It was after midnight when our train finally pulled into Agra, and nearly 2:00 a.m. by the time we settled into our hotel room. We had a late start the next day, but our list of places to see over the following two days was fairly limited.
Once up, we started what would become a daily ritual of having exceptional chai at the 25 Hours Cafe, located just minutes from our place and the entrance gate of the Taj Mahal. It was a rare café where the owner did not bother those walking by with demands for a visit, instead offering helpful tips about exploring the area. We had heard it was best to see the Taj in the morning, so we opted to skip it that day and visited the Tomb of I’timād-ud-Daulah, also referred to as the Baby Taj. The white marble mausoleum showed the same attention to fine detail as the Taj Mahal, but on a smaller scale.
From there, we walked to Mehtab Bagh on the opposite bank, a garden originally conceived as part of the Taj’s symmetrical garden layout. As we approached, we got our first real view of the Taj and were somewhat taken aback by a large open field filled with children practicing their cricket swings and pitches, as though having a world wonder as their everyday backdrop was completely normal.
Always in the mood for chai, we stopped at a small stand on the side of the road just before the garden entrance. Just as we ordered the chai, the daughter of the stand owner asked if I would play a game of badminton with her in the street. Jon and I took turns until the chai was ready. We had made the rookie mistake of not asking the price first, and it ended up being 100 rupees each. It was our most expensive chai of the trip, but the daughter had done her job, charming us so thoroughly that we didn’t dare challenge her father for overcharging us.
The fog was fairly thick, but the gardens offered a peaceful place to take in the architectural wonder.
The next day was extremely foggy (and I say this as a Newfoundlander), so we decided to hold off on visiting the Taj and instead walked to Agra Fort. We seem to have a recurring issue with forts and entrances, and once again we managed to walk nearly the entire perimeter before finding the tourist entrance. Hungry after walking to the fort, around the fort, and through the fort, we wandered off and stumbled upon Abdul Sattar Nashte Wale, a restaurant making “omelettes” that were essentially delicious French toast.
We knew we were taking a risk by waiting until our final day to see the Taj, but it paid off. The fog had lifted slightly, it was no longer the weekend, and there was no lineup to enter. We were surprised by how few foreign tourists were there, though plenty of domestic visitors were enjoying the site. We took our time strolling the grounds, walking the exterior, and payed the extra fee to go inside. We have seen many beautiful buildings around the world, but standing before the Taj, it is hard not to understand why it is considered a world wonder.
On our way out, a photographer approached us and asked if we wanted our photo taken. This is not something we normally go for, but we noticed that those getting professional shots were being allowed to stand in the prime spot in front of the Taj pool. When he said it would cost 100 rupees (less than $2 Canadian and the same as the previous day’s chai), we went for it. The photographer aggressively yelled at and scolded anyone who dared drift into our frame, and a minute later transferred us a photo that made it look like we had the place to ourselves.
Birding in Bharatpur
We caught our train at 1:00 p.m. and arrived in Bharatpur in the early evening. Our accommodation was a ten-minute walk from the entrance to Keoladeo National Park, where we would spend the following day birdwatching. It was also near Kothi Rosevilla Heritage, Restaurant & Bar. Bars were not something easily found in most of our Indian destinations, at least not ones women would feel comfortable going to, so we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to drink a few Kingfisher beers amongst taxidermied animal heads and photos of British hunters before seeing real kingfishers and living animals in the wild.
Our host recommended his brother as a guide for the national park, but he wouldn’t be available until later in the day. We decided to rent bicycles for the first few hours and explore on our own. If we thought Agra was foggy, early morning in Bharatpur quickly proved it could always get foggier.
At the entrance we rented three bikes, passing on the electric option. The park was fairly flat and easy to explore. After about an hour, our guide contacted us to say he was ready earlier than expected, so we met him at a rendezvous point. By the time we met our guide, the fog had lifted. We were impressed by his ability to carry a large telescope while cycling. He suggested we park our bikes to explore one particular area on foot and use the telescope for a clear close up view.
When we returned, there were only three bikes. Mine was missing and Steph’s had been switched out for one with a worse seat. Our guide was genuinely shocked, as bike theft in the park was highly unusual. He immediately suspected a large group of schoolboys who had also been visiting the park. Rather than waste time returning to the gate, the solution was for Steph, the lightest of our group, to ride on the back of his bike. It quickly became a spectacle in the park, and the guide clearly took great pleasure in explaining the situation to amused passersby, all while balancing his telescope and Steph as he rode.
During a break, he arranged for another bike to be delivered to us. The park was a peaceful, beautiful escape after our recent big-city experiences, and we were enjoying our guide’s company, so we opted to extend our time with him for a few hours until we were ready to ride out of the park.
Roadside Christmas Eve
Our sleeper bus to Jaipur was scheduled to leave from what appeared to be a random spot on the side of the road at 1:30 a.m., so we opted to keep our rooms for an extra night. We passed the time by returning to the bar and playing a few games of Yahtzee. We hung out back at our rooms, and at 1:00 a.m. our host kindly woke up to unlock the gate for us.
The bus pickup point was on the side of the main highway running through town. We were told to be there at 1:15 a.m., and we arrived on time. The bus did not show up at 1:30, or 2:00, or 2:30. We wore every layer we had, but the damp cold of the fog slowly crept in. Trains can be tracked online, but buses cannot. When Steph called the helpline, they only spoke Hindi. They kept calling her back, but it was pointless since she couldn’t understand them. A few rickshaw drivers offered help, but they didn’t speak enough English to grasp the problem.
We debated giving up and waking our host to let us back in, but it was now 3:00 a.m. on Christmas Eve, and we didn’t want to risk repeating the same experience the next night. A bus dropped off a few passengers and started down the road. Suddenly, a man ran after it, shouting. Another passenger glanced over at us and casually said in English, “He forgot his bag.”
And just like that, we had found our translator. He called the bus company and confirmed our bus would arrive in ten minutes. He even asked his rickshaw driver to wait so he could make sure we got on board. There had been few signs of Christmas in northern India, aside from the occasional café with festive décor, but standing on the side of a foggy highway in the middle of the night, we felt the Christmas spirit.
