Delhi & Agra: guest blogger part 1
The guest blogger is my mother, Diane. This is her detailed account of our trip to Delhi and Agra.
It started with a morning flight from Bangalore to
Delhi on Thursday morning on Jet Airlines. We found
our seats, which actually had honest-to-goodness leg
room, and then the stewards came by with
thick/moist/scented wash cloths and small, cold
bottles of Himalaya brand water. Then it got better.
Egg omelet, yogurt – the works. That was the oasis
before the storm upon landing in Delhi, which is hard
to describe to you. I was used to the crush of
people. It was the wall of air pollution that caught
my attention right away. Smoke and everything else
being held down by a wicked conversion layer.
We dropped our things at the little hotel Jenn found
on the internet and headed by rickshaw to the Raj
Ghat.
On the banks of the Yamuna, this is where
Gandhi was cremated following his assassination in
1948. The whole acreage is surrounded by green lawns
that slope up gradually to a walled area where you can
walk all the way around to see the memorial inside,
then go back down to ground level and walk up the ramp
to get inside. You check in your shoes and can buy a
“plate” (large leaves put together) of flower petals.
When I walked into the enclosed area I immediately
felt the holiness of this location. There is a square
platform of black marble that is surrounded by a low
wall. There is a place where you can lean over the
wall and sprinkle the flowers in memory of Gandhi.
Both Berkeley and Atticus had a plate of petals to
scatter. It brought me to tears to actually be here
and honor this man. It was actually hard to leave – I
just wanted to stay and feel it.
We went out to the street to find a rickshaw to take
to the Red Fort and were immediately bombarded with
requests to buy things. Snake charmers are not the
things of storybooks. There was a man playing a flute
and coaxing a cobra out of the basket. We did not
linger.
As we made our way down the street, we came
to the Gandhi Memorial Museum. As friend of jenn’s
said that this museum wasn’t very good and we weren’t
planning to go there, but decided to take a look.
There was a granite memorial for the Dandi Salt March
in the front, which caught our interest.
I am so glad we stopped here. The museum was not flashy – actually very humble and seemed most appropriate for
remembering Gandhi. The amazing part was that it was
full of pictures and artifacts that were arranged in
such a way that you could quietly make discoveries:
ohmygosh – this is the walking stick he used for the
Dandi Salt March in 1930 or the clothes he wore when
he died. Needless to say, we didn’t make it to the
Red Fort. We went from picture to picture and display
to display just short of Berkeley and Atticus having a
meltdown.
We flagged down a rickshaw and made our way
to the Continental Hotel for dinner.
I was feeling a little shabby for such a fancy place, but jenn assured me that we would be welcomed:) Dinner on the patio,a small lawn for the kids to play, the moon appearing.
A soul-filling experience.
When traffic stops, it is an invitation for the
entrepreneurs to sell their wares: entertainment (a
girl with a drum and a boy doing bath bends), food
(especially pieces of coconut) and books (actually
really good books wrapped in plastic). It is a much
more up close and personal experience in an open
rickshaw than in a taxi with the windows rolled up.
Back to the hotel, shower and sleep (Berkeley was my
roommate).
Up early in the morning and off to Agra in our taxi.
I do not have to explain to you what we saw in Delhi
and all along the road to Agra. A wall was an
invitation to: toilet, set up a barber shop, set up a
tent or shanty for the family, bathe, sell produce,
build a fire and make chapattis. The possibilities
are endless, or at least appeared to be. We even saw
a stable area for horses, donkeys and camels between
the street and the wall of a compound in one stretch
in Delhi.
We thought that the “smog” would dissipate as we moved
into the countryside, but no. It was solid all the
way. The road is shared by all modes of
transportation, fast and slow. Camels. Camels
pulling carts. Donkeys/horses/cattle pulling carts.
Cars, small trucks, rickshaws (motorized and pedal),
busses, bicycles competing with people just walking or
dodging the traffic. And there are really, really a
lot of cattle - everywhere. In the cities and in the
countryside; in the street, on the sidewalks, in the
river shallows, on just about any vacant space. The
traffic jams become so intense at times that I wonder
how it will be resolved. Then like a piece of string
in knots, it is released with patient untying of the
various knots – sometimes in very small moves executed
by all of the vehicles involved. An indispensable
tool is the horn, which communicates all sorts of
things: watch out, move, "I'm comin' through!", etc.
I saw circular “mud” huts with straw roofs in the
countryside. Well, I thought it was mud until I saw
neat patties of cow dung drying in rows outside one
building and the walls coming apart on one of the
huts. I put the two together. Not mud. The cow
patties are stacked up to make walls and then
plastered with – stuff. The fresh ones aren’t so
great to smell, but the dried ones are fine – or so
Jenn says (she experienced these first hand in
Namibia).
Then all of a sudden there was a compound for Rubber
India or a Pepsi bottling plant in the midst of all of
this. At one point we saw a sign in an open field
that said, “Site for Five Start Hotel”. No doubt.
There were random temples out in the middle of fields.
A McDonald’s (I’m not sure where we were). At one
point we had to stop and wait for 30 minutes while the
taxi driver paid some kind of commercial tax – which
gave folks a chance to dazzle us with a monkey, more
trinkets, food, etc. The toll road entry points were
fun with guards, rifles slung on their arms. There
was a clear message here - don't try to avoid the
toll.
Five hours in a taxi is a long time. But five hours in a taxi with preschoolers requires creativity and grit. Berkeley
and Atticus needed some happy quiet time away from
each other, so Berkeley sat on my lap as we chose (and
re-chose) colors to look for in buildings, plants,
animals, saris, etc. No end of selection there.
The road to Agra is very straight, like the
straightest parts of I-80 going through Nevada without
any mountains to ascend or descent. Just straight
into the State of Uttar Pradesh, or the Cow Belt, as
it is known. We were about 10km outside of Agra when
we saw a large, sandstone building off to the left.
It was time to stretch, so we had the driver pull in
through the gate and were quite delighted to see large
green lawns. It turns out that it is the mausoleum
for Akbar, the grandfather of Shah Jahan (“King of
the World”). Besides being King of the World, Shah
Jahan was the fifth Mughal ruler after Babur (Babur,
Humayun, Akbar, Jahangir and Shah Jahan).
We did not have time to pay a fee and go inside (next trip), but we did peek in through the gateway and saw a beautiful
garden. Akbar was the ruler who tried to blend the
different religious traditions in India and the
various architectural elements reflect that.
Unfortunately, his more pious son didn’t share his
eclectic vision and rebelled against his Dad.
As we approached the outskirts of Agra, everything got
more intense – the roadside bazaars, traffic, people,
noise. At one point we caught a glimpse of the Taj
Mahal in the distance, which is no easy feat because
of the air pollution. In the mucky shallows of the
Yamuna River we saw what looked like the major
vacation spot for Asian water buffalo. We circled
around and over a bridge, ending up at the Oberoi
Amarvilas. Sam had teased me earlier, telling
Berkeley that he wasn't sure the hotel’s pool would be
clean enough to swim in. I have never stayed at a
luxury hotel, so I was open to most anything as long
as the bathroom was clean and there were no roaches as
I pulled back the drapes. One look at the entrance of
this place and I knew you could drink the water.
“Happy Birthday, Mom”! We piled out of the taxi and
were greeted by “Welcome to the Oberoi!” and
“Namaste”. The men were dressed in Rajasthani dress
(long jacket and turban) and the women were in a
unique uniform that had elements of a skirt, blouse
and a sari. We entered the courtyard with steps and
fountains, and then to the front door.
The door opened and a young woman greeted us and put a red tilaka (the third eye which focuses inwardly on God)
in the middle of our foreheads. And then the think I
have grown to love – the cool/moist/scented
washcloth:)
We went to the common room (filled with dark furniture
and beautiful art work) and out on to the balcony to
have our first view of the pool and surrounding
grounds. We looked up past the tree line bordering
the hotel grounds and there was the Taj Mahal up close
(600 meters away) and ethereal in the haze. So we
stood around saying “Wow” about every 15 seconds while
we waited for our rooms to be ready. I went out into
the foyer and down the staircase to have a look-see at
the restaurant. When I came back up the staircase,
there was a couple that looked about my age standing
there (looking equally awestruck) and I said, “Is this
not amazing?” Within minutes I learned that the woman
and I shared first names and birthday presents (a
visit to the Taj Mahal). Sister friends immediately.
Both Diane (social worker) and Johnny (railway) were
retired and free spirit travelers.
Our rooms were ready and when we went inside there
were more repetitive WOWs. I took pictures of the
interior, but you can go to www.oberoiamarvilas.com
for a virtual tour. We decided on room service for
lunch. This was not a push in the cart and leave kind
of room service. Round table brought in. Linen
tablecloth and napkins. Arranging the dishes.
Arranging the food on the dishes. Bringing out the
small dishes of curry and a breadbasket. Finally, a
feast. For me a goat cheese salad. Cabbage & raisin
chutney on the bread. I sampled a few of Berkeley and
Atticus’ French fries that reviled In & Out Burgers.
I didn’t bring a bathing suit so everyone else headed
down to the pool while I wrote out some postcards and
left them at the front desk to be mailed
(complementary, of course:) Then down to the pool
area. Actually, you have to start at the top. You
descend to the pool down a series of steps and
landings past ponds with beautiful blue tile. The
pool is one of those that is flat like glass because
the water spills over the edge into a trough filled
with rocks and drained away. I sat down and stretched
out on one of the terrycloth covered lounges and
then…along comes a young man with a cold bottle of
water and a clean/moist/scented washcloth handed to me
with silver tongs. No kidding. O.K. Enough of that.
I think you’ve got the idea that this is a real
swanky place and my new favorite place away from home.
seriously in india blog
Monday, November 26, 2007
