India, or, Just Because There's a Delightful Monkey, it Doesn't Mean You Should Get Out of the Car

Over a year after my first jarring visit to India, I was asked to travel once again across the ocean to our offices in India. What, like I was going to say no? Stomach steeled and jaw set, I boarded the plane and made my to Hyderabad via Bangkok. My teammate and good friend Caitriona would be joining me there the following day for work, but was delayed due to shenanigans at the India embassy.

The sun rises over the bustling city of Hyderabad.

I couldn't believe just how much had changed in the year and a half since I'd last visited. The city and its surrounds had just exploded with infrastructure. Sure, once you actually got into the heart of the city, driving a couple of blocks was still like playing the most intense game of Frogger you've seen in your life, but there was new construction all over the place: roads, buildings, freeways.

And for some reason, the entire country seemed to be on fire.

Wherever I went on my trip (more to come on that), things seemed to be smoking, smoldering, or in some stage of conflagration. At one point, we were stopped in our taxi, and I glanced out the window only to see an old man set fire to a seemingly innocuous pile of garbage. Is there really nothing else to do there?

Anyway.

Glancing out the window of my hotel ro-...OH

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. What did I just finish

saying?

There were, blessedly, parts of the city that were not - in fact - caught up in a smoking inferno. My hotel was one of them. Will let you know of more as I think of them.

There was an honest-to-goodness chocolate

castle in the restaurant of the hotel. I wished

for nothing more than to be tiny and live in that

castle. I think thought better of that wish and

simply ate the whole thing.

I had a couple of full days in Hyderabad before a brief weekend jaunt to the beachside resort town of Goa, where we would be meeting Caitriona's father. She, being the lovely daughter that she is, had purchased flights out for both her parents to Goa as a surprise. Sadly, her mother had been advised by her doctor not to travel for some time, which coincided with the dates of the trip.

So, spirits still reasonably high, we made our way to the airport to catch a short flight to the west coast and to Goa.

The airport held a promising start to the weekend.

Well, ok, sign - if you say so!

Tra-la-la...beer-beer-beer!

...8...9...10! Now, ah-...

Hmm.

Upon closer inspection...there is no beer here.

Your uppance shall come, sign. Live your life

in fear.

Having been woefully misled by the rogue sign's skullduggery, we had no other choice but to see what other options were available. There weren't many.

I am ashamed beyond belief to admit this, but

the best thing we could find were orange Bacardi

Breezers. When was the last time you heard of

someone ordering one of those in earnest?

Apparently it's 1995 again. That would explain

the Ace of Bass music in the background.

The flight was uneventful, and we spent most of it playing Yahtzee on Caitriona's phone. It's amazing how time flies when you are incessantly rolling dice.

We landed, somehow managed to find our bags on what I can only assume was a hand-cranked baggage belt, and went outside to find the driver who would take us to our hotel.

Not surprisingly, traffic wasn't any better here.

The ride itself was great - a lot of the pictures I haven't bothered to include because there is a fair amount of window glare from the inside of the shuttle, but here are a few decent ones:

No window glare, but if you look closely, you

can see the Caitriona glare. Probably from taking

one too many pictures of her.

The area nearer to the coast was constantly

bisected with lakes of varying sizes.

It was also surprisingly green, a noticeable contrast

from the rest of India I had seen at this point.

After about an hour of driving over bridges and through increasingly touristy-looking cities, we finally made it to our hotel in Candolim. Not wanting to rough it completely, we had picked out one of the nicer places in Goa, which we came to find out was where all of the rick Indians stayed. Ah well. After dropping our stuff off in the room, we went for a bit of a wander around the grounds.

Caitriona embraces the fact that she is no longer

in a car, bus, plane, airport, etc.

Down toward the beach, we manage to make

it just in time to catch an incredible sunset.

North along the beach from the hotel, and

the massive rusting tanker that someone

decided to park there.

Obligatory pensive sunset shot #1.

Obligatory pensive sunset shot #2.

Because we were meeting her dad for dinner just up the beach, we had to go back to the room and get ready. The sun was still setting by the time we made our way down the beach path to the small cafe a short walk away along the water.

All of those little dots of light out on the horizon

are not actually city lights - they're tankers. This

was one of my favorite times of day here.

South along the beach led to Fort Aguada, an

early-17th century Portuguese Fort. Also now

a hotel.

We arrived shortly thereafter at the beach cafe, and saw Caitriona's father, Paul, sitting at a table toward the back. We approached and exchanged greetings, and he turned to Caitriona and said, 'I've brought a surprise for you.' As he says this, he gestures out toward the sand, and we both look to see Caitriona's mother, Fiona, standing there. Apparently she had been given the OK the day before to travel, and Caitriona's surprise for her parents had been turned around on her. Tears were shed, hugs were exchanged, and we eventually all settled down for an amazing dinner on the water.

After our meal and many glasses of wine / gin

and tonics later, they began a great little fireworks

show out over the water.

The following day, Caitriona and I had nothing planned except to lie out on the beach. I foolishly (perhaps) left my camera in the room for fear of it getting stolen or dirty, so no beach pictures for the day. Needless to say, it was an amazing day. We started off with a reasonably tasty breakfast at one of the many beach shacks along the water. Our bellies contentedly stuffed, we grabbed a pair of lounges, left our stuff there, and headed into the water. While a bit cloudy, it felt absolutely amazing, and we floated out there in the shadow of the colossal tanker for quite some time. When the waves had gotten the best of Caitriona, we made our way back to the lounges for some reading.

Most of the afternoon passed like this. Reading, drifting in and out of snoozing, fending off the hawkers who would come by selling deep fried corn chip tubes, roasted peanuts, knock-off purses, clothing. You had to admire their perseverance sometimes, where neither ignoring them nor telling them no would send them scampering off.

Having had our fill of the beach, we made our way back to the hotel and spend some time in the hotel pool (which, incidentally, had a swim-up bar). This was problematic, because by the end of our dip in the pool, I'm fairly certain we were swimming in more of Caitriona's margarita than we were actual pool water.

In an effort to make a relaxing day even more relaxing, we opted for a massage at the nearby Fort Aguada Resort. A short drive away from our hotel (well, right next door really - walkable except for the several fences and high drops), we were welcomed with amazing tea and the obligatory pre-massage survey. The massage itself was spectacular, and as usual, I didn't want to get up from the table, whereas Caitriona couldn't, as she had fallen asleep.

We were meeting Paul and Fiona for dinner again that night, but first we would be joining them up the beach for a quick pre-dinner drink.

Admittedly, I went a little crazy on the sunset pictures - it was just so darn purdy.

The darkness descending, there were still

people heading out into the water for a

quick boat ride. And to be eaten by sharks.

Dry land is not just our destination...it is our

destiny!

Not actually the sunset - one of the tankers had

a trebuchet and was flinging flaming pots of oil

toward the beach.

On the beach, dressed to the nines.

Running out of clever descriptions for the

same sunset...

Parasailing by the wrecked tanker - I wonder how

many tourists they've snagged on that thing as they've

gone by...

No editing required - the sky was on fire for quite

some time that afternoon.

The boaters return. Weren't there more of you

initially? One guy got off the boat and proceeded

to chunder all over the beach. Poor fella.

The sun's slow descent was halted by a tanker that

couldn't get out of the way fast enough.

We eventually reached the bar (I say eventually, because I was stopping ever 3 seconds to take a new picture), and Caitriona's parents were waiting there for us. While we sipped our drinks, we were entertained by the table of six nearby - a group of Russians arguing with the wait staff about the bill, made infinitely more entertaining by the fact that only one of them spoke half-decent English.

One of the light fixtures in the bar that I thought

looked cool.

After finishing our round of drinks, we all walked back up the beach to our hotel to have dinner at what looked like a reasonably promising restaurant on the hotel grounds.

One more for good measure, because

the tanker lights were starting to turn on.

The meal was amazing and exceedingly filling. I was far too busy stuffing my face to have remembered to take any pictures, but by the end, I was at the point where even the act of talking was enough to make my stomach ache in protest. Meanwhile, Paul and Caitriona shared a father-daughter dance out on the floor.

Fat and happy, we all retired to our rooms.

Sad to be leaving the following day, we soaked up the environs for our final morning. After a quick lunch and a dip in the pool, we took one last glance at the beach and headed back to the airport.

The pool area of the resort, along with the weather

we had for the entire weekend.

One last glimpse of the beach, and I whispered

a promise that I'd return...in hindsight, I

probably just looked like I was talking to myself.

I didn't make the same mistake with the fort, but

instead opted for an awkward fist bump.

The two of us were both returning to Hyderabad, but Caitriona was continuing on to Delhi, where I would be meeting her in a few days for another excursion just before our trip home. Another handful of relatively uneventful days passed, and I ate some more.

One of many dogs lying around in the parking

lot at the airport. Though dozing when I walked

up, the brief whistle I used to get his attention

caused him (and eventually several other dogs)

to follow me excitedly through the parking,

and at one point, jumping up on my expectantly.

10 years ago, Hyderabad used to be nothing but

farmland. Then tech arrived (starting with the

circular building pictured here), and overnight

it became the technology hub it is today.

For lunch one day, my driver offered to take me somewhere special (which, as it turns out, was owned by the father of one of his friends). There is a dish that is eaten primarily during Ramadan, called haleem, which is usually not available during the other 11 months. This was one of the few places in Hyderabad that served it the entire year. It was delicious.

Haleem is made of wheat, meat, and spices, which

are all slow-cooked for ~8 hours until the consistency

becomes that of a paste. It was a flavor explosion

in my mouth.

The next item was biryani, a dish made famous in

Hyderabad, made of rice, chicken, and spices. It was

like there was a party in my mouth and everyone

was invited.

For dessert, they brought out firni, a sweet dish

made of rice boiled with milk and sugar and

flavored with almond. It was like someone kicked

me in the mouth with the boot of amazingness.

Kitty parties? Sounds like fun.

It was time to once again head to the airport to catch a flight to Delhi. We took the nearly-deserted freeway (which seemed to have been built by three different groups at the same time, but who didn't really feel the need to speak to one another - evident by the random dirt road shifts between not-entirely-lined-up portions of the road) back to the airport.

Just another day heading out of town.

As it turned out, a few of my Hyderabad coworkers would also be in Delhi for business that week, so we decided to meet up with them after I arrived for a drink.

Bala, perhaps mistakenly (I have my doubts),

orders a pitcher for himself and proceeds to

down the entire thing.

It was a good night filled with good food, good drinks, and good company. Caitriona and I were heading to the Taj Mahal the following morning (early - 6:30 am), and needed to get some sleep, so we eventually made our way back to the hotel.

Or at least tried to.

It took us a good 90 minutes of driving diagonally across intersections, through poorly-lit streets flanked by guards with automatic rifles, pulling over to ask randomers for directions, and having the driver talk to the hotel on the phone before we were able to find the place. It eventually allowed for around 5 hours of sleep. The hotel itself was lovely - I do wish we could have stayed longer.

Bleary-eyed from the early wake-up call, we grabbed our luggage and made our way out again to our car for the day, which thankfully included a driver.

Detail of a fairly intricate statue located just outside

our room. You'll be pleased to know I left it un-

sullied.

I can't remember if this is when we were

arriving or leaving the hotel (which, again,

was lovely) - essentially the same time of

day, regardless.

At this point, we really weren't sure what to expect. The train can make it from Delhi to Agra in around 2 hours. We had heard that a car can take anywhere from 3-6 hours. Guess how long it took us.

6 hours.

Each. Way.

Yeah, that's a fair bit of driving for 3 days, let alone the 1 that we had.

At any rate, we're always game for an adventure, so we settled in and prepared for the ride.

The sun rising sleepily just outside of Delhi,

and already the roads were packed.

I love big old-fashioned signs like this - modern

billboards just don't have the same impact.

The sun eventually rose, but was obscured by an

opaque mist over the horizon, which I can only

assume was a preface to an impending alien

invasion. Or something more plausible and

scientific. *shrugs*

We drove through a total of 3 or 4 (lost track) states on our way to Agra, and at one of the crossings, our driver had to go take care of something that I didn't quite catch, because he muttered it under his breath while whispering and talking down into the cloth along the inner crook of his elbow. But I did catch the part about staying in the car and not opening the door for anyone.

Not 5 seconds after he left, our little hatchback was beset upon by people selling nuts, miniature chess sets, and even one guy covered from head to toe in monkeys. Our driver told us not to take pictures either, despite the monkey guy saying 'no charge, no charge!' I resisted. It became a bit intense at one point where the young man hawking the chess set just stood starting eerily through the car window (to be fair, a blond and a redhead are not common sights over here). At last our driver returned and we were on our way again.

Not long after, we pulled over again, presumably so our driver could get a snack. On the way up the driveway to the cafe, I caught a glimpse of a small group of men and a couple of monkeys. Our driver left us in the car again, and I stared longingly out the window at the monkeys, like a dog who had been left in the car while its owner went shopping.

Goaded into action by Caitriona, I hopped out of the car (locking the doors after me) and wandered across the parking lot to the small group of huddled people. To be honest, it was all a bit surreal.

I think I had a dream like this once. Note

the actual snake charmer in the background.

The monkey started getting a little fresh with

me. And why is it monkey skin is so cold? It

always feels wet as a result. Blech.

Having gotten a sufficient amount of pictures with my new mistress, I took out my wallet to leave a small but suitable donation for the men. Before I even offered, they started shouting '1000 rupees, 1000 rupees!' I seem to recall scoffing visibly and offering them half to share, which is more than enough for 20 seconds of work. They surrounded me and I inflated myself, expanding the frilled hood around my neck (wait, that's a dilophosaurus), and stood my ground. They kept pressing and I offered them my same amount. They eventually took it, mainly because I eventually just started to walk away.

I got back to the car at about the same time as our driver, sheepishly avoided eye contact, and returned to my seat in the back, sharing the rather odd photos with Caitriona.

Not quite the Taj Mahal, but you could sense we

were getting close.

"And she'll have fun fun fun 'til her daddy takes

the camel awayyyyyyyy...'

It was getting to be lunchtime, and we decided

it was high time to make a quick stop to sample

some of the local cuisine.

They did have some unique things on the menu,

like the Chicken Maharajah Mac. I stuck with my

tried and true McNuggets.

I'm not.

At last, after much driving, and an hour sitting in traffic with the car turned off due to a disable vehicle in the road, we picked up someone who we eventually found out was our guide, and made our way to the Taj.

Seeing it through the haze in the distance didn't quite do it justice. In fact, far from it. The India government has done an amazing job of preserving it, even going to far as to restore much of the colorful stone inlays. As an added measure, they don't allow any motor vehicles within 2 miles, due to the effect of the exhaust on the white marble. Climbing into our little electric vehicle, we buzzed our way to the side gate as the single-gear transmission whined higher and higher.

Now, I'm naturally skeptical of people by default - I think you'd be foolish not to be. Our guide was a charismatic fellow, but something about his brown corduroy sport coat and gold chains made me take everything he said with a grain of salt. I'm well aware of traditional Indian hospitality - don't get me wrong, it's incredible. They have a saying about treating guests like gods. Having been witness to this, I can attest that it's true. But everything tends to get a little topsy-turvy when you start talking about tourist activities...

Nonetheless, our guide told us we were VIP guests (mmmhmm), and escorted us through the VIP entrance (sure) into the first courtyard of the Taj. It wasn't even that crowded, which was pleasant. Not pleasant was the increasingly-warm sun bearing down on us - surprisingly warm for winter. Our guide also briefed us in Taj etiquette. When someone approached us asking to take our photos for us, he was obligated to ask us if we wanted our photos taken, and we were obligated to reply that we had our own camera and we were good. And so it goes.

The entrance gate leading to the Taj Mahal - there

are 22 small domes over the gate, representing

the 22 years it took 20,000 people to built the thing.

A gargantuan blond guy and a freckly redhead.

Guess who stood out.

Detail of the doors leading through the gate.

Our guide makes certain Caitriona is standing in

the right place to view the Taj Mahal framed by

the entrance gate.

Exiting the gate, looking up toward the ceiling,

just before...

...ta-daaaaaaaaaa!

It really was amazing to see it in person, and having not long ago seen the Great Wall of China, I made a mental note to start checking other wonders of the world off my list.

Hey, everyone else was doing it. I had one

taken too, but the guy was absolutely rubbish

at lining up my hand with the dome (I took

this one - yes, I'm awesome).

Instead, I had Caitriona take this one -

yeeeeeeeeeeeeehawwwww! Or, phallic, but

your mind wouldn't be that far in the gutter, now

would it? You sicken me.

Another favorite - Blondzilla invades Agra.

Caitriona was considerably less-threatening.

Our guide suggested I do this. It would have been

a bit better had he possibly turned the camera

sideways, but then he might have missed the

magic in this photo. See if you can spot it.

Yes - through the magic of technology,

we can capture the mid-air flight of my sandal

as it hurtles toward an unsuspecting bystander.

She wasn't thrilled when it hit her.

At any rate, here's another picture of the Taj.

And here's a close-up of the dome. "That's no

dome. It's a space station..."

One of the window arches (I'm sure there's

a proper, architectural term for it) displaying

the intricate stone inlay found throughout much

of the Taj.

More of the inlays, as well as some of the black

marble Koran scripture surrounding the entrance

(none of which was painted - all inlays).

To make things even better, there was a plethora

of wildlife to be found on the grounds. A heron

eyes me warily (or perhaps hungrily?) through

the flowers.

We weren't allowed to wear our shoes into the

inner sanctum of the Taj, and instead of leaving

our shoes somewhere to be stolen (thank you,

Slumdog Millionaire), we got red cloth shower

caps, which of course barely fit over my shoes.

Our guide (I feel a bit bad - I can't remember

his name) tells Caitriona about the history

of the Taj, while I sit back and bask in how

ridiculous everyone looks with fluffy red

feet.

The main entrance to the Taj.

Sadly, there was no photography allowed inside the Taj itself, but it was absolutely amazing. Our guide explained how the best time to view the inside was during a full moon, and backed this up by shining a small pen light up close to the marble and the inlays, causing both of them to glow. Particularly beautiful was the orange stone inlay, which glowed to the effect of fire when lit. Walking in a circle around the inside (which was also a surprisingly cool temperature), and causing a minor scene when I tested the acoustics of the main chamber (I have a loud voice), we eventually ended up outside of the rear doors of the Taj.

This picture pretty much sums up India: stunning

beauty marred by A CRAPLOAD OF GARBAGE.

The sweet, sweet backside of Mistress Taj.

One of the 4 posts around the outside of the

main building - turns out they're all at a slight

angle, and not straight up and down.

Nothin' to see here except a cool-looking

door. Move along.

The humble guest house to one side of the plaza.

Looking back toward the main entrance gate.

Yeah, you'd better keep those shoulder covered,

missy.

Awkward third wheel bird is awkward...

The amount of wildlife was overwhelming, and I

was very quickly running out of pockets.

A common hoopoe - ironic, since there were only

two of them.

A slightly more common sight in India, and I

didn't have pockets big enough.

A final parting glimpse at the Taj before heading

back to the car, pants teeming with wildlife.

A picture showing how just outside of the

gates was a teeming city - quite crowded indeed.

We headed back to the car, and I knew from last time what was coming next: the sell. We were going to stop at a shop where they used generations-old inlaying techniques handed down from father to son to craft some amazing pieces of work. We were first led downstairs to a rather sparse patio where three young men were sawing away forlornly at some archaic looking machines used to file down the stones to be inlaid.

Caitriona had a go and set them back 2

months. What did you JUST do?

After hearing how everything was made, and that they didn't use any motorized machinery, they took us into the showroom where I could have sworn I heard the door latch several times behind us. The owner proceeded to show us around, describing all the pieces, how easy it would be to ship a 200-pound marble table back to Australia to put in my apartment, etc. When I asked him about the smaller pieces, he sighed and took us to another room where he had coasters and ash trays. I wasn't really looking to buy, and anything would have been an impulse purchase, so I eventually said we needed to head to the airport (which was true). He kept asking about price, wanting more than anything to barter. I humored him for a bit but eventually just purchased a small marble elephant and headed upstairs. Caitriona got a turban.

Back in the car, we bade farewell to our guide, and settled in for another 6-hour journey back (and before you even ask, yes, we stopped off at McDonald's on the way back as well). Darkness fell as we arrived at the airport, and we left the intensity of India behind.

For now.