Agra-do-do-do
Sometimes I think I prefer sorting out a holiday to actually going on it – and that’s not to say I haven’t really enjoyed going on this one. I love the challenge of plotting a way through a far off land, using whatever public transport is available, and always trying to squeeze in as much as possible into whatever time I have available. The internet has made everything easier, there are websites now where you can book all your Indian travel needs and check timetables etc to your hearts content. Electronic Anorakalysis.
So, given that anal streak, I was really pissed off with myself for not spotting much earlier that the Taj Mahal isn’t open to the public on Friday.
I found out late on Wednesday night that it would be closed, and spent about an hour on Thursday trying to cancel my train to Agra and then the first part of my Agra-Delhi-Bangalore flight, without any success. (My attempts at trying to spell out my booking reference caused much amusement with the cricket fans around me…”K for Kevin, P for Pietersen, X for, er, er Xavier Doherty…? Z for Zaheer, erm V for VVS Laxman?) So I’m here in Agra basically to catch a flight that goes back to Delhi then on to Bangalore.
But it’s been a good day out.
The 0615 Delhi-Bhopal Express arrived into Agra at around 9am, a bit late but generally pretty comfy. I got escorted through the station by a policeman who wielded a baton at anyone who came within three feet of me, then found myself a rickshaw man for the day. First stop Agra Fort. It’s obviously not nearly as gobsmacking as it’s better known neighbour, but its still pretty impressive, and on this sunny, but hazy day, it offered dreamy views of the Taj.
Next stop was the bank on the other side of the river from the Taj, to get a decent close up view. The light was so bright by this point, I couldn’t see the camera screen, so I have no idea whether the few pics I took came out ok or not. Point and press.
It was here that my brother played a game of cricket with a few young kids a couple of years ago. To my great disappointment, the lads weren’t still playing now because I reckon that would have been my best bet for getting a game in today.
I’m now sitting in Sheela’s Hotel garden, next door to the Taj, and I can hear the call to prayer drifting accress the wall. I’ve just demolished a delicious Aloo Gobi and one of the garliciest naans I’ve ever eaten, and not even the familiar sound of a man hocking in the distance can ruin what is a really blissful scene.
I’ve been to the Taj before, and it is everything it is cracked up to be. But today has been great seeing it from other angles, and I’m pleased I came.
I do think that if the ICC got involved in this idyll right now, they’d manage to balls it up within seconds. Firstly I’d probably be going though my 50th security search (yesterday’s seized contraband: coins (seemingly only ones of value); suntan lotion); then they’d snatch my chai away, and demand I drink the official Pepsi-drink of the ICC world cup; they’d have banned all food sales in the garden except for Bhopal-flavoured crisps; and the moments where I pause for thought would be seen as an opportunity to blast out the latest Shakira number on the only technology that seems to work in the vicinity of the ground, the loudspeakers.
Making watching a game of cricket in India an un-enjoyable viewing experience takes some doing. The money obsessed BCCI and ICC appear to have managed it with ease. The World Cup matches were meant to be the highlight of this trip, yesterday’s was anything but.
And I’m not just saying that because the Windies got stuffed.
4pm update. Agra don’t-don’t-don’t
Day going wrong. The flight from Agra to Delhi has inevitably been delayed, meaning I will miss the connection to Bangalore. The next one after that doesn’t get in til about 2330, meaning I wont get to the hotel until 1am-ish – making this a hideously long day, and much worse it means I wont be able to Skype home for the second night in a row.
Now, bare in mind, I only came to Agra today because bloody Kingfisher refused to let me board the second flight on this journey (Delhi-Bang) unless I completed this part. So, I’ve now missed the flight from Delhi (where I started this morning), because I came to Agra to complete the first part. Confused? Try explaining it to someone for whom English is a distant second language.
I’ve also left Chinaman in my luggage, which is now I imagine sitting on the tarmac waiting for the plane that may never arrive. It is such a good book, which constantly blurs fiction with fact in a way that probably keeps the publisher’s lawyer awake at night. My favourite character is hard-drinking, womanising former 1981 Ashes-winning England all-rounder, turned commentator…Tony Botham. I cannot begin to think of anyone who that might remotely resemble.
As I write, news that the plane is imminent. Gotta go.
10.15pm update
Still nowhere near Bangalore. A day that started in Delhi at about 5am, is still in Delhi 17 hours later.
I’m adding Kingfisher to my list of airlines and hotels to boycott.
The one positive (and it’s a small positive) is that it meant I got to watch some cricket in the bar in Delhi Airport, while snacking on an excellent Masala Dosa.
The Ireland v Bangladesh match proved pretty exciting. When I started watching, Ireland were probably ahead in the game, they ended up losing by 30-odd runs. The win sparked wild celebrations in Mirpur…the ICC will not doubt add spontaneous happiness to the lengthy list of things banned from stadiums before long so they’d better enjoy it while it lasts.
My random cricket thought for the day – who would win if 11 specialist bowlers played against 11 specialist batsmen? (OK pedants – 10 v 10 with identical-twin wicketkeepers on each team). Would the superstrong bowling attack skittle the batsmen for 150-odd, then scrape the runs against a new-ball attack featuring Bopara and Trott? Or would the endless-batting line up amass 500, which 11 bowlers never have a chance of getting? Come on ICC, get it organised.
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