Leaving Rajasthan, my next stop was Agra, home of the Taj Mahal and possibly the best and worst of India. Pleasingly, the temperature was a good 4 or 5 degrees cooler and only just crept over 40. First stop a few kilometers from the town, was Fatephur Sikri, an old capital city abandoned by the Mughal empire. It was an interesting enough place, with impressive mosque and nearby ruins, although whoever said it was deserted was obviously thinking of somewhere else as clearly it was conquored long ago by an army of lying, cheating, aggressive touts who's population has since exploded into an entire community of gits. My favoured approach of speaking Welsh had little effect here, and even offended the relentless wazzocks who very nearly received a jolly good smack. I took a couple of photos and left, hoping all other tourists would do the same and leave them all high and dry.
Next morning I set off early and reached the Taj Mahal during sunrise. It was a magical sight as the white marble first glowed yellow, and then by mid-morning turned bright white as the sun climbed higher. Scrums of tourists were competing for the famous shot by the water but it was still possible to wander off and find a bench to sit back and relax for a while. It was also tout free, a massive bonus. I spent a couple of hours wandering around, taking in the best of India. I followed this with Agra Fort, somewhat in the shadow of the Taj of course, but still well worth a visit in its own right, with great views back down the river to its more famous counterpart.
My time with Suraj was just about done and we'd drunk all the whisky. He hatched one final plan to ensure I saw all of Agra, a bad idea. He dropped me off at the market - a stinking, dirty hole full of muck, disease and poverty. It was hard to breathe, and harder to open my eyes. I didn't stay long and took a rickshaw to pick up my bags...
"Actually, despite your assurances young man, you have no idea where we are going do you?"
"Sir, no problem sir, yes"
"STOP! we've just gone past the hotel!"
"Yes sir no problem, just one minute"
"No, seriously, STOP, STOP, that was the hotel right there!"
"Yes sir, please just one minute"
"Stop the damn rickshaw that was my hotel, turn round!"
"Ok sir no problem"
"Bloody hell, don't turn round here for God's sake!"
I got my bags and headed to the train station where things rapidly got worse.
Confusion inevitably surrounds everything to do with Indian train stations where chaos is the norm. I got on my train to Varanasi looking forward to a few days on my own by some important water feature. Within minutes i'd been thrown off and was back on the platform. This confused me and I badgered the ticket conductor.
"What do you mean I can't get on the train?"
"Your ticket is not valid sir"
"What? what's wrong with it, its a ticket for this train isn't it?"
"Yes sir but it's not valid"
I wasn't getting anywhere and the train started to leave. I saw an open door and had an instant to make a decision. Sadly, I took the very British approach of not breaking the rules and instantly regretted it as my train disappeared into the night. Bugger. There then ensued, half an hour of what I now like to call "A China Moment" as more and more excitable platform attendents and ticket staff all crowded round me to give different reasons for why I was thrown off the train.
"Ah you see sir, your ticket is not valid"
"Why is my ticket not valid?"
"Yes sir, because it is not valid"
"Can I have a refund then?"
"No sir, no refund because your ticket is valid"
"Hang on, my ticket is valid?"
"Oh yes sir"
"Then why was I thrown off the train?"
"Because your ticket is not valid sir"
"So, my ticket is valid, but not valid?"
"Precisely sir."
Again I found myself alone in a hostile environment, and very much in the dark. Fortunately this time, I didn't have a big stick so nobody got hurt. I never did find out quite why I was thrown off the train but I was less than happy to say the least. I walked outside and waited. A scheming rickshaw driver immediately came running up to me and tried the usual tactics. This was exactly what I wanted and I spent a good couple of minutes ranting at him furiously. I then asked him to take me back to my hotel, which he did, thanks.
At this point, India was going to have to do a lot to keep me in the country for 2 more weeks. Fortunately the hotel staff took pity on me, gave me free food and a room. The next morning the scale of the mishap became clear - i'd forgotten it was Indian holiday season and all trains to Varanasi were fully booked for the next 3 days. Bugger. I got a ticket back to Delhi, my only option. The agent in Delhi who got my original ticket was very apologetic and sent a driver to meet me at the station. I got off back in Delhi at about 10pm and an excited man came running up to me. "Mr Mickey, Mr Mickey?" he shouted. By this point I trusted no-one and wasn't convinced. I quizzed him but to no avail. "Mr Mickey, Mr Mickey!" was all he seemed able to say. I was thinking through my options when suddenly I smelt the whisky on his breath. This must be my man I thought and jumped in his car. Soon enough then, I was back at the travel agents thinking up Plan B - when in trouble, head for the hills. And so was born my next poorly planned travel idea - Kashmir.
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