I've sold my soul in the golden tourist triangle!!

I’m back in Deli for a couple of days and this now seems very touristy comparative to Varanasi. 

I decide to try a different hotel, a decision I would live to regret and where it finally happened. I mean I knew it would at some point, I’ve been chancing fate for far too long in dodgy digs ....and so as the wind of misfortune blew gently in my direction I’m woken at 4am with insatiable itching and lumps all over my *rse - Yep bed bugs had feasted on me, breakfast, lunch and tea in one 4 hour sitting.

I’ve heard so many travel horror stories and knew I’d experience it at some point but tried as best I could to protect myself sleeping inside a liner. Nevertheless they’d got me and as the harsh realisation sunk in, I shot out of the bed, mortified at being victim to these nasty critters. I mean what is it with my arse and travel?, my cheeks resemble the rolling hills of Derbyshire this morning! My *arse is like a frickin’ target hot spot for holiday disasters! 

Beyond the physical irritation however The problem with bedbugs is they infest everything so anything that’s been in contact with the bed is at risk. I’m furious as I carefully check and pack everything ensuring no cross contamination and by 7am I am at reception confronting the owner who barely bats an eyelid but refunds the money for the second night. I shall of course leave an appropriate review. 

I trundle down the streets to the old town awakening and make my way back to my original hovel ‘Hotel the Spot’ at the end of urine alley. I surmise from this experience it’s  ‘better the devil you know’. As I walk humbly through the door the owners face beams ...with an added expression of amusement that ‘no-one ever comes back here?’. Nevertheless I’m glad to see his friendly face and relieved to hand him my carrier bag of contaminated laundry, which is quickly whisked out of sight with a promise of same day return.

I conquer Delhi!!

Later I visit Mr Gold, he’s delighted I’ve returned and insistent I enter his nightclub. He’s so proud of his little bar with glitzy padded chairs and tacky lighting. His ‘girls’ (around ten) are seated in a row on the stage and they take turns to perform their regional classics (Punjab, Bangladesh etc,). They are sexy and gyrate their hips suggestively, throwing their hair and eager to please the groups of men sitting letching in the shadows. It’s hilarious to watch, i can't contain myself and have to bite my lips together to stop laughing. Its so crude. Next up I pay a final visit to ‘the godfather’ who nods to his security to let me in. He cracks the biggest smile which stretches across his entire face, he stands and shakes my hand firmly with a reassuring clench on my arm with his second hand and greets ‘how are you?, it’s nice to see you again!’ I sit in his bar, untouchable under his watchful eye enjoying a beer with merry Indian men gyrating to Bollywood sounds. It’s at this moment I knew my perseverance had paid off. I’d cracked it. I was accepted, a victorious moment for the beer swilling female westerner - I bask in the moral high ground and glow with pride as I immerse myself in this special moment.

Next up is the part of this trip I’ve been dreading, the next two legs complete India's famous 'golden triangle'. I’m off to Agra and Jaipur. It’s not how I usually do things but for this I decide to have a driver and guide thinking this would give me protection from the tourist trap along with a little flexibility. This wasn’t to be though.

First up is Agra, and on arrival a tropical storm had devastated the city. Trees are fallen into the streets like dominoes, power lines and infrastructure is down. even the Taj Mahal lost a turret from a secondary building. It’s a mess, cars are crushed and people have lost their lives. The evidence of the storms power is unnerving. I observe people scurrying about the streets collecting the falling branches for firewood, literally a free 'windfall' for the poor.

I'm useless at being around tourists, I find us ignorant and embarrassing. The selfie sticks are in abundance with the human ego's trying to perfect the 'fake' memory. The experience is about themselves 'at' a special place rather than the place itself. They've lost sight of why they are really there. As we head closer towards the tourist attractions the hidden charges start mounting up I’m furious and feel suffocated by the time I reach the iconic Taj Mahal, I'm truly miserable. Being herded around is the icing on the 'crap cake; and  reminds me exactly why I don’t like or enjoy the tourist traps. 

I try to put aside the carnage that is going on around me and immerse myself in wonder at this masterpiece. The Taj Mahal is one of the worlds seven wonders, a deserved place for this powerful and dominating, yet subtle and delicate structure. It is undeniable magnificence commands your full attention and respect instantly on eye contact. It is the ultimate demonstration of ongoing love, commitment and inconsolable heartache.

Precious stone from around India was used to complete the beautifully intricate detail

King Shah Jahar built the Taj Mahal for his third wife after her death in the 1600’s. He had three wives. The other two never bore him children and his affection is clearly less. They are buried in less lavish tombs within just outside the Taj Mahal grounds. His third wife was beautiful, intelligent (speaking five languages) and bore the king a staggering fourteen children! They married when she was just fourteen, and died at just thirty eight during childbirth. It’s a beautiful story (how much Is actually true we perhaps will never know), but I get swept up in the romance of it all and enjoy the few hours in its presence.

The Red Fort is next up and this is where the king and his wives lived. I really enjoyed visiting this, fantasising life as one of the wives (of course in reality it would never happen - They’d have me ‘bumped off’  very quickly for being a non-conformist). After completion of the Taj, the king decided he wanted to build a black Taj Mahal directly opposite on the other side of the river to demonstrate his ongoing mourning and loss. I ponder whether the next decision may have come from concern over the mental stability of the king but his son and heir has the king arrested and held within the palace for the next eight years until his death.

I stay the night in Agra at Taj Castle homestay. I’m greeted by the proprietor ‘Faiz’, hes around 25 years old. He’s strikingly handsome, polite and apologetic  (the storm affected TV, WiFi and electricity). It was a comfortable stay however and in the morning he sat with me discussing his frustration at westerners expectations. He’s dispirited by comments of uncleanliness. I feel for him. His humble little place is £18 per night for a double room, no it’s not perfect or particularly clean but it’s no different from other lodgings Ive stayed. His place is real and welcoming and allows you to see India as it is, not as a westernised, false and pushy four star eviuvalent would deliver. Faiz shares his views on changes in Indian culture and the noticeable greed and materialism seeping into its streets and towns which is dramatically affecting tiered and community relations. He was married two months previous and shows me pictures of his wife chosen by his mother, they married without ever meeting. She’s not what I expected, and less than fortuous looks wise (forgive my ignorance) but I could see disappointment in his eyes and he failed to answer directly when I asked if he was happy. 

Faiz

Agra street food

View of Faiz's village from the homestay window ...people living and working on roofs. A pitiful sight.

Faiz finally told me about the current world wide news coverage of an eight year old Muslim girl named Asifa Bano, living in Kashmir. She had been held captive in a Hindu temple for eight days, gang raped by Hindu locals trying to ‘encourage’ the Muslim settlers to leave. The final insult to this heartbreaking story is that there are ongoing riots and protests to release the PERPETRATORS!!

Muslim people have no value to the radicalised Hindu followers (of course not all Hindu's feel this way), they are the lowest form of life. This innocent child’s life ended in the worst ever imaginable circumstances in the name of religion in a house of god. Now this I will never understand and can never be justified to me. Fair was completely ashamed of these mens actions, and we both sat unitedly heavy hearted bewildered by such a crime of humanity. This story will sadly stay with me always.

May your soul rest in piece now little girl, 💔💔💔I hope your innocent life was not taken in vain and eventually enforces tough sentences for such horrific and incomprehensible crimes.