Oh my Ghode!

Inside the station we decided on a game plan with which to approach the touts. I twisted Casey's arm into doing a full day at Agra, so that we could spend the afternoon visiting Fethapur Sikri, a failed capital city of the Mughal Empire 40km outside of Agra. It was something I wouldn't have been able to do by myself as it requires a taxi, but had wanted to as Anjli had highly recommended it.

We decided on RS1000 for a day taxi to the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort and Fethapur Sikri. After extended negotiations with several touts, we got RS950 from an initial price of RS1850 that they write on a small finger stained card fraying at the sides that says "Government approved prices". Yeh right.

An old rundown Tata made copy of a small Peugeot pulled up and our driver told us to jump in. Some other Indian then jumped in the passenger. Who's this chump? We were told he was our guide for the day; we didn't ask for a guide, so we're not paying for a guide.

First stop, breakfast. We stopped at a small place where we were told food is fresh i.e. we wouldn't get ill. A staple breakfast food in India in poori bhaji. Bhaji is a potato curry and Poori is a small fried bread that inflates when it hits the pan. Generally delicious. Since then, we've had it every day for breakfast/brunch.

Second stop, Taj Mahal. One of the Seven Wonders of the World and rightly so, it doesn't fail to impress. I got the usual photos - except one of me sitting on the Diana Princess of Wales bench looking miserable. Built by Mughal Emperor Shah Jehan in the mid-17th century as a mausoleum for one of his late wives, he was later imprisoned by his own son Aurengzeb in Agra Fort which Shah Jehan had tried to make into a palace. From his prison cell he could see the Taj that, from 1666, would also house his body.

We left there to be told that we were going to make a brief stop somewhere. It was a marble shop, where they inlay different types of stone to form floral and other patterns. All very expensive - two students were not their target market. They explained how they made it, but inevitably we had to let them down, so we could get on with our tour.

Third stop, Fetahpur Sikri. Or so we thought. After working our way through a labyrinth of trucks locked in traffic, the car suffered from a punctured tyre. Our young driver jumped into action. He got out the spare tyre, the lift and other tools and changed the tyre as quickly as possible as he knew we had a train to catch at 19:00 and we still had two major sites to see, not to mention lunch.

While he got on with the job, the supposed guide, Kumar, having told us nothing of any use so far, proceeded to flirt with both me and Casey. He would come up incredibly close and touch us on our forearms while he spoke. Or if handing something to us, he would make sure to make skin contact. His hands were always flicked out very slightly, and his pinkie even more so.

He told us he had a wife and two kids. I felt sorry for them; the arranged marriage system doesn't always provide the most efficient allocation of husband to wife or vice versa. The driver had joked earlier that Kumar is would like to go to San Francisco. Aware that homosexuality is somewhat of a taboo subject in India, as officially it's illegal, though unofficially the law is not enforced, it remained an inside joke between myself, Casey and the driver.

After a short stall, we made it to Fethapur Sikri. Meaning City of Victory, it was meant to be the capital of the Mughal Empire, but due to a drought in the area, failed to ever take off as a centre of population. It was pleasant to walk around because it was quiet and devoid of people and traffic. The odd unofficial guide would try to pester us - they think if they provide us with information, we will want to pay them for their services - we don't.

After another splendid, colossal size mosque called Jama Masjid - they're all called that here - we jumped back in the car to head back to Agra.

Seconds after getting in the car, another driver yells at us and points to one of our wheels. Another flat tyre. The driver pulled over at a restaurant so that we could eat while he changed the second flat of the day. We walked into the restaurant to find that it was almost full of Indians - always a good sign. We grabbed a seat, only to be ushered by a waiter into a side room, where awkwardly a Japanese woman sat with her guide. We were told it was for the AC, but there may have been a price discrimination issue, we weren't sure. Regardless we thought we would enjoy a light Masala Dosa, the South Indian food I have already mentioned.

Finally the tyre was ready and we were off. Kumar began to slowly peer his head out of the closet; it no longer was a joke between the rest of us, he was definitely involved and leading the parade. "Oh my Ghode! I will s-hing you s-hong! Nahh ahh oooh ahhh

We were asked to sing our respective national anthems. Not really knowing either the French or British one, as they're not worth knowing, I gave a poor attempt at mumble humming a medley of the two, until we burst out into the classic "America! **** Yeh!" from Team America: World Police.

Eventually Kumar popped the question, do either of us having girlfriend or boyfriend. I had my answer well prepared, but Casey wasn't so lucky.

"Love is love.
Girlfriend - Yeh
Boyfriend - Yeh
Friend - I can see where he's going with this
Brother - Woah. No I don't.
Sister - Hold up, that ain't cool
Mother - Dude!
Father - DUDE!
Dog. - Oh my ghode.
Love is Love"

Casey tried pointing out some alternative white guys on a bus. "Oh my ghode. Noo! These boys are hainky phainky. I like you, pointing at Casey suggestively, You are phowerfhul yah!". Remember, it's all a joke. Is it?

Agra Fort couldn't be any closer. We decided we wouldn't bother going. It's apparently very similar to the Red Fort at Delhi which we had both seen, so we skipped it.

The driver then said he had a few stops to make. His boss makes commission on sales made at shops the driver takes us to. We were taken to an Indian carpet emporium, where similar to the marble shop, we were shown the labourers intricately making a rug in the entrance hall - very impressive - before being taken into a large clean air conditioned room full of carpets. Again, we were not the target market for this sort of purchase. It takes a while for them to realise we're not worth pestering.

He took us to a jewellery shop where we shown all the different precious stones that they, supposedly, get from around the Agra area. Lots of very blinging Indian style rings, earrings and pendants they tried to flog by saying our girlfriends or mothers would love us. I don't think so buddy.

However, in the back they had a silk shop. I was impressed with first two Kashmir and Silk Pashminas he showed me, so I bought them. I really liked them and thought they might make some good Christmas, birthday, any time gifts for a few people. I was told I got them for a good price, but the driver would say that :Oh my Ghode! You are ghood negotiator. I whould not lhie to you!!". Yeh yeh whatever.

Downstairs was a Sitar shop, the classical Indian stringed instrument. It makes an impressively rich sound, even though the player only need play one string. I was shown how to play it and we had a little concert for our salesmen, they were certainly not impressed.

Then, he took us to, guess what? Another bloody emporium...silk...jewellery...art...etc...

Finally we were dropped off at the train station. Our long tiresome, but incredibly fun adventure was over. Now time for another sleeper train that arrived at Jaipur at midnight.

Unfortunately the air con was broken in my 2nd Class AC Sleeper compartment...it was on full blast. I curled into the foetal position and covered myself in a blanket. I wasn't going to get any sleep until Jaipur.