Definitely the destination, not the journey

     If you hire a car to go from New Delhi to Agra for a look at the Taj Mahal, make sure your driver takes the new highway. The old highway is a little like joining a dirt-track race for five hours in which some of the cars occasionally go in the opposite direction and the competition includes bicycle rickshaws, tuck-tucks, motorcycles, tractors, trucks, pedestrians, goats, sacred cows and stray dogs. 
    And don't sit up front with the driver. It seems like a fun idea at first, but the terrifying moments just aren't worth it. After being nearly run off the road a second time by north-bound cars using the south-bound lanes, our driver Asok turned to me, smiled and said, "Welcome to India."

More organized than vehicle traffic.

     We managed to drive three blocks from our hotel in Gurgaon before encountering our first goat herders of the day. Once on the highway, things appeared fairly normal except for the occasional traffic jam caused by an overturned vehicle or an indifferent sacred cow.  

The most unnecessary sign in India.

     You find yourself wanting to pull over and thank the few people who tie up their beloved cattle, like this thoughtful citizen had done. I'm sure this bull doesn't mind whiling away the hours just a few feet from the road shoulder that everyone considers an open lane.

Being sacred keeps cows alive, but other perks are not so obvious.

     Half-way to our destination, Asok said it was time for his lunch and he dropped us off at a tourist trap that was almost certainly designated by his employer or owned by his cousin. We were joined by a busload of Russian tourists who invaded the dining room shortly after we sat down. Most of them were dressed in matching white t-shirts and white head scarves. Members of a Slavic cult? Victims of tour-group hazing? Mass outbreak of bad hair? We decided not to ask.

Margaret shunned by the Ruskies.

      Refreshed after our meal of biryani, naan and what the menu described as "Zero Coke," we resumed our drive, hoping to reach Agra before sunset. But the car wars heated up as the day wore on. One accident looked particularly ugly, though we couldn't seen anyone who looked injured. 

Not good . . .

. . . not good at all.

     I'd like to tell you that once we got clear of that smash up, we drove through one quaint country hamlet after another, but this is not Ireland. 

Typical roadside strip mall.

     At last, we arrived in Agra and it was still light. Unfortunately, it was rush hour. But Asok did his best to keep things moving. Even at a dead stop, he dutifully kept honking in five-second intervals. 

Honk! Honk! Honk! Click photo to enlarge. Note the tanker on the left is carrying flammable
motor spirit.

     The sun was set by the time we finished lurching across Agra to our hotel, where we said our goodbyes to an understandably weary Asok.

Hard to muster a smile when you know you have to drive back to Delhi  via the old highway after dark.

     Unlike all the various monuments around Delhi, the Taj Mahal is not lit at night. But our splurge on a room with a view did not disappoint the next morning.

Sunrise view from the veranda.

     I can't in good conscience advise you to pack your bags and fly directly to India to see this overbuilt grave. It's a lot of travel hassle and the risk of getting sick is high. But the Taj (we're on a first-name basis now) was more spectacular than I expected -- and my expectations were pretty high. I think it helps that I had visited most of the main tombs and other architectural sites in New Delhi and Old Delhi beforehand. I thought they were all interesting and impressive until we got up close with the Taj Mahal.

One-hundred percent marble . . .

. . . inlaid with semi-precious stones on every archway.

     For the record, we did take the new highway back to Delhi. Our driver didn't want to do it because it charges a toll of 500 rupees (about $10). He finally gave in, though he grumbled about it as we fought our way out of Agra. 

Until next time, maybe . . . not likely.

     It was well worth the expense. Six-lanes of wide-open roadway across an amazingly trash-free and bucolic landscape. It almost ended our trip on an unexpected high note, one that filled us with awe and wonder nearly equal to seeing the Taj up close. Almost.

Three-and-a-half hours of smooth sailing -- then you get to Delhi.

     Unfortunately, despite avoiding all uncooked food and drinking water only from properly sealed bottles the entire week, we still got a dose of what Margaret's colleagues call "Delhi Belly." This jaunty term doesn't refer to the extra pounds you're packing from gorging on the truly delicious food. Perhaps "Krishna's Revenge" is a better description of the turmoil visited upon your personal plumbing. Even worse, the vengeance began shortly before boarding our flight back to Singapore. I have never appreciated in-flight facilities so much in my life.
     Luckily, our Singapore doctor had supplied us with a small pharmacy for the trip. We were prepared for everything from the common cold to malaria. Delhi Belly was no match for the antibiotics, though they took a long day to take command.