From Delhi to Agra by train, and experiencing the stunning Agra Fort

India, day 3... when Vicki learns that she has an Indian sister

We're leaving Delhi today, and I already know I want to return. Perhaps a little bolder next time, more willing to eat every street food that smells delicious, look foolish by mispronouncing said street food, and accept that friendly strangers are often curious, not conniving.

India makes you realize how much you take for granted—like hot showers when you want them, easy access to clean bathrooms with toilet paper, and safe drinking water.

At the same time, India changes what you consider normal. At our Delhi hotel—a clean, respectable establishment—I fall asleep and wake to the sound of cooing and flapping wings every day. There are pigeons in my air conditioner, and it feels perfectly normal.

I am thankful to be part of a tour group when we exit the hotel and find taxis waiting for us: one less thing to think about, and haggle over. (Our local guide is much better at it than I am, and even he seems to find it challenging.)

As much I enjoyed Delhi, I would not call it relaxing. I grew accustomed to the noise, but not the constant attention, demands, and the need to think. I'm an independent person and self-sufficient traveler, but India is unlike anywhere I've ever been. When I see official signs warning tourists against cons, I wonder: who—or what—can I trust?



From crowds in Delhi to beggars in Agra

The train takes us quickly from the outskirts of Delhi into the countryside. The landscape is flat and dusty brown, except for the occasional patch of bright green—a winter crop. The neatly tilled fields are hemmed in by low brick walls and a few trees; I see mound-like huts with thatched roofs, flat-roofed mud brick homes, and the odd tractor, but very few people.

The minute we get off the train in Agra we are surrounded by beggars. They follow us to the bus, pleading with their hands and eyes; a crippled man scoots along beside us on a makeshift skateboard, his hands slipped into sandals. I feel privileged and helpless. No, I am privileged; I feel helpless.

Our guide tells us: do not give them money—you're perpetuating the problem, and encouraging parents to keep children out of school. I understand intellectually, but that doesn't make it any easier to say no. When our bus drives away, the man on the scooter gives me the biggest smile and wave. So close, I imagine him thinking. Tourist: 1. Me: 0.

Agra Fort

Our first stop is the Agra Fort, a stunning red sandstone and white marble walled city with a history worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy: Mughal emperor propelled by grief, then defeated by son.

But I'm more enamoured with the architecture (and the monkeys) than the complicated family history. I could sit here for hours, surrounded by peace and beauty.






My Indian sisters

I am fascinated by everyone in India, but I pay most attention to the women. They are striking in their colourful presence, and often in their absence. I feel plain next to them, with their gorgeous saris and elaborate jewelry. But I also feel kinship: we may look different, but we share a love of cooking, and children, and colour.

I feel that same kinship with the people in my tour group. We come from different countries and backgrounds, but we are united in our love of this incredible country: the people, the architecture, the food. And sometimes we even dress alike.



I'll be honest: I've never heard of Agra Fort before. But I fall in love; I could happily spend the rest of afternoon here. But we have a few other stops to make today: a carpet factory, our hotel, and the famed Taj Mahal. I wonder if it will live up to the hype.