11/29/14
New Delhi, India
When I set out to see the world, I knew that it would not be long
before I become jaded, traveling as often as I do, the way I do. I did not know how long it would take for me
to become jaded, but it happened. That
is why it is so remarkable for something to literally take my breath away. For that to happen 5 times before noon, well,
that’s just something special. It was a
year ago that I landed in Iran, almost exactly to the hour. I will never forget that first night in
Shiraz, nor Persepolis, no the Imam Square in Esfahan, nor the crowded streets
of Tehran. Likewise, today will be a day
I never forget.
A year from now, the
stresses, the exhaustion, the weariness, the sickness will all be
forgotten. The feeling I had when I
first saw the Taj Mahal up close will not be forgotten. What is even more remarkable is how similar
these two countries were. If I were
plopped down in the middle of one these two countries, I would have trouble
telling them apart at first glance. For
the most part, 95% even, they are the same.
It is the other 5% that provided me with significant cultural shock
today, unlike anything I ever experienced before.
I had set an alarm, but it was
unnecessary. I think I woke up before 6
AM, and I could not get back to sleep. I
showered and was then faced with another dilemma. My car would not be ready until 7:30 AM, so
there was no issue of a time crunch.
Breakfast would not start until 6:30 AM.
Having freshly showered, would I change back into my night clothes for
breakfast, thereby defeating the purpose of the shower, or would I change into
my suit and risk getting my breakfast all over them? I realized that the main purpose of the
shower was to make sure my hair looked neat for my photos, and since the
overwhelming stench of curry would permeate the entire country, rewearing my
night clothes for an hour hardly seemed an issue. I would have plenty of time for a leisurely
breakfast and to change into my suit after breakfast.
My first mamash moment of the day was when I
stepped out into the garden. I cannot
put into words what I felt when I felt the cool air and saw the statue of the
goddess head through the smokiness. The
lighting was not good for a proper picture, but it was entirely
overwhelming. At that moment there could
be no doubt that I was in India. They
had outdoor tables with ashtrays, and I considered grabbing a cigar for
breakfast, but I knew that I would be back tomorrow morning and could do that
tomorrow. Today, I just wanted to enjoy
breakfast. I was glad that I made that
decision.
My second mamash moment was
when I saw the spread. It was amazing,
and I knew that I would soon be debating if this would make my list of Top 5
breakfast buffets of all time (Spoiler Alert: It did!) Deciding for one morning not to worry about
carbs or calories, also knowing that I would more likely than not be skipping
lunch and not eating again until tonight, I let myself indulge. I started with a fruit and cheese plate,
along with some bread and cold chicken.
I asked for a refill on my water bottle and some coffee. I also asked if I could sit outside. She said that of course I could but that was
quite cold outside. (It was in the
60s). I assured her that I would be
okay.
The entire meal was excellent, and
that was my third mamash moment. The
coffee was perfect. In fact, it was so
good that I had three cups, knowing that would preclude me from taking my nap
en route to the Taj Mahal. I didn’t
care. My next course was the hot food
course. When ranking buffets, I always
say the hot food course is like the Final Exam for a semester at college. If you fail the final, you fail the
course. Even if the final is only 30% of
the course, and you did everything else perfect. If you get a 50 on the final, you don’t get a
B for the course, you get an F. That was
why the buffet at the Majestic failed.
It failed the final. This buffet
got a solid A+ on the final. The hash
browns tasted like potato latkes, the eggs were nice and runny, the bacon
excellent. They also had a selection of
more traditional Indian breakfast foods, but I was not interested. Then for the term paper, the desserts. While it was not quite a solid A, it was at
least a B+, maybe an A-. I treated
myself to a whole plate of desserts.
Afterwards, I went back for some more fruit. In all, the buffet earned a solid A. Off the top of my head, the only ones I can
think of that were better, excluding ones in New York and brunch buffets, were
the two in the Black Forest and the Frontenac in Quebec.
My fourth mamash moment came when I got back
up to the room and saw the all too familiar huge orange rising sun found in the
region of the world, perfectly circularly, not a cloud in the sky, just
partially obscured by the smoky skies. I
headed down, and my car was waiting for me.
He did not wait long before telling me what I had planned for the day
was impossible, an all too familiar refrain from tour guides. However, through his broken English, I
quickly realized that he was not the tour guide that the company had seemed to
imply that I would be getting. It didn’t
matter. I just needed to take pictures.
Not long after he left, he pulled over, and
something seemed off. It turned out that
he was apparently stopping off to pay his income taxes. I wanted to smoke an Opus, but I didn’t have
an ashtray on me. I knew that he would
not object to me smoking in the car, but I needed something to do with the
ash. “You’re smart. You’ll figure something out,” I told
myself. Sure enough, I did. I had a first aid kit that was in small
plastic clamshell container. I emptied
that out and used the clamshell as the ashtray.
It worked perfectly. After my
cigar, the driver asked if I wanted some coffee or tea. I said that I was good, but he appeared to be
turning off anyway.
I asked if he was
going to get a coffee. He said that he
needed to U. That brought me up with a quandary
trying to figure out if a rest stop would be considered Official or a Category
III Unofficial U. The one person whom I could
ask for such advice was otherwise occupied for the Sabbath and would not be
able to provide advice for about 20 hours.
Instead, I wound up texting him a picture of each Official Uer that I
used for the rest of the day, along with the count. When he turned his phone on at sunset, he
would be inundated with half a dozen pictures of Official Uers. Because we are best friends, because we have
shared jokes like these, because we have the same sense of humor, I knew just
how funny he would find that. We then
went to get coffee. This was the most
crowded rest stop I had ever seen, and, once again, I was shocked by the lack
of any kind of respect for personal space.
I ordered a coffee, which tasted more like a sugary latte, already mixed
with milk and sugar. I hated it, but I
drank it anyway, for #TheExperience.
One
of the biggest cultural shocks of the day, other than the fact that my driver
saw no impropriety in openly belching in the car, was the aggressive and
dangerous driving. It is no wonder that
my credit card’s rental car insurance specifically excludes India. Ironically, the other two countries it excludes
are Israel and Jamaica. It was a
three-lane highway, but it was more commonly treated as a two-lane highway,
people driving halfway across the lane lines.
Once we got to Agra, we were in as packed a traffic jam as I had ever
seen, and the two-lane street was treated as three-lane street, sometimes a
fourth lane was created if there were motorcycles. I was very glad to be in the backseat instead
of behind the wheel.
We soon pulled
over, and the driver told me that a tour guide would be coming. Wonderful.
That was the last thing that I needed.
How do you explain to a tour guide that you really don’t care about the
history of their national treasure, that you don’t care how many artisans built
the monument, that you don’t care how many camels they needed to carry the
marble, that you don’t care how tons of camel shit the workers had to clean
up. How do you explain that you just want
to take a bunch of pictures to post on Instagram and stare at the pretty
monument? How do you explain concepts of
mamash and Official and complete to someone who wants to tell you everything
there is to know about their national treasures?
The answer is that you don’t. You just smile and nod and say the right
things at the right moment as you do your best to ignore him. To make matters worse, he also said that my
plan was impossible, that I should just see the two sites in town. That was an unacceptable answer. I quickly realized that, due to traffic, the
National Park would be a pipe dream, but there was no reason we couldn’t do the
third Cultural WHS an hour outside the city.
In the end, he also expected to be paid.
I was told that my driver would come to all the sites with me and that
the price was all-inclusive. Oh
well. It was not a big deal. I was not allowed to smoke my cigar inside
the complex, so that famous picture with my cigar and water bottle in front of
the Taj Mahal, the whole purpose of the trip, seemed a lost cause. Maybe I could see the Taj Mahal from outside
the security gate? No. Maybe just a glimpse? No. I
grabbed my Partagas and put my torch in my bag, just bringing my soft
flame. Okay, so what would I do? I’d wing it and hope for the best, just as I
did 6 months ago at the Tokyo Stadium.
When we got to the gate, I saw a glimpse of white. I asked my guide what that was. It was the Taj Mahal. It would be Official, but it wouldn’t be
Epic. Close enough. I lit up my cigar, and we took some
pictures.
We then walked around the
gate, and he told me he was taking me somewhere no tourists ever go. What else was new? Then, I saw them: monkeys. Real monkeys roaming the area as they had for
time eternal. I did not expect
that. We walked down the wall and back,
and I had finished my Partagas. He gave
my lighter to one of his shopkeeper friends.
We then walked inside.
Once we
passed through the gate, I saw it. It
was every bit as magnificent as one would expect. That was my fifth mamash moment of the
day. We took lots of pictures, and I did
my best to tune him out, just wanting to enjoy #TheExperience. He then said it was time to walk inside the
monument. I really did not feel a need
to go inside the tomb, but I figured that I might as well do it. There was a whole big pile of shoes that
people left outside, and I was instantly brought to McCarthy in July, to that
picture I took outside of a neat line of shoes.
The tomb was overcrowded, and, once again, there was no concept of
personal space. Between that, my desire
to fit everything in, and the overwhelming stench of curry, I started to have a
panic attack. I just wanted to get back
out into the open air. When we finally
did, I told him it was time to go, and it was time for the souvenirs.
We first had to go back to the place where my
lighter was being kept. I recognize a
hard sell when I see one, and I know how to say no politely yet firmly. I recognize when I’m being ripped off, but I
can also recognize the perfect souvenir or gift. I got a marble replica for myself. It was overpriced, but it was the perfect
souvenir. I also got some
keychains. He then asked if I wanted to
buy a t-shirt. I did. They took me to their textile
department. A pair of pyjamas for
yourself? Something for your lady? Sure, why not. It was far more than I had intended to spend
on my girlfriend’s gift, but I knew just how much that she would love it, that
the smile on her face would be worth far more to me than anything that I could
have bought myself for that price. The
total price he quoted was outrageous. I
named a price about half of what he wanted, and he kept lowering his price, but
I stood firm at my price. In the end he
agreed.
I then went to the next
shop. They had cheap replicas of the Taj
Mahal. By cheap, I mean the price of a
cheap cup of coffee. I bought 30. He then asked me if I wanted a keychain. The price he quoted was beyond
outrageous. He asked the same price for
the keychain as he did for all 30 replicas.
I negotiated him down to a more reasonable but still outrageous price
for two of them and got a t-shirt. They
had two workers bring my stash to a tuk tuk, which brought us back to our
car. I easily fit everything inside the
Barclay Rex shopping bag I had brought with me.
From there, we headed to the Agra Fort.
He said that I had only paid for the two sites in Agra. Bullshit.
I had told the company each of the four sites I wanted to see, and they
said it was all-inclusive. The tour
guide hesitated and then said that I would have to pay the tolls for the road
to the third site. It was a nominal
amount, so I agreed. We were soon at the
Agra Fort. Again, I could not go inside
with my cigar, but the Official picture was taken outside, so I was satisfied
with walking around the complex. I lit
up my Romeo, and we hired another tuk tuk, and he took us to a place where I
could get some nice photos. I told my
guide that I had to U, and he pointed to the nearest bush and told me to make
it Official. I did not hesitate to do
so. After we took our pictures, we
headed back, and brought me to my car and asked for his fee. I did not feel a need to tip him on top of
that.
By this point, I was starting to
feel sick or depressed or exhausted or heat-stricken. I can never tell the difference. I just wanted to get my Official picture at
Fatehpur Sikri and head back to my hotel.
The National Park was out of the question. As we drove, I looked to see who back home
was still online, it being 3:30 AM in New York.
A doctor that I once loved was active. She made a joke about me looking for a
guru. As if!
We were soon there, and the driver pointed me
to a tour guide who would take me around.
I did not need to hear about the Mughal Emperor’s three wives and how he
couldn’t have any kids and how the holy man blessed his Hindu wife to deliver
him a sun. I just needed to take a
fucking picture, and my phone was quickly dying. To make it worse, his incessant talking was
only making me more nauseated. I lit up
my Montecristo, and we walked around.
The rules were more relaxed there, and he dropped me off with his “uncle,”
who would show me where to take the Official picture. He was convinced that this was a picture I
found in an old family photo album and was trying to replicate.
I got my picture, posted it on Instagram, and
my photo got 12 Likes, which might be close to a record for a picture with just
me in it. Probably a year since a solo
photo got that many Likes. My Travelogue
entry from Thanksgiving also got a record number of views, more than 50% more
than my previous high. I must be doing
something right this trip. I then sat
down to finish my cigar, and the “uncle” stared at me very confused. Did this guy really come all the way from New
York just to smoke cigars and post pictures on Instagram? Damn right I did. We went back, and it was time to get on the
bus. I asked my guide if I could smoke
the cigar on the bus. He said that I was
his guest and that I could, so long as I sat in the back of the bus. The person in front of me asked if I could put
it out. While I do not care about the
feelings of strangers, I have a very strong sense of fair play and common
decency. I do not have the right to
impose my cigar on him in a crowded and enclosed space. I held the cigar out the window and puffed
out the window. He was okay with
that. Reader, imagine doing that in New
York on an MTA bus or even the top of a double decker tour bus.
The souvenirs offered were lacking, so I paid
my guide and headed back to the car. I
had no appetite, so I asked the driver to take me straight back to the hotel. I wanted to nap, but it was too bumpy and
shaky to sleep. I have inherited a lot
of things from my mother in varying degrees.
Her motion sickness is one that I inherited in a lesser degree. Her worrying and overanalyzing is one that I
inherited to a much greater degree.
As
we drove, the most harrowing moment of the day came. We were on a road that was one lane in each
direction, two lanes total. There was a
long line of stopped trucks, so my driver tried to pass them. He got pretty far, but then a truck started
coming in the opposite direction. To
make matters worse, there was a blind man walking on the side of the road. Somehow, it all fit without any accidents,
but, as if that was not enough, a motorcycle decided to try and weave its way through. I was thoroughly frightened, but we survived
and were soon on our way. My driver was
lost. Another interesting aspect of
India culture is that all along the road people were stopped off to make it
Official, not looking for a bush or a ditch, just doing their business on the
side of the road.
I then saw the
familiar orange disk setting, along with a tower with a flame on top of
it. I didn’t think it was an Olympic cauldron,
so I assumed it had something to do with oil or gas. I just couldn’t figure it out. We soon stopped again at a crowded roadside
market, and my driver left me alone in the running and unlocked car. I was not happy. He came back and quickly found the highway,
finally allowing me to take my first nap.
When we got back to the hotel, I immediately changed into my nightclothes and
passed out, waking up again at 11 PM to a deluge of Facebook likes, people just
starting to wake up in New York as I took my nap. I wasn’t too hungry, but I knew that if I
tried to fall asleep again I risked a) waking up too late to write my Day 2
entry and b) waking up very hungry after the restaurants closed. I put on my slippers and headed down for
dinner, opting for their fusion restaurant.
I sat at the same table I chose for breakfast, ordered an overpriced
kabob platter, tandoori roti, and another Kingfisher beer. I headed back to my room to get a cigar for
the meal. I had to choose between a
Cohiba and an Avo. Certain cigars bring
back certain memories. Would I choose
the Cohiba and remind myself of the symposiums of April and May, or would I
choose the Avo and remind myself of the Les Miz phase of my life from February
and March. I opted for the Cohiba. The meal was very good, it was spicy, but the
beer, bread, and cigar helped to cut the spice.
I didn’t need dessert, but I ordered some anyway.
I then went back to my room, grabbed my 2006
Christmas Pipe and everything that I needed to properly enjoy
#TheExperience. I lit it up, put on my
Idina Manzel album, and proceeded to write this entry. After the album ran once through, I heard my
favorite catchy Christmas tune: Christmas Wrapping. Wait, that wasn’t on my playlist. I took off my headphones, and it was blaring
from the speakers in the garden. This is
such a lovely courtyard, though it is now 3 AM here, I have no desire to go
upstairs. I could stay here all
night. Hell, I’d sleep out here if they’d
let me. I don’t think they would. Instead, I will close, publish this, and
upload my photos from my Official and Epic Day in Agra.
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