AGRA You Under My Skin

Reveil à 5h du matin avec la prière musulmane, on a un haut parleur pas loin de la chambre, nous sommes arrivés au Taj Mahal à l'ouverture pour le lever du soleil. Une ambiance magique et merveilleuse, des couleurs exacerbées par le soleil léger du matin, tout était réuni pour un moment fort en émotions. Cela faisait des mois que je rêvais d'embrasser ma chérie dans ce lieu et le moment a été à la hauteur de mes rêves. La lumière est bien plus belle le matin et il y a aussi beaucoup moins de monde. Nous y sommes restés presque 3 heures.
Pas de besoin de trop de commentaires, les images parlent d'elles-mêmes....

Agra had yet to wipe the sleep from its eyes when a Muslim call to prayer blasted through the night, rousing us from our peaceful slumber. Henri and I rolled out of bed ten minutes later, having gathered enough courage to pour our sleep-deprived selves into our day clothes and brave the slowly fading dark outside. Our hotel is not far from the south gate so we decided to walk. Not a few seconds after stepping out, rickshaw drivers were immediately drawn towards us like flies to tasty morsels of tandoori. Where are you going, they asked, the gate is too far! You are going the wrong way! I'll take you on my rickshaw, just 50 rupees! We ignored them until we reached the south gate, where some policemen told us to go further on. It was a few minutes before 6 am when we reached the west gate – apparently, the east and south gates are closed in the early morning and everyone had to go through the most crowded entrance. But it hardly mattered; we waited in a growing line, snaking out from the west gate as the moon lingered, watching as it had for centuries over the red brick fence and the tide of anxious humanity coming to and fro. There are were few seconds of pandemonium when the gates fell open and we were let in. Tourists jostled for position to take the best photo of what is arguably the most beautiful monument in the world: The Taj Mahal.

We found a kind elderly couple who agreed to take our picture, but it took a while because a pair of women who had no clue about camera phones unapologetically hogged the spot for about five minutes. Again, we are tested by mother India for the quality Henri and I both lack: Patience :)

As the sun stretched itself awake, casting its golden rays on the marble monolith, a chorus of oohs and ahhs rose from the crowd. These few quiet minutes of the morning are probably the most magical moments to see this colossal monument of love. We sat on the marble seat east of the platform to take in the beauty of the Taj. After months of talking about this trip, we were finally here. Someone (and I'm not saying who) cried a little because it was a very emotional moment, and we whispered I love yous and Je t'aimes and Mahal Kitas.  

A la mosquée, sur la gauche du Taj.

We left our slippers with the shoe minder who demanded a tip «now! no, not later, now!» and later we would find out that he only does this with foreigners because locals might punch his face in. We could have used the free shoe covers they give to foreigners, but it seemed a little disrespecful to go around in shoes like the other foreigners who couldn't give up their pumps or trainers.

At the mosque a man taught me an «optical illusion» that makes the Taj look like it's shrinking. What you do is, you go to the center of the mosque and run up to the arch going towards the Taj and then step back as quickly as you can. I almost bumped into Henri, and then he started doing it too, and then we almost bumped into other visitors :) The man then proceeded to tell us about the women's side of the mosque that used to be covered in a silver screen so they can pray separately and in style. Then he told us stories that we knew to be myths but followed him around and let him talk anyway, sometimes looking at each other like we really doubt his credibility. The reason why I personally gave him what we Pinoys call «the benefit of the daw» is Henri's experience at the mosque in 2001, when he and a friend met a man working for the preservation team and shared what he knew about the monument. Well, while this man we met in 2011 did not approach us offering his sevices as a guide, I did notice he had an entrance ticket on his breast pocket. So after about ten minutes with him, he shyly asked for some money. Henri fished out ten rupees and the guy looked at it disgustingly, but he didn't refuse it either, so we left him there to ruminate.

The day was very young and the morning mist had yet to lift from the sleeping Yamuna.

A l'intérieur du Taj.

We took our time before going inside the mausoleum and by the time we had gone in, there were more tourists. A group of Chinese women took pictures with flash although it was forbidden, and a group of Indian women elbowed me for space to see the proxy tombs of Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan. It is unbelievably gorgeous inside. The walls and the screen look so delicate, you might doubt they were carved from marble by human hands. I'm not good enough of a writer to describe it, so I won't even attempt to :)

Après un petit-dej et une petite sieste (bien fatigué de la veille et du reveil à 5h), nous avons marché entre le Taj et le Fort D'Agra. Le meilleur moyen de voir des choses que les touristes ne voient pas.

After the Taj we went back to the hotel for breakfast at the rooftop terrace so we could gaze at the building some more. The crowd had already tripled by then, and I wished courage on the people wanting to visit the tomb. We took a snooze break and woke up about an hour later to the bitter realization that Agra suffers from noontime power outages. It was so hot and our hotel wouldn't bother to get a generator. So we went out, struggled with the rickshaw drivers again who wanted 50 rupees to take us to Agra Fort OR 20 rupees plus they take us to a souvenir shop where they can get a commission. We said «F*ck that! We're walking!» and they warned us we'll be dead before we get there... or something to that effect. Luckily, Henri learned of a shortcut from Taj Mahal to Agra Fort.

 Un cimetière hindou.

It was an adventure through the back streets of Agra that afforded us some peace and quiet. Here, there were no touts and drivers, no desperate restaurant owners, just the road and the wind behind us. We passed by the garden behind the Taj, a mosque and a cemetery, a Hindu funeral and then a path hidden from tourists: the road less traveled.

 Le Fort d'Agra.

Once back at the main road, we were once again in the sights of tour guides whom we politely but firmly declined even though the fee dropped from 800 rupees to 300. From the 750 rupee entrance fee at Taj Mahal, we got 50 rupees off from the 250 rupee entrance fee at Agra Fort.

This magnificent red fortress is all pomp and majesty on the outside, but exquisitely beautiful inside.

 

La tâche sur le mur vue par Marj, un coeur ou une tête d'éléphant.. chacun y voit ce qu'il veut.

Labyrinthine passageways from harems to private mosques to inner chambers snake within its walls; and legend has it that there exists a tunnel from here to the Red Fort in Delhi. Very handy if the emperor had an attack of the munchies and craved for thali and coke from Haldiram's :-p

Its glorious history as triumph of military architecture aside, it is probably best known for being Shah Jahan's prison in his last 8 years.

From where he can glimpse the tomb of his beloved Mumtaz Mahal.

While walking around, a group of kids started calling me «auntie» and wanted a picture taken with me. We saw them a couple of times more and one of our conversations went like this –

BOY: Hey, auntie, HINDI HINDI HINDI HINDI

ME: In English please?

BOY: Why are you talking to him? (Referring to Henri)

ME: Well, he's my husband.

BOY 1: Hello husband!

BOY 2: Hello husband!

GIRL: Hello husband!

Foster's fait aussi de l'eau minérale... qui aurait pu le croire? Pas moi on dirait... :)

 Et voilà, une journée encore bien remplie. Demain, repos ou départ vers Fathepur Sikri, en fonction de notre forme, car on a bien besoin de repos.