After a late breakfast, we met the driver we hired for the drive to Fatehpur Sikri. It was the longest 2 hours of my life! I’ve never felt so afraid as a passenger – it was like “playing chicken” on the open highway! Seriously, “passing” in India is not like it is here, not remotely, unless you count the fact that one car proceeds to move around and ahead of another. Therein the comparison ends. It was not unusual to have a bus or truck come around from behind a car and pass it, just as we hit the shoulder to avoid a collision. If we were lucky, we did not have to simultaneously swerve to avoid hitting a cow on said shoulder.
I doubt that I will ever understand how we didn’t witness more accidents in India. Horns are used so routinely that a constant din exists throughout the day. A honk on the horn is the signal to the driver(s) in front of you to get the hell out of your way, because you are coming through! Similarly, flashing your bright lights at oncoming cars indicates that you are also coming through, and they should be prepared to hit the shoulder if necessary.
Factor in that the concept of lanes, for the most part, is a foreign concept – literally. According to a recent survey, most drivers there have no idea what the painted lines are for – they are simply something that the British left behind.
Oh – and let’s not forget – there are no seatbelts. With as many people as there are in India, the maximum capacity of the vehicle is nearly always used, so only the driver has a seatbelt. Fitting 10 people in a car wasn’t at all that unusual.
So there we are – playing “chicken”, using horns to “pass”, rarely using turn signals, having no seatbelts – scared senseless. I think it took a while for both Ali and I to find our voices amid the fear to finally say, “Slow down! No hurry! Baby in car!” I don’t think he understood English very well - that, or he found my string of expletives amusing. I did not.
By the time we reached Fatehpur Sikri, its fate with us was pretty much sealed. We were so frazzled by the drive that we hired a “guide”, jumped on a bus, and rode the mile or so to the fortified city. While its architecture was impressive, we were not in the mood for what lay waiting for us. After hearing the repetition of several “key points” in our tour, I think it’s pretty safe to say that those facts were being pulled out of somewhere other than Wikipedia.
Nonetheless, the carving and architectural details were amazing. So was the fact that we hadn’t sent the “guide” and his “son” packing. They are lucky we were exhausted and in relatively good behavior as we were preparing to enter the enclosed Sufi temple. I nearly lost my 5-star tourist status as we were required to make a minimum 500 rupees donation just to get in – not just to get in, but to “purchase” 3 wishes to be granted. No guarantee with that? Well now, doesn’t that just chap your…I mean really, how stupid do they think we are to believe that the stiff, piece of crap fabric I just bought really was going to be made into a baby’s garment? Right. I’ve never paid any other god for 3 wishes – which translated into 3 red strings that we then tied to the screen. Where is this money really going? Oh, but wait, we did also receive a handful of marigold petals to place on the altar, too, which resembled a canopied bed. (I would gladly have given far more than 500 rupees had it been genuinely going to help poor nearby children). Ali had been telling me to calm down, that the money would go for a good cause, but by this point, her convictions were being rapidly eroded, too. We were looking at “the good cause” – two young men posing as holy men. The fact that I was being ripped-off in a temple really steamed me, a fact I relayed to them in terms I do not recall. Colorful, creative terms, I’m sure of that.
To top it off, we were led to some vendors on the way out. Vendors of carved marble items. Beautiful carved elephants, etc. Carved by his students. Carved by his grandfather. Grandfather, my ass. Beware the bargaining done by two women in a foul mood. We left with some elephants - but not without making up for the scammed 500 rupees.
I would not go back to this place, nor would I recommend it to my friends – only to those who enjoy being scammed. Even though National Geographic has it on one of its expedition itineraries, I will not be swayed. It was a rip-off.
The drive back to Agra was much more to our liking – we were not about to put up with any “chicken” driving.
While waiting for our return train, we met a group of young missionaries who were playing cards. Ali joined in while I located our president's book on display...
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