Losing it trying to find the Taj
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Words by - Swells
India |
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Rising with the sun in an attempt to escape our wild camp ground we found we were too late, a local guy stood close by on the highway staring at us while we hurriedly packed our tents. As we worked, a dark streak of cloud appeared low in the sky becoming more like a plume of pollution as the sunshine powered through. On the bikes and riding at 5:15 AM we escaped without a massive crowd of on lookers and headed towards the Taj Mahal.
On the road we were witness to a bright orange sunrise. Sadly the spectacle was a result of sunshine through the dirty pollution pumped into the air by the surprising amount of coal fired? Brick furnaces.
The roads heading towards Agra were some of the better roads we found in India. It was a shame to see the pollution in day light which ironically provided such a vivid light show hours before.
Red bricks were the secondary product of the furnaces and as such they coloured the nearby villages in shades of red.
We arrived at Agra early, at 9:00AM amongst the overloaded tractors, dodging their destructive ambles. We didn't yet have plans for the night, but next step was a photo with the bikes and our dirty selves in front of the symbolic land mark. The Taj appeared down river and as we followed our noses we came across a military armed blockade. Seeking directions, help came in abrupt shouts with accompanying hand jesters "South gate, south gate, go". Heading South, we were faced with another blockade with the same direction. Stuck in slums on the out skirts of the Taj Mahal's manicured lawns, I began to get frustrated. It wasn't the piles of rubbish or pigs or rats or the smell of raw sewage flowing in the gutters. It wasn’t even the truck that was trying to navigate the streets, having to do Austin Powers in tunnel type turns in an entertaining attempted at negotiating the impossibly tight alleyways. These things, although confronting were enjoyable, in a sense of achieving a humbling perspective on the human ability to survive and succeed. It was the attitude of fellow road users which was testing my abilities to remain calm. Driving behaviours, which had endangered our safety on numerous occasions were now frustratingly impacting my patience. Teenage kids as well as a business man piloted 2 scooters behind us, within clear vision of the oversize truck directly ahead of us they intently beeped their horns. This was not going to help the situation and as I rode slowly to a stop behind the truck a scooter pushed past me either side to edge just a bit in front creating a tight squeeze of bikes. My flame of patience now extinguished by an overwhelming flood of selfish road etiquette I pushed my bike forward bumping both scooters beeping my horn yelling " where can we even go? There is a truck right in front of us" I then just yelled "horn" repeatedly. Instantly I felt like an idiot, a big white obnoxious idiot.
Arriving at the next check point to find guards who were happy to talk, we found out that there was no way possible to take a photo of the bikes in front of the Taj. Dejected we rode a short way up the street stopping in front of a random hotel, we discussed options in the ever oppressive Indian sun. Johnny Bang was thirsty while Dan and I were both happy to have a shower, the price was right at the hotel we happened to stop in front of, so we moved on in. In my first shower in 4 days I washed an impossible amount of dirt from myself, then even more from my riding clothes.
Using my bonus time, I studied options to circumnavigate Pakistan - as I had failed in the critical negotiation stage of visa procurement. I had been in denial about not being able to ride through Pakistan, putting off any attempt to organise an alternative path, hoping that the adventure gods would present me with a rad adventure alternative.
That afternoon we drank beers on the roof top overlooking the Taj. I felt a bittersweet air to the drinking atmosphere as my time being a member of the raddest bike gang - twentyonehorses, was coming to an end.
On the road we were witness to a bright orange sunrise. Sadly the spectacle was a result of sunshine through the dirty pollution pumped into the air by the surprising amount of coal fired? Brick furnaces.
The roads heading towards Agra were some of the better roads we found in India. It was a shame to see the pollution in day light which ironically provided such a vivid light show hours before.
Red bricks were the secondary product of the furnaces and as such they coloured the nearby villages in shades of red.
We arrived at Agra early, at 9:00AM amongst the overloaded tractors, dodging their destructive ambles. We didn't yet have plans for the night, but next step was a photo with the bikes and our dirty selves in front of the symbolic land mark. The Taj appeared down river and as we followed our noses we came across a military armed blockade. Seeking directions, help came in abrupt shouts with accompanying hand jesters "South gate, south gate, go". Heading South, we were faced with another blockade with the same direction. Stuck in slums on the out skirts of the Taj Mahal's manicured lawns, I began to get frustrated. It wasn't the piles of rubbish or pigs or rats or the smell of raw sewage flowing in the gutters. It wasn’t even the truck that was trying to navigate the streets, having to do Austin Powers in tunnel type turns in an entertaining attempted at negotiating the impossibly tight alleyways. These things, although confronting were enjoyable, in a sense of achieving a humbling perspective on the human ability to survive and succeed. It was the attitude of fellow road users which was testing my abilities to remain calm. Driving behaviours, which had endangered our safety on numerous occasions were now frustratingly impacting my patience. Teenage kids as well as a business man piloted 2 scooters behind us, within clear vision of the oversize truck directly ahead of us they intently beeped their horns. This was not going to help the situation and as I rode slowly to a stop behind the truck a scooter pushed past me either side to edge just a bit in front creating a tight squeeze of bikes. My flame of patience now extinguished by an overwhelming flood of selfish road etiquette I pushed my bike forward bumping both scooters beeping my horn yelling " where can we even go? There is a truck right in front of us" I then just yelled "horn" repeatedly. Instantly I felt like an idiot, a big white obnoxious idiot.
Arriving at the next check point to find guards who were happy to talk, we found out that there was no way possible to take a photo of the bikes in front of the Taj. Dejected we rode a short way up the street stopping in front of a random hotel, we discussed options in the ever oppressive Indian sun. Johnny Bang was thirsty while Dan and I were both happy to have a shower, the price was right at the hotel we happened to stop in front of, so we moved on in. In my first shower in 4 days I washed an impossible amount of dirt from myself, then even more from my riding clothes.
Using my bonus time, I studied options to circumnavigate Pakistan - as I had failed in the critical negotiation stage of visa procurement. I had been in denial about not being able to ride through Pakistan, putting off any attempt to organise an alternative path, hoping that the adventure gods would present me with a rad adventure alternative.
That afternoon we drank beers on the roof top overlooking the Taj. I felt a bittersweet air to the drinking atmosphere as my time being a member of the raddest bike gang - twentyonehorses, was coming to an end.
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