During family trips I willfully
ignore my iPhone and view TV with contempt. I remain hopelessly optimistic that
I’ll have spare moments to daydream and read. Visiting Agra, I thought, might afford
time in the early morning to skim a long-ignored novel. The Rising Family™,
though, defied prior behavior, rising early on account of growling stomachs. So
we headed down to the hotel’s breakfast.
Indians are famous for their
warm hospitality, and that is precisely the word that came to mind each time I
was cordially greeted by the hotel’s staff whenever we encountered them. Yet these happy vibes were dashed with the decidedly
mundane morning chow at this hotel. I can accept spicy India-style food, but
Lady E. & M. just couldn’t find anything they could eat; they went hungry and
I drank my instant coffee to douse the flames on my tongue. Despite the early
hour, my hyperactive thalamus conjured up Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” as the soundtrack
to my inevitable fate that day. Naomi really enjoys Indian food so she was “all
good.”
So—finally we were off to
see the Taj Mahal. We rode to the Taj’s outer gates on an electric car. All of
us–foreigners and locals alike–were herded around from point to point. We were approached
by streams of spurious tour guides, and my jaw hurt from saying polite, but
increasingly terse “no thank yous.” Elena and Marina were soon whining about
the heat, but become cooperative once we had the Taj Mahal in sight—it was, as
advertised, a magnificent sight. We strolled around the Taj’s exterior, absorbing
the white marble in the blazing sun, snapped photos, all the usual touristy
stuff. I mused on the Taj being
essentially a mausoleum commissioned in the early 1600s by the Mughal emperor,
Shah Jahan, to mourn the loss of one of his “favorite” wives, Mumtaz Mahal. I joked about that with my wonderful wife but
she failed to appreciate my wit.
Once inside, the
grandeur and majesty of the palace grounds and mausoleum captured my senses. Local
people, true to form, all ignored the signs to not sit down or take pictures
inside. It was funny. We went through the front entrance and around the
exterior, and then came out the other side, watching the families stay in the
shade, lazing happily in the aura of the Taj Mahal, the most beautiful building in the
world. It was a remarkable experience. I was delighted by the buildings but
also just stopped and thought, holy s--t,
I am in India and I am at the Taj Mahal. It is that feeling of wonder, the
weight of history, and an undeniable curiosity that feeds my travel bug.
We proceeded to the
ring of souvenir shops guarding the Taj’s walls and perused numerous stalls
featuring marble boxes, water, rugs, brass knick-knacks, and so on. I bought a miniscule
version of the Taj Mahal to keep for my travel trinket memory shrine. The girls
bought some small inexpensive objet d'art so they were happy.
Soon, amid the oppressive heat, our patience
with the tenacious stall owners and touts was wearing thin. I
recall some great sales pitches from one energetic shopkeeper earnestly trying to sell us–his first customers of the day (ahem) at 1400 in the afternoon--an
alabaster jewelry case:
Us: Could we have
a discount due to the broken hinge?
Him: The hinge is broken because it is an antique.
Us: How about that
crack on the lid?
Him: The top broken part is part of the design.
(Said quite vehemently)
 |
| Courtesy of HD Wallpaper |
Grins exchanged, we parted ways smiling. All of us were sweathogs by the time
the shopping ended. What I enjoyed most about the souvenir shopping was the
efficiency spawned by the heat and browsing fatigue. We simply got back to our
SUV and wearily requested our driver to take us home. Mission to the Taj Mahal
completed successfully, satisfactorily, and pleasantly. Lucky us.
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