FAFFD: April 7 (morning)

Thursday, April 7^th was another long, busy, and fun day.  We spent the morning at Amber Fort (alternatively called Amer Fort), arriving via elephants, we then saw how block-printing textile work was done, and saw the process of making hand-made rugs.  We lunched, wandered through a turban museum, saw a modern palace full of small museums, we saw an old observatory, and, finally, went to a parade and had dinner.  

I awoke at 6:00 am sleepy and not-at-all refreshed, due to my late-night bookworming.  Fez and I dragged our feet, but were eventually ready, successfully found our way to the lobby, and met Mom, Auntie, Sister, and FBIL for breakfast.  

Breakfast was held in an amazing dining room.  Every inch of the surface was intricately painted, even the ceiling.  It was beautiful, and I felt so much like we were in a Jane Austen novel or visiting a palace.  The food wasn’t as good as the room, though.  I ate a lot of coco flakes and tried the runny hash browns before going back to my old fallback of cheese.  Once we had stuffed ourselves silly, we went back to the lobby to wait for our tour guide.

Breakfast at the hotel.   I took this from the hotel website.  Those lamps were dark while we ate!

Our tour guide was new, as this was our first day in Jaipur.  He was a bit of a character.  He talked a lot about philosophy.  What he said was pretty good, but he could have said it in far fewer words, “You can’t change people, only yourself,” and left it at that.  But he seemed to drone on and on in ways that made him a bore.  Despite being with him for only one day, he repeated it at least five times.  

Besides his life-advice, he of course, also acted as our guide and gave us much better money advice than the last tour guide.   Our first stop of the day was Amber Fort, and we were to ride elephants to the top of the fort.  He very clearly told us, “At some point, the elephant driver will ask you for a tip to ‘feed the elephants’.  Tell him you will tip him at the end.  If he is good and stops asking, give him 100 rupees ($2.22).  If he keeps asking and annoys you, just give him 10 rupees (about a quarter).  We thanked him earnestly for the advice, and got in line for the elephant ride.  

The elephants, weren’t in fact, taking us up the hill to the fort.  Purely by luck, we were in Rajasthan for the ‘Gangaur Festival’.  Now, this on its own actually isn’t surprising to me.   Indians have more holidays than I have hairs on my head (okay, that is an exaggeration, but you get the picture).  Even Good Friday, not a bank holiday in the Christian-dominated USofA, is a bank holiday in India that my husband got off. I think they take off every semi-remotely religious day of any religion that is practicing in India.  I’m sure that is a stretch, but not much of one.   After being in India for a few months, I think you are more likely than not to hit a holiday if you stay for two weeks.   I am awakened at least once a week for midnight birthday fireworks (or whatever else they represent).  So, the point is, yes, we were lucky to be there during the Gangaur Festival, but I think it would be a bigger stroke of luck in a country that is more stingy about their holidays.  

Anyhow, due to the Gangaur Festival, the elephants were being re-routed and we just took them for a short lap rather than up the hill to the Amber Fort.   We stood in a small line, appraising the elephants as we waited.  They were Asian elephants, of course, which meant they have smaller ears.   But I thought the ears still looked pretty big.   Their feet were just huge.   I mean, I know they have to have big feet to carry around their body weight, but seeing a foot up close was really the most shocking part for me.  Most of the elephants looked to be diseased.  Rather than a solid grey, many had pinkish patches on their ears, trunks, and faces.  It reminds me of Vitiligo, the skin disease that Michael Jackson had.

Each elephant had a painted trunk and head.  Bright neon colors, such as yellow, purple, green, orange, blue, pink and red formed either simple geometric looking patterns or bold hearts and flowers.  On the head of the elephant was a red, blue, and yellow cloth, and a matching cloth was draped over each side of the elephant.  Each was driven (if ‘driven’ is really the proper word) by a man in a long-sleeved ivory shirt uniform, with black pants and a fading orange ‘turban’.  It looked like a turban, from the front, side, or back, but from the top of the elephant, you could see the man’s hair through the center.  It seemed slightly more like a sweatband when seen from that angle.  The men either sat as you would on a horse, or cross-legged atop of the neck of the elephant.  

At the top of the elephant’s back was an iron chair.  It sort of looked like a bed, with a head and footboard that was flourished and painted baby pink. The baseboards were at the front and back of the elephant, and the longer open sides had a thick metal rod, meant, I guess, to prevent people from falling out of the chair.   A person would sit in the chair such that as the elephant walked forward, their body faced perpendicular to the direction of travel.  The elephant’s back was so wide that your knees were still on the chair, and your legs would stick straight out with only your calves and feet dangling over the edge of the elephant.  

When it was our turn, we climbed a set of stairs to reach the elephant’s back.  An elephant pulled up to the stairs and stopped.  The guy manning the stairs lifted the metal safety bar from the chair, and indicated that Fez and I, who were going first, should get on. It was an awkward mount.  I don’t think there is an elegant way to climb onto an elephant.  Our elephant was shorter than the step, so we had to go to the edge of the step, squat down, and sort of push ourselves on to it.  The safety rail was placed back over our legs, and we were off. 

Fez and I, in the lead, looked back and snapped photos of Auntie and Mom, and Sister and FBIL.  There are very few good photos of anyone, because every photo has at least one person clutching a camera to their chest, eager to take the next photo. 

Near the beginning of the ride, a stream of photographers would catch our attention and call for a photo.  Our elephant driver would stop the elephant, tell the elephant to say ‘good morning’ and the elephant would raise his trunk for the photo.   At first we were surprised at the elephant’s skills, then realized the guide was probably kicking him or something to make the trunk rise.  Regardless, he was doing it for the photographers, and the guy who took the photos of Fez and I eagerly snapped them.   He claimed he was named Ali Baba (yes, he really did say that) and to look for him and the photos when we were done.

Our elephant driver told us a bunch of hooey that we accepted as truth while on the elephant.   He told us our elephant’s name was Lakshmi, and the elephant behind us was named Roopa.  The names may or may not have been true, but his next story was certainly false.   Lakshmi, he informed us, was so small because she was young- only twenty-five years old.   “Look behind you! See the elephant behind us?   It is bigger and thirty years old.”  Of course, the occupants of the elephant behind us, Mom and Auntie, were, at that very moment, being told their elephant was only fifteen years of age.  

At one point, the guide grabbed a seedpod from a tree we were passing and handed it to me.  “Women wear these as bracelets,” he informed us. We smiled, said thanks, and found it impossible to fit the circumference of our wrists.  So, still wearing my seaband motion sickness bracelets, I simply tucked the pod into the bracelet and left it.  He glanced back and apparently approved.   Oddly enough, I remember the exact same thing happening when I did this trip in 2009.   And I still have never seen a woman wearing those pods as bracelets, so I really wonder what is the true story behind that bit of oddness. 

We enjoyed the view from the elephants. Sitting on the elephant wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position, with the awkward swaying side-to-side as each large leg was raised and dropped, but it wasn’t bad, and you quickly got used to the feeling.  We looked down on a large pond, too far away to see individual pieces of trash, and thus it was very lovely.  Beyond the pond was a city, full of small buildings with blue roofs.  It was early, so the weather felt nice. On the other side of the pond was the mountain, with the fort atop.  We saw wild boars, pathetically plopped on the side of the path, surrounded by stones and scruffy looking shrubbery.  It was very pleasant, despite the constant photography among the three pairs of us. Sister and FBIL had gotten on the elephant directly behind us, but Mom and Auntie’s elephant was stuck on a high-speed chase and had passed them early on in the trip.  Near the end of the trip, they started to pass us, and succeeded.  In fact, for that short (certainly less than ten minutes) trip, they passed three elephants.  I just wonder how that guy drives a car! 

Now that we were at the end, true to the tour guide’s words, the money haggling began.  I was sitting closer to the guide, and he did ask for money.  But he only asked once or twice, and we got off and handed him his 100-rupee note.   As we left, he looked at Fez for more.  I just shook my head no, and Fez, who was broke anyway, hopped off.   We were just fine, but apparently Sister and FBIL’s elephant driver was an aggressive person, just like our guide warned us against.  Unfortunately, they tipped him a bit too early, and had to listen to him ask for more for at least a minute non-stop.   It is so frustrating that these people just ruin your day like that.  

While still sitting on the elephant, Ali Baba ran up to us and handed us an envelope with six photos in it.  The photos were awful!  Taken on the fly, some had the elephant’s trunk cut off, and we were making terrible faces in most, or looking in completely opposite directions.   In fact, there was only one good photo of the six.  We laughed, tried to hand them back, but of course the bargaining game had begun and he refused to take them.  “2500 for all!” he shouted up to us.  That is about $55.  Laughing we said no, not intending to buy them even when they were cheap.  They were that bad.  We tried to hand them back, but again they were refused.   We looked around, wondering what other people would do.  It seemed rude to just throw them on the ground, so we continued to hold them.  Later, Sister and FBIL told me they had noticed other people doing just that- tossing them to the ground.  But unfortunately we were still bred too polite.  We dismounted; Ali Baba followed us, and continued bargaining.   I told him I’d pay 100 ($2.22) for the one good photo. Still a complete rip-off, but overall it wouldn’t hurt my pocket too much.    

Mom and Auntie had purchased their photos, I believe for 500, so now the pressure was on us to get some for mix-and-match sharing.  I stood firm with my 100 for one, and he finally agreed.  I picked out the one good photo and gave the rest back to him.  But he wasn’t done harassing us!  No, he followed us to the jeep, even when we were inside, trying to leave!  Eventually Fez scrounged up enough money to pay 100 for the remaining five.  Looks like she made the best deal of any of us!   Although the photos were all terrible!  We found out that Sister and FBIL got all of their photos for 200, too.   The door to the back of the jeep was shut, and we drove up to the Amber Fort, giggling over the poor photo quality.

Amber Fort (Or Amer Fort) was built in 1592, making it younger than the Taj Mahal. It is quite far (about a six hour drive) from the other structures that we’d visited, so I hadn’t quite understood if they were related and from the same empire or not.    These lines from Wikipedia clear up the matter a bit:

“The Amber Fort, as it stands now, was built over the remnants of this earlier structure during the reign of Raja Man Singh, Commander in Chief of Akbar’s army and a member of the Emperor's inner circle of nine courtiers, in 1592.  The structure was fully expanded by his descendant, Jai Singh I.”

So, if you remember, Akbar built his tomb in Sikandra, and the Agra Fort, which we saw on the 5^th.   On the 6^th, we first saw the Taj Mahal, which was built by Akbar’s grandson, and later saw another fort, Fatehpur Sikri, which was also built by Akbar.   So what we were seeing today was, in a way, connected to him.  It sounds like Akbar’s army general built the Amber Fort.   It seems odd, to me, to let your military leader have such a grand place- what if he tries to take over your kingdom?  But maybe I’m misunderstanding something. 

We arrived and were hustled inside.  

I have to say, Amber Fort is probably my favorite fort.  I’m not entirely sure why- I do think, in part, it is the way our tour guide let us run around.  He would stop, speak for a few minutes, then let us go off and explore to our hearts desire.  Gather at a new spot, and repeat.  So we had time to really enjoy quirky things (like getting my head nearly stuck in a very tiny window) that we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to do with our other guide.  We also found spots with stairs so steep that I’m amazed we got up them, much less the fact that they weren’t condemned.  So it was a lot of fun to run around and explore the Amber Fort. 

A second reason why Amber Fort was amazing has to be the bathrooms.  Clean, nice, full of toilet paper, and a fixed rate of only 5 rupees.   I used it twice. 

Thirdly, it had beautiful views, and a good breeze when we stood up on the ramparts and enjoyed those views.  It wasn’t too crowded (save the hall of mirrors), so you could just relax by a window and feel pleasant. 

Of course, the most important reason Amber Fort is the best must be the hall of mirrors.  I wish so much that I could see it at night, by candlelight.  The “mirror palace” was roped off to protect it from prying hands, but inside were mirrors and on every surface.  They were cut to the shapes of flowers or in intricate designs, but it was just beautiful.  I’ve included a couple of pictures, but it really is something you need to see in person.   

Mirror Palace within Amber Fort

 The fort was enjoyable.  We saw beautiful courtyards, gardens, and gazebos, but the ‘fun’ new thing to learn was about the courtyard where the concubines and ‘royal family women’ stayed.  There was a center courtyard, where the women could meet, but each woman also had her own private courtyard and rooms.   The king (should I say general?  I’m slightly confused, I’m sure our tour guide was saying King/emperor – did the general build it FOR the king?) had stairwells from the level above such that he could enter any woman’s courtyard with privacy.  None of the other women would notice.   His balcony stretched the entire circumference of the courtyard, so he could walk around and watch each woman. 

When we left the courtyard, we went into a buying frenzy.  I’m ashamed to say I overpaid for a blanket (vendor offered 5000, I said 2000 and he took it right away.  I bet I should have only paid 500).  Mom liked the same blanket, but got it for only 1000.  However, despite my grumblings at over-paying for it, it is quite cute, and is now on our guest bedroom at home in Mumbai. It is also quite small, and only fit a twin bed!   

My Overpriced Blanket

 My favorite story of purchasing items has to be Fez’s buy.  The poor girl was so broke, but she had noticed some cute hand mirrors- five in a bag- and wanted to get her hands on them.   Each was a mirror on one side, the border embellished with small jewels and a bright glitter color, and the opposite side continued the bright colors and embellishments.   In the end, she paid 200 rupees, the end of her money, for them.  As we were leaving, another hawker pushed up against our jeep (I don’t even see how more people could fit their bodies against our jeep- we were just surrounded on all sides by vendors), and offered the jeep 100 rupees for another set.   Poor Fez’s face just fell.  But our philosophical tour guide saved the day, and told her, “He wouldn’t really sell them at that price.  He just knew our jeep was leaving and wanted to be mean to you since he already heard you buy them for 200.   On the street they are 200 for six, and you have five in your bag.  So it isn’t a bad deal.”    We all felt a little better, though I’d wager you could get them all for less than 50 rupees in reality and our guide just said that to make Fez feel okay. 

Our jeep dropped us back off at our van, and we hopped in, ready for our next adventure.  Our next adventured turned out to be a quick stop at the ‘summer palace’.  More of a quick photo opp than anything else, we gazed at a palace built in the middle of a lake.  What most amazed me was the fact that it looked like the water was covering part of the palace.  It didn’t appear to be on cement stilts or any other sort of riser.  The water just lapped right up against the walls.  Apparently the royal family would boat out to this palace and enjoy the cool lake breeze.  I asked if it was a pain to move all of their furniture each year, but our guide reminded me that there was no furniture- everyone sat and slept on the ground.   

Summer Palace

After the palace we did some more ‘view the artisans in action’/shopping combo trips.  I don’t remember the order anymore- one was a jewelry shop and the other a textile shop.  I have exactly zero memories about the making of jewelry, but they sure did have beautiful emerald and sapphire sets.  They pointed out which stones were mined in India verses elsewhere.  From that demonstration, I learned that the pink rubies my Mother-in-law gave me as a wedding gift were native to India, so I thought that was appropriate.   I also remember enjoying a nice cup of chai tea while there.  But fairly shortly we left, unable to afford any of the items, and went on to the next stop.

We very much enjoyed watching the textiles in action.  First, we watched cloth have a design pressed on it.  A huge bolt of fabric was rolled out on a table, and two men with large rubber stamps would dip the stamp in ink and press it against the cotton.  It was amazing how quick they were- they had to line it up precisely each time- the stamp couldn’t have been more than six or eight inches per side- but they were so quick in repeating the pattern.   It must be monotonous work, but I felt mesmerized watching it.   You could just sort of space out and enjoy it.   Once the first stamp was done, which was a pattern outline, they got out other stamps to fill in the colors.  Again, you have to be so precise to stamp in the exact same location, to fill the outline.   But they were so quick about it!  

After they had finished that piece of fabric, they pulled us (if I remember correctly, everyone but FBIL and I participated) up to make a sample.  The first person did the outline stamp- it was of a peacock and had the company name above it.  The next person filled in part of the tail with one color, and so on.   When it was done, the colors looked completely wrong.  “Watch, watch!” they told us excitedly.  Using their bare hands, they dunked the fabric in a chemical, pulled it out, rinsed it in another bucket, and the colors had changed to the proper peacock colors.   They sat it out to dry and told us to pick it up on our way out.   It was fun to see, but I wonder how the chemicals hurt their hands.  

I do have to point out the attire of one of the gentlemen who were demonstrating for us.  My Mumbai driver very much hates the cross-dressing men that we occasionally drive past while he is taking me around town.  The cross-dressing men are always wearing saris with very small blouses, and often wigs or have grown their hair longer.   I don’t like them because they are begging- I don’t like anyone who knocks on my car door, but other than they, I’m not upset by their appearance.  But it horrifies my driver, and I think he thinks it is very, very unholy.  Now, the guy who was doing the demonstration- I THINK he was wearing a sari blouse. In fact, it looks exactly like my ready-made black blouse hanging up in my closet.  Except that his was blue. But I wasn’t quite sure, because he wasn’t wearing a sari with it.  But it was definitely a tiny little half shirt with a low, feminine neckline.   His hair was hennaed red, but that is normal for older men here. He also had a moustache.  So who knows?  But I definitely couldn’t help but stare at that shirt.  His eyes twinkled, though, and it looked like he enjoyed his job and enjoyed demonstrating for us.  So that was good. I like seeing happy people.  

Adding Block Printing to Fabrics

Making a Rug

 We next watched the process to hand-make a rug.  This was just as impressive.  A single man squatted, on a plank that was raised off the ground by a precariously balanced stack of bricks; and he rapidly tied knots of yarn on the loom. I don’t know if loom is the right word- it was basically many, many vertically strung pieces of white yarn, which were hung from a stout, horizontally placed tree limb.  The limb itself was attached to the ceiling, and held up by more white yarn. Surrounding the man were balls of various colors of yarn, hung vertically from more wood.  The man worked rapidly.  He had a pattern to follow, but he must have every piece of that vertical white string memorized, because he never looked at the pattern and his fingers just knew which string was the third string, or fourth, because he had to tie the knot on the third with yellow, but a red knot on the fourth.  And he never seemed to actually count.  It was amazing to watch.   You could just tell how skilled he was.   The side facing him was fuzzy from the knot being cut and leaving the string dangling.  But when we turned to look at the back side, a beautiful patterned rug was appearing.   

The rugs were incredibly expensive.  Again, you have to pay for the labor of having it hand-made.  But they were beautiful.  We didn’t spend too much time in that part of the store, however.  We instead made our way to the fabric portion. Most of us were burned out on shopping, and just stood around, too sick of being harassed to buy items to even look.  Once you looked, ‘helpful’ sales people swarmed you.  So we just stood and overlooked a stairwell that had absolutely nothing on it to sell.  We were safe, though still offered tea while standing there. While we waited, FBIL contemplated which purse to buy for his mom.   The problem is, once you start looking, everything is very pretty, so it is hard to make a decision.  Eventually he picked a nice gold bag with elephants, and we were on our merry way.

Our tour guide told us he ‘understood what kind of people we are’ and knew where we would want to stop for lunch.   Oh dear.  One, we all know that wherever we go, he gets a commission.   Two, he knows, based on our lack of purchases, that we are cheap.  So to what kind of place would he take us?   We drove through the city, onto narrower and narrower streets, before entering into a back lot where we parked.   Having lived here for four months, I know you can’t judge anything based on how it looks, and I didn’t really notice the dirt and trash around us.  But looking back, I am wondering what the rest of the group thought.  

We were lead to an open-air area with tables. We were, if I remember correctly, the only people there, although other tourist showed up later. The walls were in need of paint but still were decorated with flowers and pictures. It seemed pretty clean and safe to me. We sat in wicker chairs and a table covered with a simple white tablecloth. Little statues of turbaned men sat on the table, hints as to the museum we would see later. We sat under the ceiling and looked at the menu. I got up and looked at the buffet, as the center of the space had those big metal food containers.  They were empty. 

We ordered food, some of us ordered pop.  The Pepsi arrived in ancient bottles that looked like they were originally made in 1975. I hope it was just the bottles that were reused and not the original pop!  The food wasn’t too bad, and we munched on various flavors of naan and a couple of Indian dishes. 

While we waited a man came over and danced for us.  I think, at the end, we were really paying him to go away, but smiled and clapped for him just the same.   He was wearing a long-sleeved red dress. I’m sure there is a formal Indian name for it, but, excepting the color, it sure as heck looked like a dress that belonged on Little House on the Prairie.  Rather than pantalettes, he had white leggings.   The bright red dress had perky green accents, some even in the shape of hearts. He wore a matching turban, and the biggest, bushiest moustache imaginable.  His moustache!  I don’t know the proper term for it, it was vaguely similar to a handlebar moustache, but those are limited to the upper lip and his was very thick, and grew from the typical mustache region down his checks to his chin before turning up again, curled like a handlebar.  It was almost like it was sculpted out of hair that should rightfully be called a beard, not a mustache.  He played an instrument and danced for us.  His dance reminded me, actually, of a dance I saw once at Native American rally.  He took very tiny, modest steps, one foot touching the ground always.  Gentle, back and forth.  I don’t actually remember the music, but he was the second person of the day with a big grin and happy looking eyes, so it seems like people from this neck of the woods must really enjoyed life.   

Dancing Guy at Lunch

 After the food and dancing, we went on to enjoy the turban museum.  Yep, you heard me right!  There was a turban museum!  We even got in for free, so that was a first.  It was a bit disappointing, actually.  To our disconcerting eye, the majority of the turbans looked the same, but we did learn that there are different color turbans for each month.  Some of the royal fancy turbans looked more like hats, but it was fun to gaze at all of them.  There was also a diorama, just like in a history museum, of Indians doing various things.  One section had a wedding, others were cooking, etc.  So that was fun to stare at.      But I guess our tour guide had us pegged, after all.  We all smiled and giggled at the thought of the turban museum, and very much enjoyed the thought, if not the actual place. 

After the turban museum we headed back to our van.  We still had many more stops for the day- to see a façade that the women could stare out, to watch the goings-on at the street; the City Palace, which is where the current royal family lives, but is mostly now a museum; an old observatory; and a parade!  

Again- all photos were taken by people mentioned in the blog, except for the dining room photo.  That was taken from the hotel website.  

FAFFD: April 6 (afternoon & evening)

By 11:00 am on April 6^th, we had already seen the Taj Mahal, Sister was now engaged to FBIL, we’d had a great breakfast, and packed and left the hotel.   The rest of the day was just as busy as the first few hours- we visited two stores, saw another Fort (Fatehpur Sikri), we drove for about four hours, checked into our Jaipur hotel (which was AMAZING), and had a lovely dinner before heading off to bed.

Fatehpur Sikri was built by Akbar the Great as his capital city.   Remember, Akbar is the grandfather of Shah Jahan, the man who had the Taj Mahal constructed.   Fatehpur Sikri is another red sandstone fort, built in 15 years, and then quickly (14 years) abandoned as the water wells dried. It was apparently the first ‘planned city’ of the Mughals, which I guess means they built it entirely from scratch rather than capturing and reusing already present locations.  Mistake on their part, as the water dried up.  I guess the locals knew what was best!

But before we reached the fort, we had some shopping to do.

Our van, with two seats in the front, and three rows of three in the back, was fairly full, and we all sat in our self-assigned seats.  It was like a very tiny airplane, where there are three seats per row (but only three rows, rather than 20 or so).  An aisle ran between the seats, such that one seat was a single, and the others were a pair.  Fez and I occupied row 1, her in the single seat and me next to the aisle, where the AC blasted most efficiently.  AC is a must on bumpy roads with irregular driving, because the cold air, coupled with my seaband motion sickness wrist bracelets, were my best chance of avoiding car sickness.  Sister and FBIL where together behind me, the single seat empty.   The back row had Auntie in the two-seater aisle seat, and Mom in the single seat.  It was hot sitting next to the window, but we kept the thin yellow curtains open for the views.   The seats all had white sheet covers, and airplane-like seat belts.  A narrow trough, big enough to hold your water bottles, sunglasses, Michigan cap, etc ran along the interior of the tan colored van.  The car still had a faint floral smell from the leis we had been given the day before. 

In the front, Watcher H was riding shotgun, and Driver R was obviously behind the wheel.  My driver in Mumbai told me that Watcher H’s real job title is ‘cleaner’.  Maybe he is the person who washes the car in the morning as well as opens the door?  I’m not sure.   But one day we did see a pair of washed underwear hanging to dry in the window of the back door, so maybe that isn’t all he cleans!  But I’ve called him a Watcher for too many entries to change it now. 

Our tour guide sat in the one empty single seat, occasionally talking.  I tried to listen, because I knew I’d be interested in his words (I love history), but of course, I was also reading a historical fiction novel, so it was a difficult battle of wills. 

As we drove along, Fez and I were still oblivious to the world, engrossed in our books.   Probably Sister and FBIL were engrossed in engagement happiness, and I’m not sure what Auntie and Mom were up to- probably planning the wedding.   But very shortly, we stopped at our first stop, and got out. 

Mom, of course, once out of the van, exclaimed over all of the great (in her mind!) photo spots and insisted on taking them once we left the store.  We were herded inside the elegant looking building, sat on small wooden benches, were offered drinks, which we declined, and watched a quick demonstration on how the marble inlay was made. 

Both the Agra Fort (which we’d seen on Monday the 5^th) and the Taj Mahal (which we’d seen earlier that day) made extensive use of marble inlay.  The end result is a smooth piece of marble with fitted pieces of precious and semi-precious stones.  It is very beautiful, and quite expensive. 

Families are hired as a group to do the work.  So an entire family will work on one, say, table top.  One person makes the design; another person has the job to shape each stone in that design.  The marble itself is painted a bit of an orange color, so they can etch the lines on it more visibly, and once the stone is shaped, anther family member’s skill is to cut the marble to that exact shape of the stone.  There is proprietary glue that is used to hold the stones in place, and then the entire thing is polished, removing the dye stains and smoothing the surface.  Depending on the design, it can take weeks to many, many months to finish a little end table top.  

The demonstration was quick, but fun.  The person shaping the precious stone held it, and shaped it by holding it against a spinning circular stone, which was attached to a wooden block.  He spun the block with a stick, making the sharpening stone spin.  It reminds me of toys we had as a kid, where you put the flat piece of plastic in a slot, and when you pulled it out, the toy would run….  I know I at least had a He-Man toy that did that.  I’m not sure if that explanation makes sense or not.  Regardless, he had a wheel, sitting vertically like a car tire, and he spun the wheel it by pushing a block with a stick.  The stick was held in his right hand, and in his left hand he held the stone that was to be shaped.  Look at the picture if it helps!

Making the Inlay Marble

 After we watched the demonstration, the store people brought us to a wall of rocks, and asked us to identify them.  Mom and I had great fun with that. She was amazing.  After the rock ID, they turned us loose on the merchandise.

The store is incredibly expensive.  The less intensely designed end tables may cost $300, but the price quickly increases as the intricacy of the design increases.  Yet, still, $300 per table, spread out over 4 people, and if it took 4 months of labor, the cost is less than $20/month per person.    So when you look at it that way, it is incredibly well priced.  Or a big rip off to the poor employees. 

Of course, as we looked at the tables, Mom and I kept offering to buy something gorgeous as a wedding gift to Sister and FBIL, but they declined.  The employees at this shop were even more annoying than the hawkers waiting outside.  The instant you looked at any item, three employees swooped in and tried to convince you to buy it.  It was very annoying, and made it difficult to enjoy the designs. 

Now, in the lovely personal power outage + bathroom anecdote I told here, the story took place in a store very similar to this one.  Apparently the same people own them.  But this store had a much, much nicer restroom, and all of us took advantage of it safely without any mishaps.  We even discovered the air freshener had our surname!  Well, I guess it isn’t mine anymore, but it will always be my name in my heart.  It is still Mom’s and Sister’s.  

We looked at many grand pieces, not just tiny end tables, but large dinning room tables, small coasters and figurines, white marble, black marble, jewelry boxes, plates, endless items.  Eventually Auntie and Mom each purchased a lovely set of coasters, and, if I remember correctly, I think Mom also bought a tiny pillbox or something for one of FBIL’s relatives.   As we were about to leave, we noticed a few tiny necklaces, expressed interest, and were hustled to a previously unknown level of the building, full of stunning jewelry.  I tried on a ring with ten two-carat diamonds on it. I thought it was a hideous ostentatious disaster, but bigger is better in India, and the salesmen were eager to put it on my finger, as if I would actually buy such a thing.   They must be the most hopeful people ever.  

But it was the inlay necklaces that entranced us.  Quite simple and small, maybe a half-inch per side, the shapes were squares, diamonds, triangles, or teardrops.  Each had a silver fastening, and the marble pendant had a small inlay flower on it.  We gazed through them, Mom insisting upon buying one for each of her three daughters and herself.  Poor Auntie didn’t get one, though.   

I picked the one that instantly caught my eye- the flower, an orange blossom of some sort, was standing straight up on its stem.  It was proud looking, and instantly made me feel happy.   It was just a cheerful looking flower.  The marble was a square, but tilted such that the corners pointed up and down.  The orange flower had a tiny blue bud near the stem.  If I remember correctly, Mom picked out a rectangular tablet shaped, blue flowered necklace, Sister had a tear-shaped orange flower, a big vivid flower that took up the whole stone, and Fez had an oval marble with a pretty pale blue flower.

 We went outside, took the photos that Mom requested, and sweating like mad, despite being under the sunlight for only a few minutes, gladly jumped back into our van.

Our pockets lighter, and, I’m sure, a commission happily weighing down the drivers and our tour guide, we headed out to a second store. This store wasn’t on the original itinerary, but they had asked if we wanted to stop somewhere else, and one of us wanted something- I think Auntie wanted a good book on the Taj Mahal, if I remember correctly.  Thus, we stopped at a small store, looked at the books, Mom bought her friend a scarf, and we looked at overpriced post cards.  Sister and FBIL went to sit outside, to occupy a few empty seats along the wall, and were saddened that our driver and watcher jumped up from their seats and refused to sit while FBIL and sister were sitting.  So weird. So circa 1950s.  It made Sister and FBIL incredibly uncomfortable. 

It is really odd, how stuck in that system they were.  I mean, they were happy to talk to us, from their van seats, and happy to smile and help us out of the van, but they couldn’t sit in the same chairs as us, something that an American wouldn’t even know to think about.  They are just chairs!  

After all of the items were purchased, and we were comfortably seated in our van, we took the hour drive to Fatehpur Sikri.  As this is the site directly after the Taj Mahal, I didn’t remember it too well from my 2009 trip, and I was eager to put it back in my memory.  We were dropped off in a fairly wooded area, with large empty parking lots, and plenty of single-story buildings, all full of tourist trap souvenirs and food or water stands.  We walked through them, and to a large white bus.  We filed into the bus, sitting in the back rows, and very shortly the full bus took off and drove up a steep hill to the fort.  Memories were starting to come back to me- we had taken autos in 2009, and the auto drivers were awfully rude to us.  One even kicked us out of the auto when an India woman came up and wanted it.  So I was glad for the van and the distancing of that rudeness.  

When we reached the fort, memories flooded back to me, but they are apparently short-lived, because I couldn’t remember labels for the photos! 

Akbar had many fun rooms built here.  One, a two-story building, had a huge column in the middle, and apparently at the top of the column is where Akbar sat.  The seat at the top had four walkways radiating to the four corners of the building, and along the walls sat his advisors, from all religions.  Here they discussed religious philosophies and made laws, and here he tried to unite all of the religions into one.  The entire fort has designs that incorporated the many religions, so it was fun having the tour guide point those out.

Akbar's Seat

We saw rooms believed to be his wives’ quarters.  His Muslim wife's room was small, but incredibly sculpted, with flowers, trees, and animals on every inch of it.  The heads of the animals were all scratched out and obscured by a more orthodox ruler at a later date.  His Hindu wife, apparently the most loved, and the one who gave him the son he so desired, had an entire set of buildings at her disposal.  The Portuguese Christian wife, who may or may not have existed, had rooms full of brilliant paintings, though time has dulled them and they are difficult to see. 

The fort was beautiful, but we took very few photos, probably because it came directly after the Taj Mahal. Also because I think Mom’s camera battery was dying by that point. We saw air conditioning, circa 1575, which means hallowed walls that have water flowing through them.   We were forced (by Mom!) to rub some carved fruit, which meant we’d have children.  Sister rubbed a pair of fruits; maybe she’ll have twins.   All too soon, the heat was hitting us, and we were finished at the fort. 

Mom was feeling quite sick, despite wrapping her dupatta over her head to shield herself from the sun, and was very happy to get off of the white bus that took us back down the hill.   As we stepped off, right next to us, a kid threw up the very full contents of his belly.  I hope Mom didn’t see that, because it was enough to make me feel sick!   We walked back to the van, past the vendors and hawkers and food stands.  Mom, sick as she was, wasn’t too sick to stop and purchase a cute little beaded purse for her sister. 

When we got back on the van, we gave Mom my coveted seat, and I sat next to her.   The air-conditioning on the window seat was terrible, but I didn’t want Mom to get sick, either.   So we suffered along, driving for maybe forty minutes, weary of Mom’s belly.

Our drivers asked us if we wanted lunch, and we said no.  But we were all hankering for some ice cream, so they stopped at a perky yellow hotel that they claimed had ice cream.  We walked in, said we wanted ice cream, and were asked if vanilla was okay.  We said sure, and sat at a table with sparkly gold tablecloths and relaxed.  It was a large, galley-style room, with white walls and curved windows.  

We chatted, went back to planning Sister and FBIL’s wedding, and guzzled water.   The seconds turned to minutes, which continued to drag out.  Where was our ice cream?   I soon confided in our group my thoughts on the situation.  “When we lived in the guest house, they would just go out and buy us anything we wanted,” I told them.   “I think they don’t have ice cream here, they are just going out to buy it at another store!”  As we continued to wait, someone caught sight of a person running up the steps with a bag in their hand!  Bingo!  Minutes later, a server came out with a tray full of ice cream. 

“It is butterscotch!” He announced.   I bellowed, “Oh God, no!  That is awful!” before I realized I had left my manners behind and shut up.  The server started apologizing, and said they had vanilla as well.  I’d just like to say that I’ve had the Indian version of butterscotch at a wedding before, and it truly is awful.   The server placed the butterscotch ice cream in front of Fez, Auntie, FBIL, and Mom, who all decided to try it, despite my outburst.  Mom took one bite, choked, and requested a change to vanilla, to the amusement of the servers who stood watching.  The other three tried it.  Fez and FBIL actually liked it.  But I was happy with my vanilla.  

When we finished, we headed back to the van for the long drive to Jaipur.  Mom was still feeling sick, so she stayed in the really good seat and I read less to counter-act the sick feeling.  But I helped Mom adjust her seabands, and I think she started to feel better when she was wearing them properly.  

As we drove along, we started to notice many camels and their herders.  Excited, we stopped and took a closer look.  Since everyone and their mothers ask us for money (women carrying anything will say “snap shot?  Only 100 rupees”), we preemptively grabbed a 100 rupee note and put it in the camel herder’s hand as we rushed out of the van.  I didn’t catch their expressions, but my sister, who made sure to hand the second herder an additional 100 rupee note, told me their faces just lit up with glee and happiness.  They were simple men, slightly bent from work, wearing nothing but a white turban, white t-shirt, and white knee-length lungis.   We felt so much better giving the money (works out to about $4.40) to these hard working gentlemen who didn’t ask for anything than the obnoxious hawkers.  You could tell we just made their day.   I itched to get closer to the camels, and asked, forgetting they didn’t speak English, if it was okay.  But they understood, and by gestures directed me closer.   As I got closer, with dire warnings of spitting and kicking coming from the peanut gallery, I got scared.  They were SO big!  I know I’ve seen them at zoos, but there is something different, seeing them on the street, blocking traffic.  Plus, I’m pretty sure these guys were a lot bigger than anything at Binder Park Zoo.   I hesitated, and stopped.  No way was I getting any closer to them!   I did my best to pose, half a dozen yards away, before rushing back to the safety of our group!

After the long drive, we pulled up to our hotel.  It was a 200 years old British haveli (private mansion) and we were all speechless at the beauty of it.   Of course, when I showed photos my husband later, he didn’t like the antique look and didn’t understand what the big deal was.  But let me assure you, it was spectacular, though in want of a good coat of paint.  

We walked up an incredibly steep ramp, which was riveted for better footing, were greeted by guards and a sari-clad woman, and walked through a narrow hallway painted blue with darker blue flower accents.  It smelled amazing, by the way, which was a relief after the last hotel.  She seated us in an open-air lobby that was adjacent to a courtyard that was full of small pools and yellow iron lawn tables.  We sat, drinking, from a straw, an orange pop drink that was given to us, and enjoyed the beauty surrounding us.  

Haveli Lobby

 Eventually our passports were in order and she took us on a tour to our rooms.  Sister and FBIL’s room was first.  We went down a stairwell, past a beautiful blue swimming pool, surrounded by bed-like lawn chairs.   Next to the pool was a building, complete with a sauna, exercise room, and massage room.  Past the pool was Sister and FBIL’s room.  It was on the ground level, and we passed through a gate to their private patio, which had a small couch and a table with two chairs.  She unlocked the door and everyone said, in unison, “wow”.  The room opened into a wide space, with a large bed sitting in the center.  It had an intricate baseboard, and narrow-legged end tables with squat lamps made of pottery.  The walls were white, with a maroon floral pattern painted daintily about the corners and doorframes.  A flat screen TV sat on top of a dresser, and the walls had extremely old photographs of Indians and Indian artwork.   The floor was marble and jasper, and the bathroom huge, with a solid marble bathtub.  A solid wood horse stood as room décor. 

We lingered, gawking, but soon left Sister and FBIL’s luggage and continued on our tour. We headed back pass the pool, up the stairs and back to the lobby level.  We then went up an incredibly narrow flight of stairs (reminded me of the escalators at a few train stops in Chicago), and faced the next room.  It was for Fez and I.  It was completely different, but still beautiful.  We had a four-post bed, with slightly sturdier furniture.  Our floor was a pattern of marble and a green stone, and we had comfortable brown couches on which to lounge.  Our TV was pathetic, though.  Our room’s porch overlooked another courtyard, and was full of squashy comfortable furniture.   Our bathroom had an onyx and marble chevron pattern and two sinks.  The light switches were made of brass.   The walls were adorned with black and white photos of sullen men dressed in huge turbans.  By far the best part, though, was our door lock.  Sister/FBIL and Mom/Auntie had normal keys and locks.  But we had a paddle-lock!  You had to crouch down, pull a brass bar through the loops, put the latch down, and lock it.  The key was huge. Every time we locked the door we broke into giggles.  As Fez pointed out, the lock was good for us, as it was impossible to lock ourselves out!  

The last room, Mom and Auntie’s room, required another set of stairs.  We were starting to get confused, as the building twisted with several courtyards.  Additionally confusing was the fact that all of our rooms started with the number “1”, despite being on different floors and in different buildings.  We never did figure out the nomenclature. 

Mom/Auntie’s room was painted an apricot color.  It was large, also with a flat screen TV, and, we joked, it must be the honeymoon suite because of the layout.   While lying in bed, which had a well-cushioned couch at the foot of it, you could stare directly at the bathroom door.  The bathroom, nearly as big as the bedroom, had a glass door.  The door was not a frosted glass.  Just plain, clear, easy-to-see-through glass.   Directly beyond the bathroom door was the shower.   The shower, which also had glass door, as in the clear, easy-to-see through kind.  So you could sit in bed and watch the other person shower, clear as day!  Other than that bit of poor planning, their bathroom was amazing.  So large, it also had a marble bathtub in an alcove, and two sinks.  The entire room had big columns and archways, and an amazing mosaic jasper and marble floor, each piece a different polygon. 

Once we saw everyone’s rooms, we headed back to our own to relax and unpack for a half hour before dinner.  Fez and I put on our complimentary slippers and read our books.  I called the housekeeping for wash clothes.  They were confused, and just sent a person to my door.  He understood perfectly in person, and came back shortly with two washclothes.  Mission accomplished!

When it was time for dinner, we arrived last as we were completely lost.   We hadn’t been back down to the lobby- after we’d been shown our room, we saw Mom and Auntie’s, and then had headed back to our own, which wasn’t too far away.   Fez and I wandered up and down so many narrow flights, looked into different courtyards, until finally, she spotted a jar that she remembered as a room décor.  It was just sitting on small low table (I mean, LOW, like 2 inches off of the ground) in the middle of the room.  I’m sure people must trip over it all of the time.  Regardless, we were relieved she had found the way to the lobby, and, for the next two days, we smiled happily every time we saw that jar.

We sat outdoors, in the pool patio, and ate by candlelight.  We ordered Indian foods, and Sister and FBIL, eager to try a new flavor, were disappointed when once again told the only beer was a Kingfisher.  Every restaurant has a list of beers, and every time, nothing on the list is actually at the restaurant. Except Kingfisher.   We enjoyed our meal, topped it off with desserts, and headed back to our rooms to rest. 

As Fez and I were getting ready for bed, she took off her necklace that Mom had bought her earlier in the day.  And oops- it broke!  The clasp had completely fallen apart.  Having owned many pieces of jewelry from India, and having this exact same problem with three necklaces of my own, I was disappointed, but not exactly surprised.    Shoddy workmanship is king here, and this was just further confirmation.  She was incredibly disappointed and worried about hurting Mom’s feelings, but I told her we could fix it.  

Fortunately, the hotel provided us with a sewing kit, and a quick call to housekeeping gave us scissors to cut the thread.  I sewed the clasp back to the chain.   We tugged on it.  It seemed like it would hold.  We snipped the thread, leaving the ends hanging in case we had to tighten it.   The next day, Fez wore it just fine, until Mom, noticing the clasp was near the bottom, moved it for her and noticed the thread hanging!  But Mom thought Fez had forgotten to take the price tag off of the necklace and was none-the-wiser for the broken gift…. until now.   Fez is sorry, Mom!  But it just broke in her hand, and there was nothing she could do about.

After we fixed the necklace, we got ready for bed.

Of course, I was in the last hundred pages of my book, so I didn’t sleep until I finished that, although Fez drifted off to sleep immediately.  Once I finished the book, I then decided the air conditioning was way too loud, and flipped every switch, lights included, trying to figure out how to turn the AC off.   Poor Fez.  3:00 am and I was still up annoying her.  She woke up and asked if it was time to go yet. I laughed and said no.  Eventually I figured the switches out, and I finally got some sleep.   

FAFFD: April 6 (morning)

Wednesday, April 6^th was a remarkable day for us.  Not only was it my best friend’s birthday (Auntie’s daughter), but it was also the day we visited the Taj Mahal.  We even had an unexpected surprise to top the day off! 

The Taj Mahal, arguably the most beautiful building in the world, took 22 years to complete and was finished in 1653.  It was commissioned by Akbar’s grandson, the emperor Shah Jahan, as a tomb for his wife, Mumtaz Mahal.  Mumtaz is a nickname meaning beloved ornament of the palace.   She was his third and, as the Taj Mahal suggests, most loved wife.  Our tour guide told us that she would travel with him, wherever they went, and that she gave birth to 14 children, dying in childbirth with number 14.  According to our tour guide, she asked Jahan to build something meaningful for her to be remembered in death.  Jahan went into seclusion for one year, came out looking as aged as Moses after talking with God, and started the Taj Mahal the next year. 

I had been to the Taj Mahal before, in 2009, and was amazed at its beauty. I honestly expected, before seeing it, to be disappointed.  There is so much talk surrounding it, I didn’t think anything could live up to its hype.   I felt the same way as a kid when everyone was talking about the movie Aladdin.  But I was wrong; the Taj Mahal was just as breathtaking as everyone says, and Aladdin was an amazing movie despite all of the hype. 

As with the Delhi Airport, Taj Mahal 2011 was very different from Taj Mahal 2009.  When I had gone before, there were lines and lines of shoe cubbies (it is a tomb, so you reach the famous white structure, you cannot actually walk in shoes), and we had gone in the morning to protect our bare feet from the incredibly hot sandstone and marble paving.  But Taj Mahal 2011 had moved the cubbies, and provided each guest with a pair of shoe covers.   Our guide, though, pocketed the shoe covers and gave us ‘better’ covers provided by the travel agency.  I wonder what he does with all of the covers….   So the moral of that little story is that IF you are planning to visit the Taj Mahal, don’t worry so much about your feet.    Your shoulders and arms will still feel the sunlight, but at least your feet will be safe from the hot stonework, so feel free to visit it at any time of day.  I just wonder at the cause of the change.  Was it because of the scene in the movie Slumdog Millionaire?  

One more quick comment before I start telling about the day.  I have a fairly embarrassing story in here, but I asked for my sister’s permission (way back on April 6^th) to put it in the blog, and she said yes.  So I am very happy to include it here, because everyone loves a good laugh. 

Okay, now to the day:

India is in some ways extremely liberal.  They have female political leaders, and reading the front-cover sex advice on their newspapers is enough to make an American blush.  But for all the talk, they also are quite conservative, and I had done my best to combat some of the issues that would come up in our travels by telling Sister and Friend K (who are boyfriend and girlfriend), that they were married, and to play up the story.  This is not a silly whim on my part.  People are sometimes refused hotel rooms if they are not married.  In fact, I read in Diary of a White Indian Housewife (a blog, where the married woman is white and her husband is of Indian origin) that she and her husband have twice been refused hotel rooms in the south for being an interracial couple, despite being married.  They would have to argue and talk to managers, and would eventually get rooms; but it took a lot of time. So it was best to do everything possible to prevent such situations from arising.  Sister and Friend K were an old married couple for this week.

As Friend K was the man of our group, our tour guide took to questioning him, both the day before and today.  At one point, while just making simple talk, the tour guide asked, “So how long have you two been married?” Friend K promptly and smoothly answered, “Two years,” which made the rest of us giggle internally.  But they both did a good job of pulling it off, and we had checked into our hotel rooms without a hitch the night before. 

As we were going to see the Taj Mahal early in the morning, before I had zonked out at 8:00 pm the night before, I had called for a wake-up call.  Fez and I consulted, and decided to wake at 5:00 am.  I’m not sure why we decided to get up so early (we were meeting at 6:00 am, and not showering or eating beforehand), but we were tired and not thinking logically.  When I called, they asked me if I wanted the wake-up call for all three rooms, and I said yes.  But the phone died before the call was completed, and I had to call back to reconfirm. 

Fast forward nine hours later, and we received two wake-up calls within ten minutes plus my cell phone alarm. We were definitely awake!   Fresh from a good night’s sleep, and immune to the awful smell in our room, since we now probably smelled of it ourselves, we got dressed, and then checked out what Mom and Auntie were up to.  Auntie had woken up in the middle of the night, and realized her camera wasn’t charged.   It sounds like they’d both been up and about for a bit.  They had also received multiple wake-up calls!  Sorry about that! 

Mom realized she had forgotten a hairbrush, and asked to borrow mine.  I told her to come back to our room and get it, but first sent her to check and make sure Sister/Friend K were up.  After all, I was the only one with a working cell phone, and you can never trust those hotel wake-up calls.  Mom never came back for the hairbrush, though she did report that Sister and Friend K were up and about, having also received multiple calls. But now I’m wondering if she brushed her hair at all during the trip…. maybe she borrowed Auntie’s.  

I munched on a granola bar, and we went to the lobby to meet tour guide.  All of the women were dressed in Indian attire of some degree, must to the delight of our tour guide.  But hey, when in Rome….  And the baggy pants are so much more comfortable than jeans in the hot weather!

None of us were sleepy, we were too excited.  Besides, with the exception of Fez and I, who knows what time zone their bodies were imagining.  We drove up to the welcome center/ticket center, and our guide had us sit and wait while he paid.  He came back with six little blue paper bags, covered with pictures of the Taj Mahal.  Each bag, with thick white handles, was exactly the right size for the 500 mL bottle of water nestled inside.  Apparently the bags were also supposed to hold our thin, hairnet-like white shoe covers, but as I said before, he pocketed those and passed out sturdy blue fabric shoe covers instead.   They even had strings to tie them.  Very nice.   

Bags weren’t allowed inside, unless it was a small purse, so our burdens light, we stepped out of our van to head toward the Taj Mahal.   No pollution is allowed in the vicinity of it, so we had to leave our petrol-powered van behind.  When I had been there in 2009, we took a tonga ride – basically a horse with a small cart.  We sat on the cart, facing backwards.  But, as I had said, the Taj Mahal has modernized, and the horses were gone.  We instead got on a white open-aired cart-thing, which had several cars, and were driven as close to the Taj Mahal as vehicles were permitted.  Maybe it was electric? I’m not sure why that cart could go, but not our van. Regardless, we then hopped out, and walked the remaining distance.

As we walked, of course hawkers walked beside us.  Mom keeps making the mistake of looking at them and smiling, so they liked to concentrate on wearing her down.   They all kept telling her their name was Rodger, and be sure to remember him on her way out.    I’ve apparently perfected my snobbish get-away-from-me look and gesture, because they didn’t really harass me at all. 

We reached the security entrance. Boys on one side, girls on the other.  We had our small purses checked, our guide forked over our tickets, and we were finally in sight of the Southern Gateway, though the white marble structure nestled behind it was hidden from view.  

Just to recap, the Taj Mahal is a tomb.   The entire structure consists of a gate to the south, a river to the north, a mosque to the west, and an empty ‘rest house’ structure on the east.  Those are built primarily of red sandstone. The famous white marble mausoleum sits on the river edge, centered between the mosque and rest house.  It is the actual mausoleum, mosque, and rest house where we are not permitted to wear shoes.  But the gateway, and the land between the gateway and mausoleum are shoe-friendly. 

We stopped and talked before going through the gateway.  Our tour guide, knowledgeable about our future actions, knew we’d stop listening once we got there.  So he gathered us a bit from the entrance and told us about the gateway.   First, count the white domes on top of the gateway.   Eleven on this side.  Eleven on the backside.   Sums to twenty-two, the number of years it took to build the Taj Mahal.  I wonder what they would have done if there was an uneven number….  Second, note the calligraphy. It is actually inlayed jasper and black marble.  But the amazing part is that the size of the words are the same, top to bottom.  Previously, when making huge gateways, the writing itself would be the same size (let’s call it a size 500 font).  But when you were standing near the massive structure, the words at the top looked much smaller than the words at the bottom, because you were so far away.  So when the Taj Mahal was built, all of the writing was re-sized, so that from a distance, it looks the same.  So the bottom might be a 500 font, the middle 550, and the top 600.  Does that make sense?   I think that is a very subtle, cool thing to do. 

We stood, taking in the beauty of the gateway, yet also itchy to get inside and actually see the Taj Mahal.  Eventually we stop talking, start taking photos, and then walked through the gateway.  Couples in love are supposed to hold hands as they walk through, so our guide instructed Sister and Friend K to do this.  

Gateway

view from the gateway

 Honestly, words can’t really describe how beautiful it is.  It was very early morning, around 6:45 when we actually walked inside, and, though bright out, the sun wasn’t yet shining on the Taj Mahal.  The air was chilly, actually, and quite pleasant.  We walked forward, gawking, enjoying the beauty, and eventually the sun started to rise and turned the slightly grey dawn-color of the Taj Mahal to a brilliant white.   It was just as beautiful the second time around as the first.

We took way too many photos.  Our guide (again, to our frustration) tried to convince us to hire the professional photographers, but we refused as we had five cameras (As the ‘local’ I didn’t carry one) between the six of ourselves, and didn’t want to bother with the photographers.  So we took our own photos.    We slowly walked through the lawn, approaching the Taj Mahal.  We stopped at a bench and took many, many more photographs.  We look like complete dorks, because our guide posed us, but oh well. If you are my friend on facebook, check them out.   Complete dorks, right?!

Our guide pointed out the location of where Princess Diana had her famous photo, and we admired the ponds and trees.  But always with one eye on the Taj Mahal.  We cut across the yard, and he posed Mom and Auntie so that their sunglasses would have a reflection of the Taj Mahal.  I thought it sounded silly, but it makes a great profile picture for my mom on Facebook, so I’m glad she got it.  

Eventually the distance between the actual Taj Mahal and ourselves reached a close, and we stopped to put on our nice blue shoe covers.   A few of us  (If I remember correctly, Mom and Fez) decided against the shoe covers and went barefoot.  We had to rip Friend K’s covers to get them over his tennis shoes, but in short time we were covered, paid the guy who pushed his way in to help Mom with her feet, and then of course expected a tip, and walked up a short staircase to the east side of the Taj Mahal.

The stairs were originally white marble, but were now covered in wooden planks.  They were still a bit slippery, though.  The landing was a pattern of white marble and red sandstones.  We walked close to the actual Taj Mahal, and our guide told us about the beautiful inlay and carving work done on the tomb. The inlay work is all done by hand.  The tiny pieces are shaped, and then the marble carved to fit it.  So much work just to do such a tiny piece of the building.  

inlay work

marble carving

After we admired the craftsmanship, we walked into the actual structure.  The bodies are buried, in tombs, beneath the floor, invisible to us. On the floor, directly above the bodies, and visible to us; are empty replica tombs, called cenotaphs. Only one part of the Taj Mahal isn’t symmetrical, and that is in the center of the mausoleum.   Mumtaz is located in the center, as it is her tomb, but her husband, the emperor, is also buried inside, and located between the wall and her tomb, ruining the symmetry.  His cenotaph is elevated to a higher height, being an emperor, but both are ornate and beautiful.  Photography wasn’t allowed inside, so there are a couple of pictures here if you are interested.

An incredibly ornately carved fence, to keep visitors a few feet away, surrounded the cenotaphs.  Unfortunately, the fence has been abused, people picking off the gemstone as souvenirs, so a boring modern fence keeps the visitors from touching the pretty one.  It was dim inside, and four small, incredibly high windows had softly hooting pigeons. 

After we left the central room, we walked through exterior rooms of the mausoleum.  They were unfinished, with plastered ceilings, and four hundred years of sweaty palms left darkened stains on the walls.  It was hard to believe they were part of the same structure.  Plain. Boring. Separated by just a wall were beautiful floors and decorated cenotaphs. 

We walked out of the north side of the mausoleum and gazed down at the river.  There are some fairly well refuted theories that the emperor was going to build a black Taj Mahal, across the river, to mirror the white marble Taj Mahal.  I wonder how different the world would be if both existed.  A silver bridge was going to connect the two.  That would have been a sight to see!

We looked up at that large central dome, which has small looped hooks in it.  The hooks were for scaffolding that goes up during wars to make the Taj Mahal less visible of a target.  I guess that seems pointless with GPS, though.  But it is so sad to imagine something so beautiful being a war target. 

The four corner minarets are not actually perpendicular to the ground, but rather very slightly angle away from the central tomb. We were told there were two reasons for this.  The first, in the event of an earthquake, they would hopefully fall away from the central tomb rather than toward it.  The second was that, from a distance, they still look like they are pointing straight up.   If they were parallel lines, then they’d form a point (like looking down railroad tracks), thus making the mausoleum less impressive looking.

Each exterior corner of the tomb had a fun column that played tricks on your eyes.  I’ve included a picture below.   When you looked at the column, the chevron pattern makes it appear to have many sides- in this photo, if you look near the top; it appears to have eight visible surfaces.  But look at the base- there are actually only four!

How many sides?

 We wandered through a sandstone structured located east of the tomb.  An identical structure, a still functional mosque, was on the west side. We did not go in the mosque, but looked through the other structure, which served as a place to rest for visitors.  Beautiful on its own, but fairly boring when compared to the white marble. 

Eventually, slowly, we made our way down from the tomb and took off our shoe covers.  Being a weirdo who saves too many things, I pocketed them rather than pitching them.    We slowly walked back, our faces frequently turning to get one more glimpse.

Now, our irritation at our tour guide, due to his encouragement of the hawkers, had subsided in the beauty of the Taj Mahal.  But we found a new thing to be annoyed by.   Each time he walked past someone of Asian origin, he would go up and say “konnichiwa”. And, by the way, having actually taken Japanese, that is the incorrect greeting for the morning.  Or, he would go up to someone and say, “you are Japanese/Hong Kong/Chinese, etc”.   He was pretty much always wrong.   Anyhow, as we were walking back, he stops in front of two women resting on a shaded bench, and asks, “You Korean?”  They shake their heads no.  “You Hong Kong?” Yes, that really is how he phrased it.  No.   “You Japanese?”  Well, the third guess was right, and they reluctantly nodded yes.   Triumphantly, our guide announced, very loudly, “Konnichiwa” and walked on his merry way, leading us toward the exit.  Dragging my feet at the end of our group, I pointed at him, spun my finger to indicate a weirdo, and said, “I’m sorry” in Japanese, and fortunately walked away to their giggles. 

As we left, we noticed swarms and swarms of people.  We were so grateful we came early.  It was much easier to get photos when it was empty!  The sun had also risen, bathing the east side in a glorious glow.  It really was beautiful.  

We stood near the southern gate, reluctant to leave.  Auntie remembered that she promised to take a photo of her feet for her daughter (AEI, you’ll have to explain that to me at some point), Sister and Friend K wandered near a bench to take more photos, and I just dawdled around. 

Sister and Friend K were now sitting on the bench, talking.  Suddenly, they kissed.  Just a tiny little peck, but still, this is India and that is a big no-no.   Slightly shocked, I watched them, concerned about them being approached by someone and chastised.  Soon, Friend K’s hand wandered to Sister’s backside!  In India!  Mom was clicking away at that pose.  And then they kissed again!  All of a sudden, I knew exactly what had happened and exclaimed, “Oh my God, he just proposed!”  But no one was close enough to hear me.

Dying of curiosity, I stood there, unsure what I should do.  Clearly, the correct answer is to give them privacy, if it were true.  But was it?   Our tour guide, who of course, thought them already married, had also noticed the kissing and was alarmed.  He walked over to interrupt them, so I figured any special moment they had was over, anyway.

Sister told me later that he came over and asked, “sharing secrets?” to which they just laughed off.  But when I came and sat next to them, I don’t really remember exactly what I said, but a flash of a diamond confirmed my guess!  They were engaged!  I was giggly and ecstatic.  They were both behaving normally!  They confided that they would announce it at breakfast, and the three of us got up from the bench, secret kept.

As we left, I told Sister and Friend K (hereafter referred to Future Brother-In-Law, FBIL) that they had to buy something to commemorate the day.  But they ignored me. Probably better choice on their part. 

We stood outside, waiting for our van to pull up. It took a solid ten minutes.  Our tour guide got antsy, but the rest of us were calm.  How could they be so calm?  I was bouncing around with excitement…

We got into the van and drove to the hotel.  Can you believe that for all that had happened it was only 9:00 am?  

Now, when Fez and I had left that morning, we shut our room door, and she immediately asks me, “do you have our room key?”  Oops.  No, no I did not.  Nor did she.  We shrugged it off, and figured we’d get it when we came back to the hotel.   Three hours later, and everyone else was headed back to their rooms and we were at the front desk, asking for a new key.  We were all going to meet in the lobby for breakfast, and we were surprised that Sister and FBIL were already back from their room and in the lobby before we had gotten our key.   But no, actually they had forgotten their key, too!   And so it turns out that Mom, the one we always tease about forgetting things, was the only one of us who remembered her key!

Once we all had keys again, we sat down to the hotel breakfast.  My sister kept her hand behind her back, but I was the only one who noticed.  There was a lot of food; cereals, breads, cheeses, Indian foods, hash browns. You name it, it was there.  There were also terrible juices, but I have yet to really like a juice in India, so it was only surprising to the rest of the group that they were bad.   

As we stuffed ourselves, I waited for Sister and FBIL to make their announcement.   We all chatted, talked about the beauty of the Taj Mahal, and greeted the South African dude from the day before, who happened to be at the same hotel.  But mostly I just waited.  The build-up was so much that I unfortunately don’t remember what they actually said!  

I think it was something simple.  I THINK my sister said something like, “We got engaged!”  Mom, though, I won’t forget her reaction.  I was sitting opposite her, at the other end of the table, and looking directly at her when they announced it.  Mom put one hand on each cheek, and just gasped.  If I hadn’t seen her do it for good news before, you’d swear she was in pain like the kid from Home Alone when he puts the aftershave on his face.  But I’ve seen her make that face before, while on the phone, so I giggled at it, but it wasn’t unexpected.  She was so excited, even more excited that me.  We (we meaning everyone at the table except for the engaged couple) immediately started planning their wedding. 

FBIL was fun to question.  Was he nervous?  Had he been carrying the ring around the whole time?  Yep, in his pocket.  He didn’t seem too nervous.  But his plans had been thwarted early by the presence of the tour guide.  He hasn’t been expecting that.  So it was difficult to get Sister alone.  Compounding the difficultly was the ‘already married’ lie, innocent and funny to the rest of us when he’d been mentioning how they’d been married for two years, but painful for him, as he couldn’t even propose in front of the tour guide!  

Now, my sister and I have a joke about who the ‘favorite’ daughter is in the family.  Last Christmas, Sister and FBIL bought my folks a flat screen TV.  They won the favorite daughter contest.  So when mom jokingly told FBIL that he didn’t ask her permission before asking my sister, I temporarily gained favorite daughter status, as my husband took my parents to dinner and allowed them to grill him for hours.  But then Sister said the simple words, “HighDef TV” and I was back to second place.  Well, actually Fez is always number 1 in the family.  So I was back to third.

After we finished planning their wedding for them (I think we decided on Ireland, hehe) we went back to our hotel rooms (at least we all remembered our keys that time) and packed up.

We still had a big day ahead of us- we were going to visit a store that did the same marble inlay work we saw at the Taj Mahal, see another fort, called Fatehpur Sikri, and then drive to Jaipur.  It was, after all, only 10:00 am!