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Day 46 - 49
I have seen the Taj Mahal, and I am done.
On our last day of Jaipur we see the elephants at Amber Fort. We arrived late and worried we had missed them, passing some plodding back down the road as we ascended the hill. The elephant-wallah spotted our concern and took us privately to the elephant stables. The girls were thrilled. They are huge and gentle and sad and amazing. Standing next to one is a privelege, putting an ear against one to hear it breathe is even more so. The girls stroke them, feed them and look tiny beside them. One of the best parts of the whole trip so far.
Left Jaipur at an unreasonable 6.30am to embark on our five hour 'luxury coach' journey which was really a poorly maintained row of seats with a floor and a roof. And no toilet! I began to panic. Fern and Clover shouted, giggled, bickered and nipped each other, before resorting to a well-loved game of 'who knows mummy best'. Fern always wins having the distinct advantage of knowing me for three glorious years before Clover was born. Clover knows this so turns to ridiculous logic to keep herself in the game. Eventually they settled down to play a re-enactment of 'slaughter at Amritsar' with Sylvanian family figures. I don't think it is too inappropriate and am proud they know some important Indian history. We briefly befriended a German family also travelling with their children. When they told us they usually spent their summers at the monastery on Iona, we politely made our excuses and sat somewhere else. No point leading each other on.
The journey from Jaipur to Agra (232km) would have taken about 3 hours at home. This took nearly six. The reason for this is the two hours it takes to get out of a city and the two hours it takes to get into a city. Add to this the ridiculously maintained roads (which look like Craigbank Grove for those of you famiiliar with the little dirt track outside my house) and the journey takes forever. The only road into Agra, which must carry 10 million tourists a year is a dusty single track road with no pavements, but strewn with people awake and sleeping, rickshaws, motorbikes and horse carts. The bus blasts its horn through the crowds until they part. I finally finish Shantaram on the bus. It took him thirteen years to write it and me about the same to read it. Great book but not sure I believe him.
I am still in awe of the patience, good nature and tolerance of Indian people. I have never seen queue rage or road rage. I have never seen a harrassed parent lash out at a child. There are no gangs of teenagers menacing each other. I have not seen a fight. I feel we are bringing a little bit of special irritability, stress, bad temper and grumpiness to the sub continent and I hope they love us for it. But some aspects of Indian culture still bother me. The juxtaposition of high morality and poverty. No alcohol and women must be covered, shouldn't breast feed and mustn't go out if they have their period. Cows, goats, pigs - food! - are precious and to be revered. Religion is paramount. All this beside dying children, an out of control population, disease, severe famine and drought. 90% of slum children don't get any education at all, but they all go to the temple.
But the beauty of the children returning from school in their immaculate uniforms is astonishing - often in pristine white - walking through dirty streets to dirty homes. The girls in gingham, their hair in plaits tied with huge white ribbons. Clean faces and hands. The boys in strange 70's style uniforms - red flares, stripey shirts, kipper ties. Hair pefectly groomed, nails cleaned and filed. Fern and Clover come home from school covered in permanent marker pen and beans every single day. Even if they didn't have beans or use marker pens. My least favourite quirk of the Indians is their nosiness. You can be standing in the street asking for directions and four of five other people will join in, until they have formed a little group around you. In the medieval post office where we have our parcels wrapped in white cloth, hand stitched and sealed with wax, some other customers actually joined us at our window to see what we are posting. They offer their two rupees worth. If we look in a shop window, passers by come up and ask what we are doing. They ask questions and offer their opinions. Then some others see the little gathering and join it. We have to fight through groups about six deep just to turn around. Sometimes I am lovely and smiley and sometimes I shout and walk away. They don't seem to mind either way - see section on tolerance.
Finally arrived in Agra and in paradise. Our hotel now ranks as my favourite hotel of all time - Trident. That word now sends shivers of joy through my sticky sweaty body. And the best bit - the girls have their own room. For the first time, we can all get some privacy and a good night's sleep. I think of my sister and am convinced she would love it too - and her standards are HIGH. After an afternoon by the pool alone (the kids club - more joy!) we head into Taj Ganj for a meal, to a rooftop restaurant with views of the Taj Mahal at sunset. I get my first glimpse and it does not disappoint. Even Fern and Clover are clearly moved. It is wonderful - but the heat is not. We eat quickly on the roof terrace and head back to air conditioned heaven.
Another dream ruining 6.30am start, gorgeous buffet breakfast and then back to the Taj. The heat is climbing and Rufus already looks like someone has thrown a bucket of water over him. It is sticky and unpleasant. 38 degrees in the shade at 8am. We knock back about 20 unoffficial guides who will show us the real Taj at very good price ( I smile and think of Slumdog Millionaire) and decide to go it alone. We marvel at the building - as beautiful as I expected and I feel tearful and overhwelmed. The girls have heard me obsess over the Taj Mahal all their lives so they focus intently on my reaction and are pleased I am stunned. It is absolutely the most beautiful building in the world and I have seen some good ones. I was fearful I would be disappointed - I remain the only living person who thought Sydney Opera House was crap - brown and grubby. My dad warned me the Taj was 'tatty'. Not tatty. The glistening white marble and the tiled detail is exquisite and I can't fault any part of it. The gardens are like Eden and the colours are striking. Love, love, love it. Best thing I have ever done in my little life.
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