On privilege

 I have wanted to write this for a long time, but didn't know where to start.  I am in the middle of getting my latest startup off the ground. I have been surrounded by people who have constantly told me how impressed they were with my tenacity, audacity, and bravery.  While on the surface I understand what that means, I don't think it really sinks in.  

I am a cis genre white kid who grew up part of the 1%.  I don't think I suffer from the imposter syndrome, but I recognize that I wouldn't be where I am without my privilege.  I spent all of 2020 bouncing from family member to family member because I couldn't support myself.  At the beginning when I was staying with my brother, I would pay my fair share of the groceries.  But the second time I came to stay with him and his family for a month, there was an unspoken agreement that I could just exist there, helping out however I could, in exchange for a bed to sleep on and food to eat.  I had lost the ability to take care of myself. 

2020 was hard for most of us. For me, it was an ego check. I went from my brother's house to my mom's, to my dad's, back to my moms.  I ended up being that millennial living at home with his parent, despite always vowing never to be that person.  I had no other options.  The social safety net that was supposed to protect me failed me utterly.  And I had it easy.  I had stocks I could cash out if I absolutely needed to. I knew that I always had family that would not let me go hungry or cold.  I am more fortunate than most, and I fully recognize that. 

But that recognition leaves me feeling guilty.  I am doing well for myself, all things considered. Fast forward a year and I have my own apartment in Santa Barbara, CA.  I have signed a lease to open a new store.  On paper, I am doing quite well.  But every day, I wake up and wonder if the stock market will crash again, taking with it my only lifeline to clawing my way out of the mess the pandemic left me.  I wonder how I will make sure I have enough cash in my account to pay off my credit cards, so as to not carry over a balance and incur well over 20% interest.  I wonder why I willingly gave up a job where I had virtually no expenses, just because I felt like I was better than the work I was doing.  

I recognize that I am exactly where I am because of choices I singularly made.  My ego is the culprit for almost all of the decisions in my life, good and bad.  Duplicitous thoughts creep in, making me wonder how I can be so successful and so worried about how I can pay off my debts and obligations.  I have chosen a life of freedom that comes with being self employed. But married to that choice is risk. It is a risk of not knowing if I will be able to meet my obligations. It is a risk of feeling like a failure when I compare myself to friends and family. It is a risk of knowing that I could be doing more, earning more.  

I don't regret my choice to be my own boss.  No one can ever say that I lack ambition. From starting my first company at 24 because I felt I needed to show up my managers at the health care consulting company where I worked to embarking on my latest venture, I have never been risk averse.  But at the same time, every single time I left, a net has always appeared.  That net appeared for a variety of reasons, some intrinsic to me and who I am as creature on this planet, but some intrinsic to my gender and skin color.

I do consciously make an effort to make the world better for those around me. But I don't try that hard. I know for certain I could do more. I could spend my free time advocating for those who haven't been given the opportunities I have because of my privilege. I feel the guilt of not doing more.  Yet, at the same time, that guilt doesn't move me to do more. I recognize the privilege that is in that statement alone. I am able to live my life without the constant worry of society literally or figuratively attacking me for who I am. 

I read recently a meme that said "don't confuse someone's free time with their availability."  That made me think that it was okay to exist in my own space without constantly feeling the guilt of being who I am. I am allowed to exist and do good when and how I can and enjoy being who I am. And I realize that some will read this and only see someone not trying to change the world every minute of every day because they don't have to.  And that is the truth. My day to day is not affected by the same issues that BIPOC or Trans people or women or disabled people face regularly.  But given what little power I have, I do my best to make the world a little more inclusive, a little more diverse.  

Life is hard, but harder for some than others.  Life has been kind and relatively easy for me.  I have spent a lot of time thinking about how I have gotten to be where I am.  And how, but for the grace of god, I could be somewhere completely different if only a few things in my life changed.  2020 showed me how close I am to being on the street; to being homeless; to being forgotten by a system that was created ostensibly to protect me.  

And I will not forget that.  I can't forget that. None of use can. 

On India: Day 8

After our massages and facials, Amber and I slept like the dead.  It helped that this was by far our most luxurious hotel we stayed in to date.  The bathroom wasn’t the largest, but the shower was divine.  We had a rain shower head plus a hand held head.  And the water pressure? Forget about it.  And it was necessary considering how much oil was left my skin from the massage. 

Amber and I went downstairs around 8:00am for breakfast.  It was another buffet.  This was nothing particularly special.  It was an assortment of eastern and western fare.  I did learn how to use an Indian toaster tough.  I was informed that you had turn both the timer and push the lever down, as just the lever will leave you with slightly warmer bread.  I found that out the hard way.

After breakfast and our stop back in the room to freshen up, we were ready to meet our guide.  Mr. Singh was a stately older gentleman with well-worn trousers and a collard shirt covered by a smart sweater.  One thing that I’ve noticed is that no matter their station or activity in which they are engaged, every man in India wears a collard shirt.  From the man sweeping the trash into the guetter to our tour guide, collard shirts were the norm. 

We hopped in the car and headed off to the Amber Fort.  It also goes by Amer Fort or Amer Palace.  Amber (my travel companion, not the building) had shown me pictures of the palace, so I had a little bit of an idea of what I was in for.  But I was still not fully prepared for some of the most beautiful architecture I have ever seen.

As we were driving up, Bablu pulled over to the side of the road at a look out over the lake at the bottom of the hill, upon which the fort was situated.  Mr. Singh said we could get out and take some photographs before riding an elephant up the ramparts to the gate.  Amber and I both looked at one another, unsure of what we were going to do re: elephant rides, but got out to get some incredible shots. 

Like every tourist trap in India, this lookout was full of peddlers and hawkers.  There was even a snake charmer, complete with horn and cobra.  Turns out that snakes are Amber’s number one fear, so we maintained our distance from him.  

The fort is situated on top of a hill, about 1,200 feet above where we were standing.  There are switch back ramparts that take the intrepid hiker or elephant to the main gate.  Weirdly the elephant ride to the summit was included in our package, but no the entrance to the fort.  After a little mental gymnastics, I convinced myself that riding an elephant up the hill was a cultural experience I couldn’t get anywhere else.  Amber held true to her beliefs and took the car to the top with Bablu.  

Riding the elephant was strange.  It wasn’t particularly comfortable as Mr. Singh and I meandered up the hill on the back of one of these gentle giants.  It wouldn’t have been so bad had I not been convinced that our saddle was going to slide off the elephant and I was going to fall about fifteen feet on to the wall, fall over the wall, and then down the 1,200 feet we had just climbed.  My fears were reinforced when, after we got to the courtyard, the elephant driver told us to scoot back because even he could feel we were slipping.

Elephant ride over, I rejoined my compatriot who was dressed rather stylishly in a forest green Punjabi she had purchased, decorated with maroon floral embroidery.  The effect of the outfit made the photos exponentially better.

Mr. Singh took us to the ticket counter and then we entered the fort.  He showed us around the various rooms, interior palaces and gave us some history of the fort.  There isn’t a ton that I remember as I was in cultural and sensory overload mode, plus these awful American women were distracting me by being awful Americans. But some of the highlights included the queens gate where she could view the visitors that were coming to meet her, the mirror palace that was probably the most stunning part of the fort, and views of the old palace that was built several hundred years prior to the fort we were standing in.

As we winded around the hallways of the fort, something occurred to me.  This fort had hallways that were ramps, rather than stairways.  Mr. Singh told us the reason for these ramps were because often times, during ceremonies, women would be in extremely heavy saris and jewels, so instead of walking, they would be rolled around on lavishly decorated wheelchairs.  Hence the need for accessibility in the fort.

When we got to the other side of the queen’s gate, I decided to take the obligatory photo in front of it.  One of the Indian guides (not Mr. Singh) laughed and said that I was taking a photo at the queen’s gate and that it was for women.  I replied that in my country I was a queen, so it was okay.  I could tell whose first language was English by how the responded to that.  I was quite proud of myself for that one.  

The mirror palace was the showstopper in this fort.  Mr. Singh had told us that a few years back someone had vandalized the interior of the palace, so it was off limits for tourists to enter, but we were free to peek inside from the open doorways.  The palace lived up to its names.  About every foot or so was a round mirror inlayed into the marble.  Apparently, these mirrors came from Belgium in the 18^th century, because Belgium made the best glass back then. Between the mirrors was some of the most intricate inlay work I had seen, and yes, I’m including the Taj Mahal in that statement.  It was breathtaking.  

As we moved on, we found ourselves in an overlook jutting high above the town below. It was from that vantage point that we could see the old palace, several hundred feet lower. It was also in that space that those awful Americans were being awful Americans.  They were rude, pushy and oblivious to everyone around them.  They would block other waiting to get a shot through the window area, would comment too loudly about how things back in the day didn’t make sense, and you could tell they couldn’t view Indian culture through any lens except the upper middle class white privilege lens they had lived in all their lives. 

We moved on quickly so as to not have to be around them anymore.  We were also nearing the end of our time at the palace.  Several slick stairways later, we had reached the car park where Bablu was waiting for us.  We were off to our next stop to look at the precious and semi-precious stones.

Now I don’t know if I have “easy mark” written on the back of my head, but somehow sales people know that I will buy something.  I was remarkably proud of myself that at the jewelers workshop it was Amber who made the big purchase, instead of myself.  Though I did come awfully close to buying a custom pair of aquamarine cufflinks.  Instead, I walked away with an $8 moon stone pendant.  Amber, on the other hand, is now the owner of an absolutely stunning silver ring, set with diamonds separating three larger blue sapphire stones.  But don’t worry, I maintained my title as biggest spender on this trip. 

After we were all done at the jewelry store, we headed to lunch.  It was a nice Indian restaurant offering a buffet of veg and non-veg options.  Naturally I got butter chicken with some cheese naan.  Amber got some chicken tikka and some butter naan.  We had a couple of diet cokes as well.  Life was good.

After we satisfied our hunger, we were off to the textile workshop where we would see how block printed textiles were made.  We hopped in the car ready for our journey.  After literally thirty seconds, Bablu pulls into a drive way.  We were there.  I felt a little silly having driven all of two buildings over, but what was done was done. 

The tour of the factor starts out with the workshop.  Amber and I were actually given the opportunity to block print our own piece of fabric.  The gentleman who was hosting us here showed us how the different dyes were placed on various wood blocks.  The wood blocks contained different elements that would layer on one another.  After four layers of the vegetable dyes were successfully applied, he rinsed the cloth in a briny solution. What happened next was reminiscent of those magic markers that were super popular in the ‘90s that changed color when you drew over them with the white pen.  The relatively monochromatic brown elephant picture we had stamped suddenly turned various shades of marron, blue and green.  It was dope.

From there, we went inside to take a look at the fabrics, textiles, scarves and wall hangings they had for sale.  Amber scored by getting six scarves for friends for about twenty dollars.  I either scored or spent way too much money, depending on your point of view, on sixteen meters of block printed fabric and two more custom shirts, this time made from metal block printed cotton.  They took my measurements and my money, and we were finished.  

After parting with more money that I probably had to part with, we were off to the observatory.  I was thinking this was going to be some white domed building in the middle of the city that long ago became obsolete after light pollution ruined the night sky.  I was wrong.  What we entered in to was a living breathing science museum, still active and working today.  It even was home to the world’s largest sun dial.  As we toured the grounds, Mr. Singh showed us how the Indian astronomers who built this place used the instruments.  He showed us how we could find the local time in Jaipur (since all of India is on one time zone), how the astrologists could calculate your horoscope, and even how you could find the longitude and latitude but day and night using the instruments.  It was far more interesting that I had hoped for and I was pleasantly surprised at the experience.  

From there, Mr. Singh said we were going over to the City Palace.  Throughout the day he had been telling us stories about the kings and queens of Jaipur.  The royal family still exists today, though after unification and freedom in 1947, they were purely ceremonial and wielded no legal political power anymore.  He told us that the current king, who was adopted by his grandfather at age four, was now twenty-two.  As we toured the palace, he gave us more information and anecdotes about the previous Raj’s for Jaipur.  My favorite was the story of the 7’ tall 500lb king.  After seeing his pajama pants, I was very curious to see what he would look like.  Mr. Singh told us that we would see a portrait of him at the end of the tour.   

We made our way through the palace, seeing various courtyards, portraits and pieces of memorabilia from India’s royal past.  Some of the more noteworthy times included the largest silver vessels created in the world, specifically to transport Ganges water with the Raj as he traveled to England in the early 20^th century as well as the royal crest made from old rifles.  All in all, it was a fascinating step through India’s past. 

Following our visit to the City Palace, we were on our way to visit the Wind Palace.  It was nearly sunset, and this was number one on Amber’s list of things to get a photo of in Jaipur.  It did not disappoint.  Even though we didn’t stay there long and Mr. Singh didn’t really describe much of what we were looking at, the architecture was enough to capture your imagination.  The pink palace walls were several stories high with ornately decorated windows facing the street.  It was hard to imagine passing by this building every day and not marveling at its beauty.  

We got several insta worthy photos that satisfied my boon companion.  We were then heading back to the hotel to pack up for our flight to Varnasi the next day.  

Once back at the Fern Residency, Amber and I thanked Mr. Singh and Bablu told us he would be at the hotel at 6:00am to bring us to the airport.  Amber and I had a lot of work to do to try to get our bags under weight. Spoiler: we failed.

When booking this trip, we added on the Varanasi expedition.  It wasn’t until after we booked that the tour operator let us know that we’d need to book an additional flight to get us there.  They said to make sure we get an afternoon flight since we’d have to drive to Delhi and that was four to five hours.  I inquired if we could fly from Jaipur to Varnasi, and he said that we could.  So we did.  

We booked on the budget carrier SpiceJet.  I knew that my bag was overweight when I arrived in India, and that was before the four custom shirts, twenty meters of fabric and custom suit I had purchased in the previous eight days.  

As we both packed our suitcases, I made the decision to leave clothes behind.  And I mean a lot of clothes.  These were clothes that wouldn’t fit me or I could easily and cheaply replace in the states.  So goodbye worn underwear, jeans with a hole where my thighs rubbed the fabric raw, and white shirts with rust stains on them!  Hello slightly lighter bag.  

Afrer a quick dinner of, you guessed it, butter chicken and naan, though I did add rice this time, we were back in our room in a melatonin induced slumber, ready for our next adventure!

On India: Day 7

This marks one week for me in India.  I had arrived a day before Amber, but we had both now officially begun the downhill slide to the end of our trip.  But we still had plenty left to do and see.  Today was the day that we were heading to Jaipur.

I had heard of Jaipur before, but that was where my extent of the city’s knowledge stopped.  I did not know it had 4.2 million inhabitants.  I did not know it was the capitol of Rajasthan.  I did not know there were four forts in or around the city.  I did not know it was nicknamed the pink city.  I did not know Amber was most excited about it and that this city and the Taj inspired her to pick India for her next big trip.

Our journey to Jaipur was relatively seamless.  Bablu only had to stop and ask directions a few times.  Amber and I were not sure what we would be doing and what we would see when we arrived around 1:00pm.  What I did know is that we had prepaid two lunches and two dinners at the hotel in Ranthambore but we only had one lunch.  I had texted Kasif, the main point of contact for the tour company, and he said he would arrange something for us.  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I learned not to question anything and just go with the flow.

When we were arriving, Kasif told me he would text me the address of the hotel and we would use Google Maps to get there.  Fortunately that was unnecessary.  Unbeknownst to us, our first stop would not be at the hotel, but at the Elephant Village.  Now I am very conflicted about animals in captivity.  And I will say this at the start: had either of us known where we were going, we both probably would have skipped the visit there.  But we were sort of just taken there and had to figure out what to do given our current predicament. 

As we drive down this winding road, we actually see two elephants walking freely on the side of said road.  They had had their trunks and legs painted with bright colors in traditional Indian styles, very similar to those found in mandalas or seen in henna tattoos.  I was in awe of these majestic creatures lumbering slowly and jovially down the road.  I wasn’t sure where they were coming from, but I could tell they were on their way home.

When we arrived, we were ushered in to a court yard next what we were told was an elephant’s room.  It was a large chamber with three walls, and open on one side.  There was sugar cane and hay on the floor, but the elephant was no where to be seen.  The gentleman who was sitting down with us told us a little about the elephant village.  He said that in 2012 the Indian government legitimized their institution and made it a refuge. He also told us what the options there were for us at the refuge and how we could interact with the elephants.  We were given the choice of riding an elephant (hard pass), painting an elephant, walking an elephant or feeding one.  We opted to walk and feed an elephant.  

This is total justification for something that I probably, and ethically, shouldn’t have done, but I figured we were giving the elephant some exercise and some treats.  There couldn’t be too much harm in that.  

Amber and I were whisked away to another elephant’s room.  This one had an elephant in it, contently chomping down some sugar cane.  We were introduced to her as Roni.  She was massive and had been painted recently, though most of the paint had faded.  The elephant trainer, who we were told lives with Roni in the room next door, told us the paint is chalk based and poses no risk to the elephant in any way.  I am going to believe that. 

Amber and I got to bond with Roni a little before our walk.  Her eye was about at the level of my forehead.  I am sure that it is all in my head and way for me to justify any guilt I had about potentially exploiting such a noble creature, but looking into to her hazel eyes, I didn’t see any stress or discomfort.  She seemed to like me and nudged me with her massive face.  A lot.  

As we walked around the grounds, which took us twenty or so minutes, Amber and I posed with Roni for some fantastic shots.  I made the mistake of wearing a shirt that was a smidge too tight, so I resembled Roni a little more than I was hoping to.  I guess the exercise would be good for both of us. 

Once our walk was complete, the staff had arranged a makeshift picnic for Amber and I, which was what Kasif had arranged in lieu of our lunch in Ranthambore.  I had ordered butter chicken (as per usual), and Amber got the Chicken Tikka.  For those who are unfamiliar, Chicken Tikka is basically Tandoori Chicken (bbq chicken Indian style), only bonless.  We also ordered 4 servings of naan, but Bablu ordered an extra there for us.  We also ordered some sort of paneer which came in this deliciously rich butter cream tomato sauce.  It was the highlight of the meal.  I don’t think, no matter how many days in a row I’ve had it (so far seven), I could get sick of this food.  

After we finished our lunch, it was time to give Roni her snacks.  The elephant trainer had brought out several loaves of bread and a few bunches of bananas.  If you’ve never had the opportunity to feed an elephant, do it.  It is super fun.  We started out by handing Roni some bread via her prehensile trunk.  She would grab them from us, occasionally snorting a thank you which covered us in elephant snot and would deposit them in her mouth.  After a few snorts, Amber and I got braver.  Roni allowed us to place the food directly on her tongue.  

Roni would lift her trunk and open her mouth.  She would then thrust out her tongue.  An elephant’s mouth is not quite the same as ours.  Her jaws seemed to move more inwards, like a trash compactor, than up and down the way ours do.  Also, her tongue did not protrude from the bottom of her mouth.  Instead it sort of curled out of her cheeks like a ribbon tied at both ends with a little slack in the center.  While I don’t have a lot of experience with them, my female travel companion said that her mouth had a certain resemblance to a particular part of the female anatomy. 

We had a grand ole time feeding Roni.  She expressed her contentment by nudging us again with her trunk and forehead.  When we were all out of bread and bananas, we said our goodbyes to Roni and she went back to munching her sugar cane.  We left the elephant village and headed to our hotel.

Looking back on the experience, I still don’t mind doing what I did.  Do I think elephants should be in captivity? No.  Do I think that if they are they deserve fresh air and plenty of room to roam around? Yes.  Did this place provide those things? Unclear.  But what was clear is that these elephants were there, for better or worse.  And I would like to think Roni enjoyed her time with us as much as we did with her. 

Remember how I said we were going to have to use Google Maps to get us to the hotel?  Thank god we didn’t need to.  One of the managers from the elephant village was going to guide Bablu to the hotel.  Jaipur is a massive city with an old part with incredibly narrow roads.  After driving through the old city, it was evident that Google Maps wouldn’t have cut it.  Even with a local guiding us, we still nearly drove down an unpaved one-way road that I’m pretty sure was for pedestrians.

Fortunately we found the hotel in one piece.  I must note though, that driving through Jaipur has been the scariest to date.  

Our hotel was quite nice, but an overwhelming aroma of jasmine and lotus hit us in the nostrils as we walked in.  I actually liked it, but Amber is quite sensitive to smells.  I knew we needed to get up to the room as soon as possible.  Two copies of our passports later, we had the key to our room.  With one king bed.  Again.  It really wasn’t that big of a deal for either of us though.

Since we arrived in India, this was definitely our nicest hotel.  We had a room on the seventh floor with a gorgeous view of the city, looking towards the Tiger Fort.  The bathroom was spacious and had a shower with nary a bucket in sight.  We were on cloud nine.  But the best part of the hotel was that they had a spa.  Both of us were a little stiff from the safari the previous day, so we decided to take a gander at the spa menu in our room.  I saw a deep tissue massage and was definitely interested.  

We headed down to the spa and inquired about pricing.  They informed us that there was a Valentine’s day special where if you buy one service you get the second for fifty percent off. We each decided on a massage and facial, since the deal was fantastic and the prices were insane.  We each ended up paying one third of what one massage would cost in DC for two treatments. 

After two hours of pampering, we were finished with our treatments. Neither one of us were particularly hungry since we had a massive and relatively late lunch.  We decided to call it a night without grabbing dinner.  Amber had brought some nutrigrain bars, so we each housed two of those bad boys and fell asleep watching the live action remake of Aladdin.  For those curious, I fell asleep at “Friend Like Me.” 

On India: Day 6

This was an early day, but on purpose.  We had to be in the lobby ready to go four our Tiger Safari at 6:00am.  Of all of the things we were going to do, I was probably most excited for this.  I had absolutely no idea what to expect for this safari.  The closest thing I have ever done to anything like this was the tram tour at the San Diego Zoo.  I was hoping it would be at least similar to that.  Boy was I wrong.

Amber and I walk up to the reception at precisely 5:59am.  Side note: thank fucking god she is punctual.  The gentleman who served us dinner the night before, whose name I would learn at lunch was Imran, had tea (for Amber), diet coke (for me), and cookies ready to go.  Well, cookies and crackers.  Another side note: it’s quite discombobulating when you’re not fully awake and bite in to a ritz cracker thinking it will be a shortbread cookie.  I cleared my pallet with a swig of my D coke and continued to munch on the goodies, paying a little more attention to what I was putting in my mouth.

The universe must have known once we had depleted our short breads, because our ride was here.  Again, I wasn’t sure what to expect, so when a jeep rolled up with two tiered benches in the open-air pack portion, I was super excited.  Naturally Amber and I chose the back row.  Since it was slightly elevated we could see over the canopy that covered the driver and passenger, so I figured we would have a good view.  

This decision proved to be the right one for so many more factors.  As we zipped down the dirt road that connected our resort to the main highway, Amber and I got a taste of what we were in for.  First of all, thank god that the resort provided us blankets because it was legitimately cold that early in the morning.  Secondly, thank god I had a jacket whose sleeves extended to cover my hands because, again, it was legitimately cold that morning.  Thirdly, thank god I had good grip strength, despite it being legitimately cold that morning.    With every bump we traversed, we felt the exponential results nearly getting air on a number of times (and one time actually getting air, but I am getting ahead of myself). 

Our driver/safari guide informed us we had to pick up four more people and then we would go to the reserve.  I told Amber that I really hoped one of the people was sick so they couldn’t make it since these benches were not made to accommodate three people if one of them was as wide as I.  

After a short jaunt on the main road, we headed back on a dirt path through these gorgeous keyhole gates to a resort that I hope one day I am rich enough to afford.  There were other jeeps there picking up folks for their morning safaris.  I waited with bated breath to see who would be accompanying us.  Turns out it was a delightful family of four from Paris who would be riding next to us.  Naturally I was stoked. 

The mother and two sons, aged ten and eight, sat in the row in front of us while the father sat next to me. Thankfully he was French so he fit.  We got to talking between holding our breath as we made our way through town to get to the entry gate for our zone.  I can’t remember how it came up, but I told him that I was a travel agent.  He told me that he used to be one, and had worked for Thomas Cook.  Bless his heart. 

As we kept chatting, he told us that this was his family’s fourth safari in Ranthambore.  They had done other zones, but had heard that the one we were headed to today was the best for tiger sightings.  He also said that the day before they had been in a canter, which I came to learn was the twenty-person safari vehicle.  He said that the jeep experience was way better.  I can’t compare, but I would imagine he is right.  

After nearly running over a few hogs in the middle of the road, passing numerous camels and buffalo, and having the smell of burning trash fill my nostrils as we drove through was would make even the worst slums of the United States look decent, we arrived to the gate of the reserve.  

Once inside, I was surprised at the terrain.  The zone we were safari-ing in was one of the larger zones in the park.  Zone six has virtually every type of terrain the park has to offer.  We saw grasslands, which I would assume are similar to those of the Serengeti and jungles that weren’t quite as dense as those in the jungle book, but close enough to let the imagination run wild.  

As we drove we all were on high alert for tigers.  I assumed that they wouldn’t be close to the road so I brought my, and by my I mean the one my father let me borrow, telephoto lens.  As we drove around the grassland, we saw several spotted deer.  Despite the fact that they are the most common animal in the park, I was still in awe seeing a wild animal that would be food for the one we were looking for, just chilling.

Driving around the reserve, we didn’t go particularly fast.  The sun was up now, but we were still in the shade of the high canyon walls that surrounded this zone, so it was still chilly.  The trails were decently groomed, but we bounced around quite a bit.  Because I am a large human, I let Amber sit on the outside so she wouldn’t have to try to look over me.  The Frenchman and I quickly realized personal space was a privilege that this safari jeep did not afford either one of us.  

As we drove, we saw a veritable menagerie of animals, if the menagerie of animals consisted of like, five species.  We saw, as previously mentioned, spotted deer, but also Peacocks and Peahens, wild boar, owls, canaries, and another species of deer I can only, and I think incredibly accurately, call the big ass deer.  Our driver said that the B.A. Deer were the tiger’s favorite food because they have poor eyesight, are sort of slow, and have tender and salty meat.  I also realized that it was basically me if I were a deer…

The safari took us to every corner of the zone.  From the creek to the grassland to the semi-dense forest, we trekked far and wide looking for the tigers.  Our guide told us that this zone had one female and three cubs.  He also stopped several times and showed us paw prints, letting us know she was on the move.  

At one point we heard this strange high pitched warble.  I thought it was a bird, but the Frenchman told us it was the sound that the spotted deer make when they see a tiger to warn their friends.  Unfortunately it was a fake call.  Until it wasn’t.  As soon as our guide heard it, he said to hold on and hauled ass.  And by hauled ass, I mean this time we literally got air as we went over some bumps. We had to be going at least forty miles per hour, despite those of us in the back being elevated with no seat belts. It.  Was.  Incredible.  

Ripping through the park at speeds that should have terrified me, I felt this overwhelming sense of exhilaration.  I may or may not have been humming the Indiana Jones theme as we drove (I did…).  We found the spot where the spotted deer were gathered, but unfortunately there was no evidence that a tiger was close by.  But I didn’t care.  That exhilarating rush of semi-but absolutely real danger was intoxicating.  I was having the time of my life, and my best friend was sitting next to me having the time of hers.  

We continued to search for tigers for the three hours we were allowed in the park.  We came up short and left without seeing one, though.  However, it just solidified my desire to come back to this particular part of India and give it another go.

Once we said au revoir to our new French friends, we headed back to our hotel.  I should mention that from about a third of the way in to the safari I had to pee.  Really badly.  Bouncing around and bumping around on a full bladder would be the only I would change about my experience.  

Back at the hotel, we decided that we were going to have lunch around 1:00pm since Bablu would be there at 2:00pm to take us to the Monkey Fort.  That gave me just under two hours to nap, for which I was quite thankful.  I was a little bummed I wasn’t taking advantage of our quaint and cozy patio but papa needed some beauty sleep, as the bags under my eyes reminded me.  

An hour and a half nap and one decently good lunch later, Bablu, Amber and I were on our way to the Ranthambore fort.  Bablu had promised us as we drove in “very very monkey” at the fort, so I was super excited.  I could add this to list of wild animals I have seen on this trip.  Plus, the Frenchman said that there was a tiger who liked to hang out in close proximity to the fort, so I still had my hopes up I would see one (spoiler: I didn’t). 

Bablu stopped at the bottom of the hill and went inside of some building.  He came out with a female who got in to our car.  I assumed she was our guide.  I was wrong.  Turns out she was a female police officer who needed a lift up to the fort area for some reason.  She was nice and she and Bablu apparently had quite the riveting conversation the entire way up to the fort. 

This fort was the only one we had gone to where the was no entry fee.  But India didn’t disappoint because we could pay to have a guide take us around the fort.  Aside from Bablu and hotels, I wasn’t quite sure what the tour we paid for included…. But being the history nerd that I am and the good friend she was, Amber and I opted in for a guide.  

Now most of the things I know about this fort very well could be wrong because despite his best efforts, I couldn’t really understand the guide.  I should note that his English was infinitely better than my Hindi, in that he knew any English.  

Highlights of the fort included a visit to the Temple of Ganesh where I was appointed with an orange dot in the center of my forehead and given this sweet mixture of peanuts and probably other things that had the consistency of sand.  After a bite, I politely told the guide that I couldn’t eat any more because it was too sweet for me.  He said no problem and I should just give it to a monkey.  Clearly the monkeys were used to getting sweeties from tourists because this one cheeky monkey came up and grabbed it from my hand.  Much to Amber’s chagrin, that monkey moved with lightning speed so I have no photographic evidence of me feeding the monkey, but there are photos of us letting the monkey drink from our water bottles.  And no, we did not drink from it either before or after the monkey did. 

The fort itself was gorgeous.  I really wish that I had retained more information about it, but the tl;dr version of things I can remember include that unmarried Hindu women were sacrificed there, the right angles after the gates prevented elephants from being able to rush the pathways, Ranthambore means Hill Valley Fort, and monkeys like sweet nut balls.  I’m sure that after perusing the Wikipedia page for the fort I will be reminded of what the guide said or a lot of what the guide said will make sense. 

After we got our fill of monkey pictures, we headed back down the hill to the carpark.  We trekked down the four-hundred and eighty meters we had climbed to get to the fort and hopped back in the car.  We had no other plans that night, so Amber and I decided to get some Kingfishers and sit on the patio and do some work.  For those who have yet to try the greatness that is the official beer of India, be warned: they are strong.  At 7.2% alcohol, they are not for the light weights of the world. 

I hadn’t been drinking much as of late so they definitely hit me hard.  And definitely led to the best night of the trip so far.  After deep conversations that made her and my friendship even closer and stronger than it was, we headed to dinner.  I had a serious case of the giggles, thanks to the giggle juice I had been drinking for the previous three hours.  Three large beers later, I was laughing so hard I was crying in the middle of the resort’s dining room.  

To be fair it was actually at the table and we were the only people in the dining room.  But there is videographic proof that I was three sheets and having the time of my life.  I cannot reiterate this enough: find a friend that makes you laugh.  

After dinner we headed back to our room, popped a melatonin and threw on some Schitt’s Creek, as was our nightly ritual.  We were heading to Jaipur the following day, so we wanted to get a good night’s sleep and be ready for our long car journey ahead.  And Bablu would be there at 9:00am sharp! 

On India: Day 5

Today was one of our less eventful days on the journey so far.  We were traveling from Agra to Ranthambore which was about a five-hour journey according to google maps.  I wasn’t sure if google maps was true though since mileage wise it wasn’t that far.  Only about a 125 miles away. What I failed to take in to account was the towns we would be passing through on the way.  But I’ll get to that in a minute.

Amber and I had yet another early morning.  We hung out in the room and packed our stuff from when I got up again at 4:52am until about 7:00am.  We decided to get breakfast earlier than we had planned so we still had a toilet available should we have any GI issues. Side note, we have had no issues thus far on the trip. We had the buffet again, though they changed the menu on us.  Today, we both decided to gorge ourselves on pancakes.  These are not the traditional American pancakes though.  Instead of being light and fluffy, they were dense and chewy, but not in a bad way.  It was as if naan and a crêpe had a baby. Doused in syrup and smattered with butter I was a huge fan. 

One of the cool things about traveling with Amber is that I am getting to know her better.  I thought I knew her pretty well, but traveling and sharing every waking minute with one another, you get to know little quirks about one another.  Like how she doesn’t like anything sweet with her pancakes. Or how she doesn’t like anyone touching her head (I made that mistake when I patted her head twice).  What’s even better is that both us are entirely compatible with one another. 

Once breakfast was done, our fantastic driver, whose name is Bablu (I found this out today when he texted Amber who he was), met us and we were off to Ranthambore.  On the way were set to stop at Sikrit, the capitol of the Mughal Empire prior to it moving to Agra.  It was about an hour outside of the city so we settled in for a nice drive. 

We arrived to the carpark for Sikrit in decent time.  It actually only took us about forty-five minutes.  Bablu introduced us to our guide who would take us around the fort.  The guide informed us that in order to preserve the fort and protect it from pollution we would have to take a natural gas bus to the entrance.  It would be 20 rupees one way for both of us.  We gladly paid and hopped on a bus.  

Once it was packed to the gills with both tourists and their Indian guides we were off.  It wasn’t a long ride, but in the five minute drive up the hill pass ruins on both sides of the road.  Once at the fort our guide let us know that the ruins we saw were the ladies market where the queen(s) would go shop with their allowance they were given by the king.  

The very first, and probably most morbid, thing we saw at the fort was a small rock in the center of the side lawn of the first courtyard.  The guide told us that that rock was where the elephants would be chained.  The elephants didn’t have any other function in the court except for executions.  Apparently the death penalty back in the day was to have your skull crushed by an elephant.  The guide did tell us this was a particularly effective deterrent though, since the executions were public.  

As we walked around the fort, our guide mentioned that the king, the grandfather of Shah Jahan, also had three wives.  Interestingly each wife was different religion: Hindu; Muslim; and Christian.  Each wife had their own palace, but the Hindu queen’s palace was ten times larger than the other two since she was the favorite wife who bore the succeeding male heir.  The story goes that the king and queens had been trying for a long time, to no avail.  The king heard of this Islamic mystic living at Sikrit who was very close to Allah.  The king said if the mystic would pray to Allah and bless the king with a son, he would move his capitol to Sikrit.  A few months after their meeting, the Hindu wife became pregnant and delivered a healthy baby boy.  The king kept his word and moved the capitol there and built this beautiful fort. 

Once we had toured the Christian queen’s castle, which had been built in the Islamic style, we headed to Hindu queen’s massive palace, which was built in the Islamic style.  The guide said that each queen would live in a palace with a different style of architecture than her religion so as to prevent infighting amongst the queens.  Though if I were the Muslim or Christian queen I would be pretty pissed at the size of my tiny twenty room palace when compared to the virtual compound the Hindu queen got.  I guess that’s the petty queen in me. 

After we had our fill of red sand stone palaces, we exited the compound and headed to the mosque.  As we left, the guide pointed out this stage in the center of a fountain.  He said that since this was the age before Netflix, the king would have a singer stand on the platform and perform for the court. The would fill the moat around the singer because the acoustic properties of water helped reverberate the sound of the singer to king and his court.  One thing that has always impressed me was how spaces were built for sound.

After leaving the fort, we headed to the mosque next to it.  I was wearing shorts so when we entered I had to wrap myself in cloth to cover my knees.  As I wrapped it around myself I quickly realized this cloth was not made for a man of my size.  The attendant who gave me the cloth and was the designated shoe watcher had to tie it.  And the slit went right up to my hip.  It was probably the closest to Jessica Rabbit I will ever feel in my life.  Once modestly covered, we entered the mosque.  This housed the tomb of the mystic who blessed the king.  Our guide introduced us to servants of the descendants of that man, who gave us flower petals and two strings.  Apparently, you are supposed to take those strings and tie them to the carved marble divider in the tomb and make a wish.  I’ll tell you if my wish came true after November 3^rd.  

After we tied our strings and made our wishes, we were done with our tour of Sikrit.  We headed back to the main entrance, all the while hoping that we would pass a bathroom.  I am not sure what has happened to me in my old age but two things have changed in recent years.  Firstly, I went from being a night owl to a morning person.  Secondly, I am now a tiny tank.  I used to pride myself on not needing to use the facilities except at the time mutually convenient for the group.  Now I am THAT guy who makes the group pause while I relive myself.  C’est la vie I guess.  

Unfortunately the bus was idling as we got to the gate so I couldn’t use the toilets at the fort.  I had to wait another five very bumpy minutes to find a restroom near the car park.  

Fortunately, and thanks to the expertise of our local guide, we found a restroom with no queue.  The best part was that our guide suggested Amber use the men’s room since there still was a queue for the women’s. Actually scratch that. The best part was how quickly Amber used the facilities because she didn’t want to use her American privilege to make the locals hate Americans.  Folks, find someone like her and hold on tight. 

On the walk to the car, we walked through the marketplace the Indian government had built for the locals to sell their wares.  Our guide specifically wanted to show us the local artisans who carved the sandstone into trinkets.  Unfortunately I had depleted my souvenir coffers the day before, because the stone carvings were true works of art.  I sort of regret not getting a tea light over… But I am convincing myself I will find something equally as cool when I get to Jaipur.

After politely declining to buy anything and giving our guide his gratuity we were back in the car.  We now had a four hour ride from Sikrit to Ranthambore.  I thought driving in Delhi was crazy, but some of these towns made Delhi look downright civilized.  Bablu told us (many times) that there are no rules. And that was evident as we went in the exit of the toll check point because he didn’t want to wait in line.  All in all though, he is a fantastic driver and I rarely have to cover my eyes.  Pro tip: get a driver like Bablu because it makes the journey that much easier.

The drive from Agra to Ranthambore took you from vast plains to what I assume are the non-Himalaya equivalent of mountains in India.  It was absolutely stunning seeing the striations in the mountains, knowing that these were the areas mined by the Mughals. I did my best to stay awake for the drive.  I was pretty tired but I didn’t want to miss out on observing what I wasn’t sure I’d ever observe again.  I wanted to be able to take in all that I saw.  This trip has helped me recognize the gifts I was given, not through any work on my on behalf, but by the sheer luck of my birth.  I know it is cliché and tired, but this has been an eye-opening experience.

When we arrived in Ranthambore after not knowing exactly if our fantastic driver knew where we were going. He did have to stop on the highway (and by stop I mean literally just block a lane of traffic and wait for someone else to stop) to ask for directions to Ranthambore.  But we several dirt roads later we arrived at the Bagh Palace.  

Our hotel here was probably the most beautiful that we’ve had in India to date.  We were given room C15, on the first floor (American second floor) right next to the pool.  They again gave us one king bed.  Fortunately we discovered that we can share a bed quite well, despite the gap in the covers caused by both of us sleeping on our sides that allows cold air to rush in to the space under the covers.  

We settled in to our room quite well.  Unfortunately the bucket was displayed prominently in our shower, situated in our rather large bathroom.  This did not bode well for our bathing habits.  I have become a two shower a day guy in this country, washing off the grime I’ve accumulated over the course of my waking days and then washing off the sleep in the morning.  Fortunately Amber found a way to make the shower actually work.  I realized the best approach for this shower though, was a hybrid bucket and shower head combo, but that realization wouldn’t occur until the following morning.  

After a bucket shower and a melatonin, we settled in to a good nights sleep.  We had tigers to see in the morning!  And our wake up call was at 5:30am… But luckily that wouldn’t be an issue given my regular sleep cycle now.  

On India: Day 4

Our day started early again.  And by that, I mean I woke up at 4:54am for no apparent reason.  The room was decently warm so I slept above the covers.  Amber and I were given a king bed, since for most people here it is unfathomable that a man and woman traveling together aren’t either dating or married.  Also, it means that a. Indian’s aren’t familiar enough with gay people to realize I am obviously gay or b. I am not as obviously gay as I thought.  My money is on option a.

The day of touring started early enough that waking up that early wasn’t that bad.  This was the day that we would see the sun rise over one of the modern wonders of the world.  I feel that I have to designate this as a modern wonder because growing up, the seven wonders of the world were always referring to the ancient wonders like the pyramids and the Colossus at Rhodes.  However, Amber disagreed.  And to her credit, a google search of the terms “wonder of the world” does bring up the list of modern wonders. 

Domestic squabbles aside, we were both incredibly excited for this.  A friend of mine who had recently been to India with his husband gave us the advice to forgo trying to get a photo of the Taj Mahal from the reflecting pool as the sun rises.  He said the fog wouldn’t clear and you wouldn’t be able to get “the shot” anyway. Instead, he suggested walking right up to the building and seeing it up close.  That was fantastic advice (thanks Cam!).

The Taj Mahal, for those with inquiring minds, was built by Shah Jahan for his third and favorite wife, Mum Taj.  Mahal means palace, so this was her palace, though it was never intended for her to live in.  It would be her eternal palace, her mausoleum.  To the left, as you’re looking from the reflecting pool towards the white edifice, is a mosque since she was Muslim.  And the similar looking building on the other side was a guest house. 

Sahil, our incredible guide, and notice how I am saying guide this time, took us to the Mosque.  He fed us information about the creation of the Taj Mahal, some history of Shah Jahan and his wife (she had fourteen kids in nineteen years, dying in childbirth.  Only six of her children survived), and then allowed us to explore on our own.  And by explore on our own I mean live our best Instagram model influencer lives.  

I don’t think of my self as particularly photogenic, but holy (pardon my French) fuck did those photos turn out well.  I cannot stress enough how wonderful it is to have a travel companion who likes to be behind the camera as much as I do.  It was refreshing to have her tell me where to go and how to stand.  And her photographic eye was clearly evident in the plethora of perfect pics she snapped of me. 

We probably spent an hour taking photos from various angles of the complex, with and without human subjects.  To say this was a once in a lifetime experience may be wrong.  I would love to come back here one day.  But to share this with my best friend, capture incredible photos, and see the sun rise over the building was truly something special.   

When we finished our photo shoot, we met back up with Sahil.  He was going to take us in to the building itself.  I didn’t know what to expect going inside.  As you enter, you pass through incredibly beautiful and ornate stone work.  Sahil mentioned (several times) that the structure only took one year to complete and the masonry carving and inlay took the remaining twenty-one years.  

Since this was a Muslim Mausoleum, there is no non-abstract art.  As is tradition in the Muslim faith, the edifices of every inch of the mausoleum, both inside and out, were decorated with either Islamic calligraphy or geometric patterns.  Once inside, you pass through the vestibule into the main chamber.  The Indian Archeological Survey, the part of the Indian Government that runs the Taj Mahal has recreated the actual tomb of Shah Jahan and Mum Taj for all guests to admire on the ground floor, while the actual tomb is below.  The real tomb is only open to the public on July 7 (maybe it was July 6… I can’t remember). 

As you walk clockwise around the main chamber, you see that the ornate decoration extends to literally every inch of the building.  Once you’re opposite the entry door, as you look through the center of the room, you see that Mum Taj’s final resting place is in the exact center of the complex.  

Unfortunately, we were not allowed to take any photos inside.  Sahil explained that in the Muslim tradition you can take photos of a man’s burial place but not of a female’s and since this was for Shah Jahan’s wife, we were following Islamic customs.  

Once back outside, Sahil said that we could take the remainder of the three hours our ticket allowed us and take all the photos we wanted.  We had about and hour left so Amber and I continued to make our social media fantasies come true.  We got more fantastic pictures of each of us during our time at the Taj than I had taken in the last ten years combined.  

From the elevated marble platform, upon which the burial chamber stood, we headed back to the raised marble platform in the center of the reflecting pool.  We both quickly realized that trying to get a photo from the direct center would be next to impossible, so we found an equally fantastic alternative, just to the left of the pedestal.  

Once satiated, we continued walking to meet Sahil to head to our next journey.  Though the photography glutton in us came out once more and we stopped for a brief photoshoot on these iconic benches that had unobstructed views of the Taj Mahal from just off center.  As my British friend pointed out, that was where Princess Di took some photos when she visited.  Finally satisfied, we bid the Taj a fond farewell, carrying those memories and memory cards with us forever.  We then went back to the hotel for a brief breakfast. 

Breakfast at the hotel was included with our tour package (though entry to literally every site we visited was not).  We took advantage of the buffet.  I decided to go with the chicken sausage (basically chicken hot dogs), some fried rice, a glass (or four) of mango juice, the breakfast equivalent of naan with some tomato puree, not dissimilar to the sauce that comes with a solid chicken tikka masala, and some sort of wonderful fried bread.  I’m not talking about doughnuts or anything like this.  It was as if someone had deep fried actual bread.  I was a fan. 

Following our delectable breakfast, Amber and I went back to our room for about an hour or so.  We naturally were gushing over the photos we took and of course posted the best to Instagram immediately.  

At 10:30 it was time to meet Sahil to head to the Agra Fort.  The Agra Fort was this immense red sandstone building built by succeeding Mughal emperors.  As we toured, we of course kept our photoshoot going. 

We entered the fort through what they call the echo path.  The walls of this pathway were steep enough that as you walked your footsteps would echo along the corridor up to the hot water gate (explanation to follow).  That echo effect was purposefully implemented because it prevented guards from having to physically walk from gate to gate.  Instead they did what every parent and child has done for time immemorial: yell to one another and hope to be heard.  Only their strategy worked.

Once at the top of the ramp, you walk through the hot water gate.  Sahil explained that if an enemy army was able to get past the crocodile filled wet moat and the tiger filled dry moat, and past the archers along the ramparts on the exterior wall, then soldiers could pour boiling water or oil on the invaders as the tried to enter the castle.  He didn’t mention any instances where the castle had been successfully breached, so I’m going to assume that their architecture deterred that. 

 Once through the gate, we toured all areas of the fort open to the public.  About ninety percent is used and occupied by the Indian Army, so we only saw a small fraction of the compound.  Though we did get to see the historical sites.  But by far the best and most surprising aspect of this was the view of the Taj Mahal from one of the balconies.  When I first saw the onion domes of the Taj Mahal from a distance, it reminded me of the scene in Aladdin where he takes Jasmin to his rooftop bachelor pad and looks back toward the palace.  Then it dawned on me. Agrabah… Agra… The Taj looked just like the Palace.  I finally realized that this city was inspiration for Aladdin.  

Dramatic realization about one of my favorite childhood movies had, I was back to the present listening to Sahil talk about the harem of the king and the boom boom room where he and his concubines would hang out behind silk tapestries.  It was from that room that I had my realization. 

We continued walking around the grounds, seeing the grape garden that the king had planted, and ventured into the still active mosque.  We removed our shoes and entered.  I was still amazed at the ornate carving and inlay work, despite having seen it at the Taj. 

Once we finished there, we were done at the fort.  Sahil said he wanted to take us to the marble works to show us the artisans and process by which the Taj was decorated.  Amber and I were happy to go, though I told myself I wouldn’t buy anything.  Turns out I am a liar.   

Once we saw the laborious process that demonstrated how the small stones are carved by hand, our host ushered us downstairs to show off the finished products.  We saw some of the most impressive marble inlay I have seen in my life.  We’re talking massive tabletops that weigh hundreds of pounds with hundreds if not thousands of individual semi-precious and precious stones set in it down to tiny hand carved elephants that bring good luck to the owner. 

Amber was interested in jewelry boxes and chess boards.  I was very content to help her choose her own and walk out empty handed.  Then when she asked me if she should get one, I told her that you can always make more money but who knows the next time you’ll be in a true marble artisan master’s workshop in India, able to buy something.  I had just talked myself in to purchasing something, though I didn’t know what yet. 

She picked a stunning and delicate jewelry box with blue flower inlayed around the top.  The gentleman continued to show off his wares, and I continued to listen.  I should have walked away. But instead, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.  He said that the Indian government subsidizes shipping so there is no cost to the purchaser if they’re from the US.  As a result, I bought a fantastically unnecessary marble chess board.  I will say I am quite excited for the charcuterie boards I will create on it. 

Once I had satisfactorily emptied my travel souvenir account, we headed to lunch.  True to form, I got butter chicken.  I feel like I have eaten at least five chickens since arriving here, having had some form of the fowl at each meal.  The food was quite good as we went to Pinch of Spice, the restaurant our guide had suggested we go to the night before for dinner.    What we ordered here was about $10 more expensive than what we had ordered at other restaurants.  I can’t remember what Amber ordered, but that was fine because I had gorged myself on my own oderings and didn’t try whatever savory combination of Indian spices and chicken that was placed in front of her.  

After lunch, we headed to the Baby Taj.  Sahil told us that this was the inspiration for the Grand Taj Mahal.  This building was built for Shah Jahan’s father in law, the father of his favorite wife who would later be entombed in the large Taj.  It was similar in that it was white marble with beautiful inlays.  However, there was a reason they called it the baby Taj, as it was probably one tenth as large.  This, however, was the final resting place not only for Shah Jahan’s father-in-law, but most of the FIL’s family as well, including some of his still-born grandchildren. 

When we finished touring this site, we were plumb tuckered out.  We decided to forgo seeing Mughal jewelry and embroidery and headed back to the hotel.  We thanked Sahil, gave him his gratuity and dropped him off on the side of the road, at a location that I assume was convenient for him.  To me it seemed totally random, but he walked away smiling and with purpose. 

Back at the hotel, Amber took a nap while I putzed around on my phone.  I edited some of the photos I had taken that day and posted them to social media.  When she awoke from her beauty nap she informed me that her sore throat had gotten worse and that she wasn’t up for dinner on the roof again.  I told her that was fine and that I’d bring her back some butter naan. 

I headed up to the fourth-floor roof deck and plopped down by myself.  It was more crowded tonight that the previous night.  There also was a strange marionette puppet show happening, complete with ululating snake charmers and a puppet cobra.  I broke the mold with my dinner.  Instead of the butter chicken I decided to get a local specialty, chicken biryani.  I had to google what it was exactly, but essentially it was chopped up chicken pieces on the bone with rice.  It came with a yogurt lime sauce that was tasty when mixed with the rice.  I scooped it all up with some butter naan (technically Amber’s butter naan but I ordered a second for her, so I claimed the first). 

Once my meal was complete, I headed back downstairs to deliver her her sustenance.  I found her cozy in bed, scarcely having moved since I left.  She thanked me and we settled in for our nightly ritual of watching Schitt’s Creek while waiting for the melatonin to kick in.  All in all, it was a day that will never be forgotten.

On India: Day 3

The day started out early.  Both Amber and I were up at 5:00am, not on purpose.  We both felt rested though.  I am not sure exactly what we did to pass the time, but it didn't feel like we were awake for four hours, which was when we met up with our chaperone.

The day's tour in Delhi included a visit to the largest mosque in India and the location of the cremation of Mahatma Ghandi.  Both were very powerful for different reasons.

The mosque was not like other mosques I have been to.  Instead of a large indoor area for worship, the majority of the prayerful would gather in the courtyard.  There was a small area covered by a roof for the Imam and the mihrab, but the plein-aire court yard could easily accommodate thousands of faithful.

While the experience was quite interesting, I can't help but feel it could have been better.  Our guide, who again I will refer to as chaperone, didn't give us much information.  He helped us get inside and informed us of the entrance fees and cultural regulations we needed to abide by.  Because apparently no entrance fees were included in the price of the tour, we had to pay four hundred rupees for both of us to enter, and apparently that also covered one photographic device.  Our chaperone said originally it was three hundred for each person, but when we were there he said four hundred for all.  We assumed that meant both Amber could have her phone and I, my camera.  As soon as we got in and Amber pulled out her phone, our chaperone said she wasn't allowed because we didn't pay for it.  We were both confused but figured it wasn't worth trying to go back and pay more for it.

The other thing we weren't expecting was the clothing they required both of us to rent to tour the mosque.  I was less surprised they had me wear a sheet over my shorts since, well, I was in shorts.  But Amber had to rent a gown to cover her, though she was dressed modestly already.  Either way, that was another hundred rupees.

Finally, and probably the most comical part of it, were the JW Marriott slippers we had to purchase to enter.  Again, I do not begrudge the mosque for making visitors take their shoes off, as that is common practice at every mosque I have been to.  What I found funny is that clearly not many size 13 shoe wearing visitors grace the mosque. I could barely fit the slippers around the wider part of the balls of my feet.  And they covered about 60% of my foot.  I made the best of it though, and got an excellent calf work out walking on my tip toes.

When we were finished at the mosque, we took what was probably one of the most chaotic drives to get to Raj Ghat, the site of Ghandi's cremation and the eternal flame/memorial for him.   It actually wasn't nearly as intense as the drive we'd go on later in Agra, but up until now, it was the closest I came from closing my eyes and just praying we'd get where we needed to go safely.

 Raj Ghat was a surpassing delight in Delhi.  The massive complex is dedicated to the memory of Ghandi, the father of modern India.  You walk along a long pathway which leads to either a continuation on the same level or a ramp that leads up to a square surrounding a open green space with a large black slab and small glass box in the center.

The black slab was the location where Ghandi was created in 1948, left open to the sky.  The glass case enclosed an eternal flame, to honor his memory.  Along the path leading to the courtyard were quotations from Ghandi, reminding those who visit to carry on his legacy of servant leadership.

In order for people to enter the lower level of the courtyard, you had to check your shoes.  Unfortunately I left my JW's in the car.  So I walked around in my socks.  It wasn't as bad, but I had to make sure to avoid the water from the very zealous groundskeepers who were overzealously making sure that there was not a single dry patch in the grass at the memorial.

Amber, our chaperone and I walked around the cremation slab, seeing the eternal flame.  After that, we decided to collect our shoes and then go walk around the upper level.  I actually enjoyed that more because of the plethora of fresh flowers blooming along the inner side of the pathway.  It was refreshing to see such color and beauty in Delhi.  As we walked we saw honey bees gathering their honey, continuing the natural order of things.  It felt very apropos for Ghandi's memorial.

Following our pilgrimage to Raj Ghat, we needed to stop by a shop and collect the custom suit I had ordered the day before.  I was less than thrilled about being pressed to by more stuff, so after about five minutes in the store, we asked our chaperone when the suit would be delivered.  He said about thirty minutes.  So upon that realization, Amber and I suggested that we get an early lunch and come back after.  He begrudgingly agreed and took us to Club Cannaught.

I know I have written a lot about food but I'm not going to write too much about the food at Club Cannaught.  I had butter chicken (again), paneer naan (again), and a coke zero.  What was incredible about this restaurant was the restaurant itself.  First of all, it was massive.  I was not used to such large rooms, let alone such space within said rooms.  But this was probably 150ft by 75ft with tables and booths placed carefully and quite stylishly inside.  The decor was in an industrial chic theme that would fit in the most hip millennial focused hotel lobby in any major city in the states.  The music they played was coming from a DJ stand, and was all fantastic covers of US pop songs.  Overall, I would HIGHLY recommend the venue for those who need a little western comfort.

Once we were finished, our chaperone came in to let us know that the suit would be delivered right to the restaurant, so we should just hang out there a bit.  Amber and I waited another twenty minutes or so inside.  We decided to head outside and wait by the car when the Jasmin perfume that aromatized the large space started stinging our eyes...

After another twenty or so minutes, the suit arrived and we were on our way to Agra.  We thanked our chaperone and dropped him off seemingly on the side of the highway and Amber, our awesome and jovial driver and I headed to Agra.  Googlemaps said it was going to be a five hour drive, which would put us in the city just after sunset.  Amber and I were both hoping to make it to the Moon Gardens of the Taj before then so we were a little disappointed.  However, our fantastic driver found a few short cuts that allowed us to get to Agra well before the sun set.

The first thing that we did when we got in to the city was pick up our new guide, who also seemed to appear along the side of the road, not anywhere near any residence that I could tell...  Sahil introduced himself to us and said we should head to the Taj and then we'd go to the hotel.  Amber and I were hoping to take a real shower and spend the morning there, so he suggested we go across the Yamuna river and get a view of the back side, so we did that.

It was a fantastic choice made better by his decision to bypass the first viewing entrance and take us to the second.  Not only was that cheaper, but the view was better as we were on the other side of a barbed wire fence with nothing between us and the Taj except another barbed wire fence, tidal mud flat and the river itself.

Both Amber and I were in disbelief of what we were looking at.  The Taj Mahal stood before us, in its white marbled splendor.  My first interaction with the Taj Mahal was a 3D puzzle I had when I was in second or third grade.  And here I was, 7,500 miles from home, looking at the actual building.  We stood in awe until we realized we needed to get photos.

Thank god I have a travel companion that has an eye for photography.  Normally when I travel, I am the one behind the camera, but Amber made a point of putting me in front of the lens.  She captured some incredibly flattering photos of me, in my red and gold paisley silk shirt, with one of the seven modern wonders of the world in the background.  I of course returned the favor for her as well.

The viewing location was quite serene, until Sahil told us that the smoke we saw coming from the right side of the Taj Mahal was smoke from two bodies being cremated.  Once we realized that that smoke was wafting toward us, Amber and I were ready to head to our hotel.

The hotel in Agra was definitely as step up from the one in Delhi.  With an included breakfast, fast and reliable wifi and a true shower, we felt spoiled.  We even had dinner on the rooftop, next to the pool.  Overall it was a fantastic introduction to Agra!