For the First and Last Time

I neglected to mention one event that occured our first night in Agra.

Before we left for India, we were told that the tourist days of our trip were really up to us; of course we would see the Taj Mahal, but everything else was fairly flexible and we should have in mind what we wanted to see and do.

My mental bucket list consisted of two things: 1) Ride an elephant, and 2) See an Indian wedding.

Both of these wishes were granted, because we had an awesome tour guide. I have since learned to be careful what I wish for, however.

Mere hours after I expressed my wish to see an Indian wedding, we found ourselves approaching one as we drove along. Our tour guide, Benson, pointed it out to us, and we hurriedly whipped out the cameras and watched for the precious few seconds we passed. A procession lined with huge orbs of light carried by actual people met our gaze. On the inside of the lights was a massive crowd of very colorful people, most of which were dancing. A tired-looking groom perched on top a white house brought up the rear, and altogether, the scene was dazzling. Noting our disappointed looks for only seeing a glimpse of this, Benson suggested we pull over and get out of the van to have a better look. So we jumped out of the van and stood gawking and snapping pictures, like tourists that we were. 

A few VERY happy individuals in the procession decided to invite the sleep-deprived American family to join the wedding march. Excitedly, we approached the lights and the crowd, because why not? You don't get to be a part of an Indian wedding every day.

Everyone seemed very thrilled by our presence. A man scooped Lydia up to dance with her, which is when Mom appeared ready to be done. Money kept being thrown out by people, and quickly taken by others. A band played very loud music somewhere right behind us. The blaring music and the glaring lights, and the merrily dancing people all had a very surreal effect on my sleepy mind.

 And as intoxicated strangers grabbed our hands to dance with us, and the trumpets vibrated the air by our ears, I realized something. One item on my bucket list was checked off. Very much so.

Delhi Bound

Thursday night, after about 3 hours of sleep, we arose at 2:30 am and left for the Chennai airport, where we'd fly to Delhi, the capitol of India. Walking into the airport at four in the morning, one would expect the quiet hum of activity as we checked in. Instead, we were met with unearthly laughter of an insane man shaking on the ground and shrieking in Tamil. He was carried out a few minutes later, leaving a slightly shocked audience behind. And that was the most exciting thing that happened in our uneventful fly to Delhi.

After arriving, my family and I met up with Benson, who was to be our travel guide for the remainder of our trip.

The bus driver drove to a spacious yet mostly deserted mall a few minutes from the airport. We ordered Subway, and marveled at the painstakingly slow process of making a sandwich, something that takes Subway workers in America mere seconds to create. Indian cooking is a wonderful thing, but if there is something they do not know how to make, it's a sandwich. 

         

                After we had assuaged our appetites, our Delhi adventure began. Benson showed us several important government buildings in Delhi, and talked about the diversity between Hindus and Muslims. Mughals (Muslim) invaded India (mainly Hindu) in the early sixteenth century. It was fascinating to hear about, and my interest in these religions grew as I learned more. 

We neared the Delhi Red Fort, we stopped and got out of the van. Benson showed us to the street, where a long line of rickshaw drivers were patiently waiting for someone to drive around. Nervously, our family split into pairs and hopped in the seats on the back of the bikes. And off we went, into the old part of Delhi. I’m telling you, I have SEEN traffic in India, and it is crazy. This was a chance to be a part of traffic in India. We bounced along the insanely crowded streets, almost giddy with the excitement of it all—the rushing people, the carts, the food stands, the buildings, the spices, the colors. We turned into an extremely narrow lane, lined with bright shops positively overflowing with vibrant merchandise. My driver yelled out to the people crowding the lane to warn them before we zoomed into the crowd. Suddenly he halted the rickshaw. There was an older man with another cart blocking a good deal of the road. It took several minutes of shouting and maneuvering before we were off again. 

At some designated spot we all stopped and got off. Working our way through the crowd, we followed Benson into a building holding shops outside of it. Scents of spices met my nose, eyes and mouth, making all burn. We hurried up a dark, narrow, and steep flight of stairs, and then another, and another. Stepping onto the roof, we gazed out across a gorgeous landscape of antique architecture. On one side of our precipice lay shorter buildings of intricate shops. On the other, we could peer into a courtyard of a mosque, where numerous people washed their hands and feet before praying. The view was breathless and enchanting.

We were standing above a mosque, and this is the place where Muslims wash their hands and feet before praying.

I love this picture, because in spite of the pollution, you can still appreciate the exquisite architecture and colorful touches. 

After this, we went back down to the spice shops. Benson showed us into a little store that sold these things, and my parents acted like kids in a candy shop. They bought cinnamon and cardamom and saffron and Chana masala and little spice candies. My mom plans to make lots of India food when we get home, so I can’t complain about that.

A Gandhi museum was next, and we had a good time reading about his life, and looking at pictures. I saw the staff Gandhi used during the Salt March, which made me happy. 

After this, we got back into the van, and drove 6 hours to Agra.:)