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After several days of being lazy in Varanasi (at 48 degrees C I couldn’t do much else) and sitting around drinking bottles of Coke and lemon soda, we got train tickets to Agra. The station had a ‘Foreigner Traveler Lounge’ which for me sums up the mind boggling bureaucracy of India quite well: it’s a waiting room, but you’re instructed not to wait, not to look sleepy, not to miss your train, it’s for ‘reservations only’ and there is a big sign than says NO SMOKING, NO PHOTOGRAPHY, DO NOT SIT IDLE.

Anyway, the one and only reason to visit Agra is to see the famous Taj Mahal, the monument of love commissioned by the grieving Mughal emperor in memory of his second wife who died during childbirth. Seeing the Taj was kind of a last minute thing for me; I never really planned it, but figured it’s on the way to Delhi where we’ll be flying out so we might as well. I guess I’m not much of a fan of temples or palaces, so I wasn’t all that interested in it. But I’m glad we did make the stop.

If there’s any monument I would recommend seeing in India, it’s the Taj. The intricately carved marble structure is pretty impressive, especially when you go early in the morning while the sun is still low and before the crowds get there. The courtyard is clean and peaceful, and you can just sit around and take it all in without feeling rushed or bothered (until you’re hungry that is – you can’t bring any food with you and nothing is sold there).

Unfortunately I can’t say the same for the city of Agra, at least in the budget area near the Taj. Our hotel was alright and conveniently a 5 minute walk from it (complete with rooftop restaurant view), but the area is so dirty, polluted, and full of touts and crazed rickshaw drivers that I could not wait to get the hell out.

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From Bangalore, we took a bus to Mysore. For a not-so-big city (pop. < 1 million), it's incredibly crowded and noisy. This gets worse during the daily power cuts when all shop owners turn on their Honda gas powered generators that sit outside their shops. Walking around becomes even more of a challenge (especially at night) with the roar of a few thousand generators all blowing exhaust in your face while you dodge buses, rickshaws, cows and pedestrians.

There seemed to be some interesting scam going on in this city that I never seemed to figure out. About 3 or 4 times, I'd be approached by young men that would all have the exact same conversation with me:

“Where are you from? Oh Canada? English or French part? There is an oil and incense market just down the street. One day only. Best in India! Me, I’m from Goa. I work at a cafe here. Just like Amsterdam. Weed, hash, it’s legal here in Mysore!”

Followed by an offer to be taken to the market or cafe. The first time I thought it was just some Goan wanting to say hello to foreigners. After the fourth time having the exact same conversation, I was really curious to find out what the scam was, but never did.

The one sight we checked out was the Mysore Palace, pictured above. Outside the palace, some creative ‘guide’ tried to tell us the palace was closed until a few hours later. As luck would have it though, he would be so kind as to drive us around the city sightseeing until it was open, and at a great price to boot! After declining his generous offer, we went to the (surprise, surprise – open) palace.

Speaking of which, the haggling here… well that will require another post.