglass kiosks. The standout is the number of tattoo shops. They seem to share the same flash and picture books, and frankly none of them appear of an better quality art than you'd get from a high school art student. Again, trying to shop is pointless, you're given a second to actually look at the wares, then there's always someone waving their product in your face and trying to get you to come spend money in their shop. There must be enough tourists come through there that they know that's not how you get a westerner to spend money. As soon as I see someone coming at me with tat in hand, I try my best to go in the opposite direction, even if that means I end up nowhere near where I want to be. Siobhan wants to go to the Bahai temple, also known as the Lotus Temple, so named because it was built in the shape of an enormous silver, white and stone lotus blossom. There's longest line I've ever seen to get in, but it moves very quickly so the wait isn't that long. It's really a very striking structure, very cool to look at but exceptionally austere inside. They only allow total silence in the temple, very difficult thing for a three year old to maintain, but Dominic holds up admirably. Next is the ISKCON temple, or Hare Krishna temple. I really have no truck with the Krishnas, but Siobhan is happiest with them, she loves the temple and being around the music and clothes and dancing and people and is actually quite taken Krishna himself and is herself an ex-Krishna, and the boy just likes the look of a blue guy with long hair and a flute. We go through the light and sound extravaganza, which is really just lights flashed on statues and very loud talking and music with various sound effects for punctuation. One of the cheesiest things I've ever seen but still kind of fun. Dominic is a little frightened by the noise, so he clings to me. Awww, poor little man. The temple itself is lively, with a small band playing traditional instruments and repeating the Krishna chant over and over to a jaunty little tune. There are several people dancing and singing, with devotees giving blessing by placing a bowl on peoples' heads. I don't know, don't ask. The atmosphere is festive amongst the people sitting crosslegged on the floor, everyonne singing, chanting, clapping or just happy to be there. It's about the nicest place I have been in India, and when people come up to talk to you, it's because they are interested in you, not for any sales purposes. They don't even do the in-the-street book sales anymore so there's none of that either, It's mostly just curiosity about what would bring a caucasian family with a little boy here. The shops have samosas and muffins, cakes and other nibbles, but as they don't use onion or garlic or any spices which could inflame your passions and their baking uses no eggs as they are strict vegetarians, the takes on western foods are a bit flavourless, but the samosas are delicious. I feel happy here too, there's no harrassment or people in your face. I love a good haggle, I truly do and I think I'm ok at it, but I don't want to haggle here because no one is trying to rip you off or over charge you here. It's what I'd hoped India could be, and don't really want to leave. I'm not a Krishna, I'm not interested in being one, and I think they are all just a little bit barking, but they are genuinely nice people, and when I have to go back to Delhi before we fly home, I will make a beeline for here. We get back to the hotel and I ask for my laundry. I wasn't just telling you about my laundry earlier because I thought you cared about the state of my trousers, I was actually going somewhere with it. We have been charged about 200% too much. I look at the bill and see 9 shirts, 2 housecoats, 2 jackets,3 suits, and I truly don't remember sending these things to be washed, mostly beause I don't have any. Half the clothes are still filthy, they have charged for my son's little clothes what they would charge for big people clothes, and they have bleached a pair of my son's trousers. They completely missed the stained white things with the bleach, but manage to get it all over my son's trousers, ruining them. Last straw. I want out of this bastard country. Now. Everything since I have got here has gone horribly wrong, everything is filthy, diseased, or both and tends to give you the trots, everything has fallen apart, popped stitches or just failed to work, everyone has tried to rip us off or outright steal from us, and then treated us like it's our fault. I hate it here,and Siobhan agrees completely. Luckily we have only one more day before our flight back to Thailand. I am leaving India and going back to the place we all felt happiest for our last couple of weeks before we have to return to reality. I can't adequately express my joy. If my son gets sick, there are actual doctors with actual licenses practising everywhere. There is food which doesn't make me purge. There is a system of civil services which means there are no animals feeding on garbage in the streets. This I think will be my last missive, as I don't think you really want to read about my days being passed happily and idly, visiting temples and seeing the sights with my son. I'm sure you don't want to read about Siobhan's myriad massages or our lovely meals or purchased souvenirs, so I will leave you here. I hope I haven't bored you overly, or put you off travel to these palces, there are so many wonderful, amazing things to do and see in this part of the world. Perhaps I have given you something to think about, and maybe some things to watch out for, both good and bad. If nothing else I hope you have been even marginally entertained. If not, why are you reading this? If so, Thanks for reading this, I have enjoyed writing it, and this will help me remember our trip as well as the pictures. I don't know how or even if I can put pictures in this, so I haven't. If you ask me nicely, maybe I can send you some. Thanks again and take care, Love to you all, Colin, Siobhan and Dominic. PS Dominic's skin is much better now.