As fascinating as the sites in Delhi were, the drive from New Delhi to Agra equaled it as a once-in-a-lifetime experience for us precious, pampered, spoiled travelers. Our driver told us that to drive in India, one needs good brakes, good horn and good luck. Blowing the horn in India is not a sign of aggression but a way of saying, "Excuse me. I'm coming through and I don't want your vehicle to hit mine." The sights, sounds and smells assaulted our senses. If we never hear a horn again, we will be happy.
A motorized tuk-tuk in front of us held three in the front seat, three seated across the back seat, three seated backwards facing the back seat and six across on the back of the vehicle. Sometimes people sat on the roof. The overcrowded buses had ladders on the back so that men could climb up to sit on the top. On one bus, Sara counted 20 people on top and then gave up, there were so many. When we thought that our side of the road had two lanes, the cars, buses, tuk-tuks, motorcycles and bicycle drivers created at least one extra lane if not two and drove up on the curb. A cow trying to cross the busy street almost made it when he was hit by a motorized tuk-tuk, causing a dent in the vehicle and a wound in the cow that started to bleed, but both kept on moving. On the motorcycles, the driver, who was always a man, wore a helmet. A woman in a beautiful, brightly-colored sari and no helmet rode side saddle, often holding a small child or an infant. Often another child was seated in front of the driver.
Men peed with their backs to us along the road. At first, we were amazed and shocked by the sight but after the tenth or eleventh sighting, we became immune to it. Our fellow passengers on the three-day overland to the Taj Mahal who took the train between Delhi and Agra informed us that they saw men doing their No. 2 business along the tracks.
Pigs were feasting on garbage buffets along the road. Garbage could be found in front of most of the buildings. While the residents took care of the inside of their homes, they did not think it was their responsibility to keep the grounds clean or they did not care. Groups of cows seems to be out for a weekend stroll by themselves. Later, we were to learn that their owners often sent them off on their own during the day, especially if they were too old to produce milk, and other residents fed them or they grazed on the grass alongside the road. Then the cows would come home to their owners at night to sleep.
We stupidly thought that the traffic would decrease once we reached the less populated towns and countryside. But an hour into our trip, the traffic jams, honking and swerving to miss other vehicles continued. Our driver reminded us that this was the day before the Happy Holi Holy Holiday, the festival of colors, and people were going home to spend the holiday with their families or at temples where they would received free lodging and food because of the festival. People were using wood and cow patties to build bonfires to light that night. The celebration included using paint guns and powder paint, both sold at the numerous vendor stands along the highway like fireworks in the U.S., to blow colorful paint on everyone from the hair on their head to their clothes to their shoes and feet. As white foreigners, we were a novelty sight to see and our van was the target of several Indians aiming their paint guns. Our driver thought the reason was that blond Pat looked like English nobility, whom the Indians did not particularly favor.
Bev asked for a rest stop before the tourist-approved rest stop. When our driver finally stopped at one that he deemed clean enough, we learned that she was suffering from diarrhea and vomiting, probably from the food she ate. Sara decided to sticking to her new diet of Kingfisher beer and French fries. Almost everyone became a victim to "Delhi Belly."
At the tourist-approved rest stop, Sara used a European-style toilet where a man turned on the water for her, squirted soap on her hands and offered her three napkins to dry them. Of course, he wanted a tip, and Sara had only a 100-rupee note but he offered her change. When he handed her 60 rupees, she realized that she had spent more than $1 US for a quick restroom break. Outside we were entertained by a 6-year-old girl in a beautiful bronze, burgundy and black sari and decorated face dancing a traditional Indian dance while her father in a turban played a pipe. A young boy of 8 or 9 turned out to be both a real people charmer and a snake charmer as he played a pipe that made his snake dance. Our driver recommended a 10-rupee tip but Ken determined after paying that tip that they both deserved a $1 US.
When the van was stopped for a routine traffic check, a man with two monkeys on chains came up to our windows. When the monkeys jumped up on the windows to look in and Pat took a photograph, the man sternly and loudly demanded payment. Our driver had told us not to open the windows because the monkeys would jump in to the van. When Brent opened the window a crack to slip a 10-rupee note for the picture, the man angrily demanded more. However, another man, who did not have a monkey, took the note and smiled. This was our introduction to "backsheesh," which means tip, money and payoff that is a normal part of life in India, and the fact that whatever one offered, the Indian asking for it would want more.
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Brett asked, "Do you think they have traffic alerts in India?" An article in the morning's newspaper had advocated traffic control but we thought that must be a similar pipe dream to the one that contestants in the Miss America or Miss World contests have when they promote world peace. However, the government has approved adding GPS to the tuk-tuks.
As we neared Agra, people were streaming to a white Yogi temple for the Holi celebration. The guide yesterday had recommended that we read the book by Sauda called "The Autobiography of a Blue-Eyed Yogi."
The 200 kilometer drive was estimated to take 4 hours. After five hours and 15 minutes, we drove under a "Welcome to Agra" sign, and after six hours, we arrived at hotel where we received a very welcome surprise--we had been upgraded to suites and Pat to a suite with multiple rooms, televisions and bathrooms. Now we needed to get ready to tour the ultimate resting place--the Taj Mahal.
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