Ok, so here's what the guidebooks don't tell you: The ticket booth for The Taj Mahal, is not at the entrance of The Taj Mahal. No, it does not open at dawn, so don't waste your time leaving early to stand in line while the sun rises. I knew to leave my tri-pod at home, but we didn't know we had to leave ALL electronic devices at home as well, including Andrew's kindle and computer. Apparently, my whistle wasn't allowed inside either. Despite the hour and a half it took us to simply get into The Taj grounds, it was worth it. It was amazing and breathtaking and beautiful and spectacular and I didn't want to leave it…
So, Andrew and I were walking to The Taj when a rickshaw driver pulls up and asks us, and then the other tourist walking close by if we wanted a ride. "No, thanks" we all responded automatically. And then instead of further badgering us for a ride (as is common practice) he insisted we get our ticket before we go to The Taj Mahal. We could get the ticket up on the left, he declared. We wearily agreed, but then confirmed it must be a scam. Why wouldn't we get our ticket at the gate? Right? Another rickshaw driver did the same, by this point, Justin (that other tourist walking to The Taj) began walking with us and we talked it over and agreed, it was probably a different ticket… If the rickshaw drivers were telling you where to go or taking you there when you didn't tell him then they were going to get a commission off of it- that none of us wanted to pay. We declined. again.
After a couple of kilometers, we get to the east gate and see a huge line waiting, tickets in hand, outside of the gate. Confusion set in. Why was there a line? The sun was already up and we were told it would be open when the sun was up. And why was everyone holding tickets? As it turns out, the rickshaw drivers weren't trying to scam us. And we had to walk back the 2 kilometers we just came to the unmarked building off the side of the road to get tickets to The Taj. We walk back. Andrew realizes he forgot his camera. He walks back to the guesthouse. Justin and I get tickets (where they say they don't have change. Despite the HUGE line we just saw standing outside of the Taj entrance.) We wait for them to dig out change. Get our tickets. Then wait for Andrew. Then we walk back to The Taj Mahal.
We go through security. Separately. One line for ladies, one for men. I'm looked at apprehensively bundled up in my blanket, I mean, yak wool scarf until I unwrap myself underneath for the officer. I shrug. She rolls her eyes and then hands my backpack over to be searched. Andrew yells over to me that he has to go back. His computer is not allowed inside The Taj Mahal grounds. I'm pulled back to my backpack. My whistle is not allowed inside The Taj Mahal grounds. I run after him and hand over my whistle.
"Seriously?" He asks.
"Seriously." I reply.
And then I wait. Justin sits down with me. I tell him to go without us, I don't mind waiting… He says we're the first people he's spoken to in a few days and he doesn't mind. (He was sick, too) So we wait together. Andrew gets back around 8:00, and we walk into a surprisingly less crowded than we thought it would be Taj Mahal. So, my advice is to go around 7:30. After the line of eager beavers. Before the group tours.
I think the best part of The Taj Mahal is walking through the front gate and just being stunned that your'e in it's presence. It's just like the pictures (only that pool of water is much skinnier than it looks in pictures) you see on post-cards and in travel books. We took the obligatory pictures. And then again, I was asked to take pictures with some other visitors (Seriously? What gives?) and then it turned into the whole family! HA!
I was snagged away from Andrew and Justin by someone who pointed out the reflecting pool to me and offered to take my picture. 'And this is when my camera gets stolen…' I thought, until I decided I could make quite the commotion if necessary inside the grounds. I guess pretending to hold The Taj Mahal with your fingers is all the rage. He made me do that, and then I actually turned down a jumping shot opportunity to "find my friends" as I told him before the photo shoot got too out of control.
We sat and chatted for awhile, people watching as everyone took photos in front. We put our shoe protectors on and walked inside to view the tombs of both Mamtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan. We took a few more photos, and then we headed out just as tour group after tour group after tour group arrived… (Yuck.)
After lunch with Justin, Andrew and I headed out to the bus station to catch a bus to Delhi. We were trying to find the bus for "the new highway" that only took 2-3 hours. After asking around, one man suggested driving us to that private bus company office. We followed him, but then I got super weary when he made it a point to go into the office before us, knowing our ticket price just went up, and the money was going directly in his pocket. Sure enough, the prices sounded high: 420 Rs each? I ducked back out to ask the white couple outside how much they paid. 270 Rs. The ticket guy said "Oh you want No AC, right… That price is 270."
Mmmmhmmmm.
So we get our tickets at 270 Rs each and wait an hour for our bus. Our bus comes. We manage to get on the bus, and for some reason were directed into the sleeper cabin above the seats. It was only about three feet high or so, but we could kinda lay down, and had a curtain, and it didn't seem sooo bad. The British couple snag the two seats in the front of the bus they requested (and paid for). And then all hell breaks loose. The British couple, Brandon and Amy are told to move up into our sleeper compartment. Which is impossible. All of our bags are with us. They had big backpacks, too. No. Not possible. Not at all. They fight. They paid for seats. (We paid for seats too but we didn't feel like fighting against the sleeper cabin as long as it was just the two of us) They didn't understand why they had to move. I didn't either.
The bus is full. All of the other passengers are Indian and watching. Other passengers ask me if we are all traveling together. I respond that we're not, but I don't understand the problem. They tell me the other bus broke down and there needs to be four of us in the sleeper compartment. I glance at the other compartments and sure enough, there are four occupants. Which is fine- if all four of us booked a sleeper compartment. I explain this to the other passengers. They nod, understanding the situation. The creepy ticket agent gets on the bus and says he will give money back to the Brits. (after they waited for a bus to Delhi for two hours) They say "No" and ask to see the bus chart to see the seating chart. The creepy ticket agent says "No." He yells at me to move our bags to let them sit in our compartment.
This was after I learned that all other passengers in the sleeping compartments paid less than what we paid for our "seats." I tell the Brits this. They ask for money back from the creepy ticket agent. I ask for money back from the creepy ticket agent. The creepster yells at the other Indian passengers who told us how much they paid in Hindi. Then in English, tells us that everyone has paid what we paid (while other passengers shook their heads "no") and tells me again to move my bags. Seeing that we weren't going to get our money back and that we were going to have to share the sleeper compartment, I did the only thing I could: I shamed him.
"Sir, I am happy to move my bags and share this compartment with them. But you have cheated us and you are representing India very poorly right now."
The whole bus knew he was in the wrong. It didn't make any sense to put all of us together in one little travel compartment when we had so much stuff. They could have easily moved two Indian passengers without bags in with me and Andrew at least letting the British couple keep their seats. We were moved together because we were foreign and he could. It happens. At least other passengers on the bus were kind and shared oranges and snacks with us along the way. Folded up a little too tightly, Andrew ended up standing for about three hours on the bus until we got into Delhi.
Oh but wait, we didn't even get into Delhi, because our bus decided to stop 20 kilometers outside of the city, right on the highway and tell us all to get off there. Seriously. "This is ridiculous." has become synonomous with "This is India." Rickshaw drivers accosted the four of us when we got off the bus demanding we pay 600 Rs for 2 rickshaws into the city. The Indian women on our bus gasped in awe when they heard how much they wanted.
"Everyday. This is what we hear." I told them.
"They are very clever!" One woman told me. I wanted to correct her. Trying to rip off foreigners is not "clever." But instead we all said no to the drivers and walked to the intersection where we agreed to pay 200 Rs for 1 rickshaw. When we arrived at the backpackers district, it began all over again, with hotels instead of rides. We checked out three different hotels before coming back to the first, and agreeing to pay more for a nicer room. After an overnight train, a crappy room in Agra sans hot water, and this busride, I was in no mood for a "budget" room in Delhi. (Ew.)
When I asked the attendant if there was hot water and wi-fi, he responded: "And free toilet paper and soap!" He laughed when my eyes got big and I smiled repeating "FREE TOILET PAPER AND SOAP?!"
