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My most recent adventure was a very last-minute trip to India. Two weeks before I left, I bought a plane ticket and wrangled a visa from the crazy India visa office in London. I spent a few hours one morning booking seven trains and three flights. I found hotels, packed, and made sure I wasn't forgetting anything. With all that done, I jetted off to Delhi in a comfy seat on a 747 thanks to a last-minute upgrade from BA.



Never in my life have I had to negotiate with every single solitary person I came into contact with. Never until I landed in Delhi, that is. From the Airtel pre-paid mobile phone SIM card sales guy in Indira Gandhi International Airport to the auto-rickshaw driver that took me to my train to Agra, my time in Delhi turned me into an expert negotiator. When I wasn't haggling, I had time for plenty of pleasant sightseeing, several lovely meals, and visits to vibrant, colorful markets.



I hired a taxi and hit up the main sights, including the Jama Masjid, which is the largest mosque in Asia, and the Red Fort, an impressive collection of palace and military buildings surrounded by, yep, you guessed it, a crimson-hued wall.

In Old Delhi I sat in a cycle rickshaw in traffic that could only be termed chaotic as everything from buses to tuk-tuks to taxis to elephants, cows, sheep, dogs, pigs, and people sifted past me without regard to my or my rickshaw's personal space. I was in India. There was no personal space.



I visited Raj Ghat, the memorial to Mahatma Gandhi, as well as the Gandhi Museum where the Mahatma lived and was assassinated in Delhi. Speaking of death, I went to Humayun's tomb, a Taj Mahal-esque complex, as well as India Gate and its soldier memorial. I visited the president's residence, the lotus-shaped Baha'i temple, and several markets, including the bright and bustling Dilli Haat.



I departed Delhi having absorbed both the stunning historical monuments and the frenetic, bustling energy that would propel me through the rest of my journey.



Destination #2: Agra, the Taj Mahal, and Fatehpur Sikri

The Golden Triangle, as the trio of Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur are affectionately called by the ever-enterprising tourist industry, is home to the most stunning architectural work I've ever seen. Shah Jahan's tribute to his favorite wife (and his own megalomania, to be sure) is more stunning in real life than in the most impressive photograph ever taken.

I got to the Taj Mahal just before sunrise to make sure I had the best light in which to photograph it. Fending off rickshaw drivers, camel-wielding touts, and children trying to sell me everything from Taj snow globes to Taj postcards, I bought my ticket, stood in line, and waited with baited breath to see the white marbled beauty.



My first glimpse of the Taj came through the entry gate. Even in the haze of dawn, the marble shimmered pink and yellow. It amazed me that a building dedicated to death looked so completely alive.



As the sun rose, I walked around the grounds, taking more and more photos of the Taj Mahal and exploring the oft-forgotten buildings that make up the rest of the complex.



Tearing myself away, I spent the rest of the morning driving out to Fatehpur Sikri, a whimsical former city that served as the capital for a hot minute during the reign of a capricious Mughal emperor.

The design was gorgeous, with its latticed windows and huge open spaces. I tried to ignore the tout that was giving me an unwanted tour of the place as I walked around taking pictures and trying to remember what my guidebook said about each of the buildings.



In the late afternoon I swung back through Agra to visit Agra Fort, a place that gave me a vague sense of deja-vu after the Red Fort in Delhi. This one had a view of the Taj, though, so it won for best red-colored Fort in the Golden Triangle. Even more than that, its design and detailing were stunning, and I couldn't help but think how different it was from its contemporaries in Europe.



After the fort, my driver refused to take me anywhere except a marble table top factory belonging to his "friend". I refused. He suggested a shop owned by his "cousin." While I admired his perseverance, I had no interest in being taken advantage of. I tried one last time to insist he take me to see the Baby Taj, but ended up returning to the hotel to pick up my bags and head to the train station.

One thing I learned on my trip to India is that all trains run at least one hour late, even if they are running on time when they leave the station. Somewhere along the line time seems to warp and no matter how fast the train is moving, an extra hour or two sneaks its way into the journey.

My train from Agra to Jaipur was no exception. What was supposed to be a four hour train ride ended up being a six hour train ride. The hotel's driver made sure to mention how long he had been waiting at the station when I met him at the exit. I was too exhausted to care.



The following day I took a car up to Amber Fort high on the hill above Jaipur. The fort was beautiful with its honey colored walls, brilliant mirrored pavilion, and views of Jaipur below. A Bollywood movie was being filmed there, so part of the fort that I originally thought was real turned out to be a set, complete with fake walls and silk palm trees that I had taken for the genuine article at first glance.



After exploring for awhile, I headed into the fabled Pink City (which is more orange than pink in my opinion) to visit the city palace and the Jantar Mantar, a giant astrological observatory that looked more like a contemporary sculpture garden than a set of vehicles to determine the movements of the celestial realm.



After the Jantar Mantar, I picked my way through a busy street market to get a glimpse of the Hawa Mahal, or Palace of the Winds. The title was a pretty euphemism for a five-storey building intended to let women practicing purdah (for which my unabashed, un-culturally relativistic, western, feminist definition is self-imprisonment in one's own home) see what was going on outside.



In the late afternoon and evening, I sat down to read next to the larger-than-life chess set at my hotel, which was housed in a former palace. After a leisurely dinner (one of the few on the trip that involved a glass of wine), I talked on the phone with my boyfriend, who proclaimed himself my "onshore" IT help desk. In flawless and unaccented English, he assisted me in figuring out how to use my new Indian SIM card to get data on the Blackberry he lent me for the trip. So romantic.



I fell asleep that night dreaming of hilltop forts, dazzling city palaces, and a giant Blackberry-shaped Taj Mahal. No, not really. But I did get some good sleep and woke up refreshed and ready for the next leg of my journey through India.

To be continued...