Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Delhi and Agra


Stepping out of the hotel, an auto-rickshaw plunges straight for me, turning just before impact (these things can change direction on a dime thanks to their single front wheel). The driver gives one hand to the wheel, one hand outstretched to me, beckoning, and no attention to the entangling web woven by the bus, motorcycles, scooters, bicycles, cows, ox, horse drawn carriage, and cycle-rickshaws. I hold up a hand and turn my attention away but he follows for two or three blocks. A moment after he leaves a man calls out of his shop "Where you from?" The India I have thus far experienced is a genius in one-time sales. The initial question is engaging, but I have learned to ignore it (a trait I am less than proud of). I can still hear the shopkeepers voice when a young man runs up to me and asks the same question, although he can afford the time to place a "Hello" before it as he will follow me until he realizes he is wasting his time. I say California and he says "Ahh...What a lovely place, what a lovely place." Apparently he doesn't realize that I was the same one he approached last night, singing the same song in attempt to feign connection.
"I have friends in California" he says.
It's a better response than "Ah, California, that is a very small country."
I've heard that Delhi and Agra are the two worst places in terms of hassle. I hope this is true because it does wear me down. But I'm willing to bet I'll be able to find quieter places where I can mellow out and truly experience a culture at its essence. Or at least as close as a Westerner can get.

My stuff, in the Rangoon Airport


The Taj Mahal and Me


The Mosque at the Taj Mahal


Someone at the Agra Fort


From the roof of my first hotel in Agra

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