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2003-04-28/29 - Agra -> Fatehpur Sikri (Day 13-14)

Getting up at 9:00, I am reminded of how much I hate my sleep being broken in the early morning by blaring horns in the last couple of hours of rest. Hard to believe anyone is able to get any REM sleep, but I guess that's simply because the local day begins at 5:30am and I am messing with the whole system to try to sleep to 8:00 or 9:00am. I manage to get up and packed and it still takes about 30 minutes to get packed. It is already hot at 9:30 and the hotel manager informs me of what I should have already known - "you should have left earlier, now it is too hot!"

Last night I had programmed the GPS to visit the two geocache sites in the area and then take a quick picture of me and the bike from behind the Taj. Seeing as its already getting so hot, I decide to skip the Geocache sites, and get right to the Taj with the intention of getting out of town and on the road as quickly as possible. I was sure I knew the way to the back of the Taj after paying attention to the rickshaw route the day before, but when I ended up on the wrong side of the Agra Fort things got considerably harrier then I would have liked. The GPS was set to go to the Geocache sites, which were in the wrong direction, so I switched it to the local map and tried to use that to navigate by. Since I knew the general direction, I thought it would be fine, well that was just the first of many miscalculations that day.

I ended up in the middle of the market city of Agra which since it was clearly the start of another normal day was packed with children going to school, women going to marker for the days essentials and all manner of the rest of humanity in carts, motorcycles, rickshaws and TukTuk's crowding was would generously be called a two lane path. Already feeling uneasy about the bike due to the shakiness of the steering at low speed, going through these paths terrified me. To add to the situation, thinking I was getting right out on the road, I had stuck my money pouch with credit cards, passport and cash in my backpack, which was now tied on the back of the bike. That would have been fine on the open road but in a crowded marketplace was the first place some street urchin with quick hands or a knife would go for. As the bike is so heavy and I have to fully concentrate on the mess in front of me, the pack and camera bag are wide open for pilfering. That was just the first time that day I was berating myself for being totally incompetent and not prepared for this trip. Obviously I am just tempting the gods with such a mistake. It takes more then 30 minutes to finally make it through the market and out onto larger roads. The GPS is still pointing the wrong way so I'm taking my chances with the digital map trying to plot a way to the #11 road that I am supposed to be on.

I manage to get on the road the GPS says is #11 and as I've gone so far past the Geocache sites its auto reset to the next destination of Fatehpur Sikri. Unfortunately, the two aren't matching. While the map says I am on road #11, the navigation says the route is a couple of km to the North. As I don't see any other roads in that direction I stay on the road I'm on and push ahead. Once I am out of Agra the traffic thins and with the breeze blowing on me my spirits have returned a bit. The countryside is beautiful in its desert bleakness but it is attractive to ride though.

Seeing some children playing by a pump, I remind myself that the primary goal for this year is photography and turn the bike around to go get some pictures of them. I get back, unpack the camera only to find they are gone already and I have missed the opportunity. I repack the camera thinking I will have to pack for faster access if I plan to get any shots along the road and kick-start the bike. Nothing happens. This is becoming the norm for starting this bike so I continue kicking. Ten minutes goes by and nothing happens. It is now almost noon and the heat has really set in. The bike is in the open so just these few minutes have not only tired me out but have soaked me in sweat. A young man comes along and asks if I need some help, to which I mention that the bike will not start. He wants to give it a go and I'm more then willing to let him so he kicks for a while. Unfortunately, while good hearted, he doesn't know much about this bike and can not get his mind around the need to decompress it to the right position before kicking. He goes on for a bit and wants to pull the spark plug out. I tell him the plug is new and shouldn't have any problem. Now I am becoming convinced then when I filled up the bike just out of Agra, I probably put the wrong kind of gas, probably diesel in the tank since I couldn't read the different kinds of gas and that has fouled the engine. I suggest that we dump the full tank of gas that is in there and put some new gas in. Giving him my water bottle and 100 rupees I ask him to go to the nearest petrol stop and buy some gas. He finally returns after about 20 minutes of sitting in the blistering sun. By this time I have pulled out the tools and started to undo the gas tank when he returns but insists on giving it a couple of kicks. As these things happen, the bike did start after a couple of kicks and I tell him he's smarter then me and put the tools away as the bike is idling. The tools away, backs repacked on, I climb on the bike and with amazingly nasty timing, it dies and refuses to be kicked up again. Since I had figured I was wrong about the gas I'd given him the water bottle of petrol for his scooter and he'd dumped it in, now I'm thinking that was way to hasty. In probably our only act of intelligence, we push the bike under a tree so we are out of the sun and start scratching our heads again as to what to do. I pull out the plug removal tool and we pull out the spark plug. It is very black and I assume we have fouled it, though I am still wondering if it's the wrong gas and what diesel would have done to the plug. I do have two new plugs in the spare parts so I pull one out and we put that in. Still nothing. We pull off the gas filter and let the gas go directly into the carb and still that does not seem to do anything to help. Of course, by this time we have acquired quite a crowd, all giving advice and suggestions except for three little urchins, who keep hanging around my packs, which doesn't leave me feeling very easy. After another hour of no progress, the local mechanic happens to pass by and the crowd calls him over. As generally happens in this sort of case, upon arrival of the doctor, the bike shows no signs of any ailment, the mechanic kicks it twice and it roars to life. Lovely, just lovely. I repack the tools and parts, my packs and climb on before I have a repeat of the same situation again. Turning on the GPS of course causes all to gather about and it clearly has been the device which most intrigues most people on how I can have a map attached to the handlebars in such a small package.

I travel on with the road getting smaller and much worse, eventually turning into simply a continuous series of gravel potholes. I have still not been able to reconcile the GPS map telling me I am on the right path with the navigation function telling me I am 2 km off course. Coming down to Agra I was amazed at how it was right on but now I don't know what to believe. I continue on going only about 20km / hr due to the bumps, which get so bad at one point, my camera bag flies off the bike and lands on its top. Lovely I think, I have been in India only 2 weeks and I have already broken my camera which is my main reason for coming. I don't dare look at this point to see if there is any damage and simply push on.

After another hour in the heat I finally understand why the navigation is off, the country path, which is what my road has become, meets the major road which is obviously the real #11, and I pull out onto a good double lane blacktop. Fatehpur Sikri is only a few more kilometers and I sit back for the last part of the ride, which except for the heat is quite comfortable.

The walled city is visible quite a ways off and I am quite excited about what looks to be coming. I was warned about the hawkers and as soon as I pull into the main path up to the monument, they come running out at the bike. Lonely Planet did not say exactly where the recommended guesthouses were located and I am trying to spot them and hoping for a sign to find my way. I manage to take a wrong turn, end up in a market but turning around I find the sign for the place Lonely Planet says is the best of what is available. Unfortunately when I reach there, I see a set of steps going down to the guesthouse, which means that I would be leaving the bike at the top of the hill. Several touts had already come out and they are telling me I can leave the bike there but somehow that just doesn't seem like such a great idea. I agree to let the tout pushing me to come to his place next-door, show me a room when he tells me I can put the bike inside at his place. I check the room and it doesn't seem too bad and agree to give the place a go. After dropping off the bags, I head to the restaurant as I am completely parched and still have not eaten. The ride that was only supposed to have taken an hour has taken five and I am exhausted. They bring out 7-Up, water and food and I start to slowly get my good humor back again.

One of the guys that led me in comes and sits at my table and asks the basic information of where I'm from, etc. He also asked if I was a professional photographer, which caught me off guard but when I raised my eyebrows, he said that he saw my tripod on the way in. I tell him no, it is just a hobby. To my delight, he tells me he used to be a press-photographer and knows all the best sites as well as being a guide. I am thinking this is a wonderful find for me as the city clearly has wonderful photographic opportunity and with a guide who understands photography, I could really make something of this stop.

Arman, the photographer, takes me on a tour of the mosque and gate, which really are stunning. As the light was bad and already thinking I will spend some time here, I don't take any pictures assuming I would be back in the morning to watch the sunrise late up the site. We have a wonderful tour and he tells me that there is still sometime before sunset, which would have some nice places for photography and I should just go back to the hotel to rest. We go back but I stop to take a look at their little shops. I ask if he plays chess noting the hand carved sets and he says no, but he plays backgammon but only for cold drinks, no money. We played a challenging and close couple of hours of backgammon with it finally ending with my owing him a couple of drinks.

After the games, he pulled out a photo album and said he wanted to show me some of his pictures. I offered to go get mine (which I have on the notebook) and he was also quite interested. We sat for the next hour looking through his 5 photo albums and my photo site and trading stories of some of the local places to shoot. We were cut off by a power outage, which left us in the dark. The power outages being a daily occurrence everywhere I have been in India I am wondering how will it be possible for this country to prosper when this basic necessity of a modern society is so unreliable.

After an hour its back on and I go up the restaurant for dinner. Even though I still do not have a normal appetite, I order and sit down for a meal. While things are being prepared, the small rat-ish man I originally took for a tout, but seems to be the hotel and restaurant manager, comes and says I can change money now, which I had requested to do earlier. After talking to his boss and finding I'm not going to get a very good rate here, but still being out of Rupees, I go back to the room where I had left the money pouch. While I was in the room, there is a knock at the door and the rat man has come down. I tell him I will be just a min and close the door to go get the pouch and change my shoes. I turn back to see that he has opened the door a crack and is peering in watching me. Not feeling very good about this, I go out and change money, though at the end I am asked about "and my tip sir?" This is becoming a custom with almost everyone asking for a tip and I pull out 20 rupees and give it to him. He cocks his head is obviously is not very pleased with the amount leaving me with the second uncomfortable feeling I have gotten from him.

I go back and finish dinner which takes quite a while as the last dish takes more then 45 mins after all the other dishes to show up. Arman is sitting with me the whole time and is making some small talk over dinner. I decide to call it a night and we agree to meet in the morning. Once back in my room, I close up the doors and windows and prepare to catch up on the evenings' accounting of expenses. The window into the room opens a crack and while I couldn't see anyone there, I again get a very uneasy feeling. I take pains to close up all the windows and doors, but still something isn't sitting well with me and I have a very uneasy feeling that I just can't place. The rat-man comes back in a bit and asks if I want to take a picture from the roof but I decline as that uneasiness is really setting in.

In the room I'm thinking just how vulnerable I really am. If I stay at this hotel, the hotel is likely to make its US$ 3.50 / night for the room and a few dollars a day for food from me. However, they already know I have at least a bit of cash on me from changing the money and have seen both my camera and notebook as part of going up to the monument and exchanging photo albums. I am just realizing how off balance the scales are, with my worth to them a few dollars alive, but several thousand dollars were I to disappear.

Sure that I am just letting my imagination run away with me, I climb into bed thinking my worries will all seem silly in the morning. At 2:00am, I am awakened by a simply horrible stomach ache. My stomach has become bloated and I feel simply horrible. Lonely planet had made a special note of mentioning that in Agra and vicinity, there had been a particularly nasty scam in that tourists were poisoned in order to make a commission on the medical fees. While they had said that places mentioned in the book had not had any complaints about this sort of thing, I am now taking that uneasy feeling very seriously.

No matter what the cause of the stomach pain, I decide its better I get out of there now and hurriedly pack my things. Wobbling under the weight of the packs and already feeling a little delirious, I get my things out to the motorcycle. There is an old man in the driveway, apparently, he's been asked to sleep next to my bike to keep watch over it (or over me) and I wake him up as I am putting the bags on the bike. I have a hard time turning the bike around so that it is facing out and I'm barely able to hold it up with the cramps and the dizziness.

I get it turned around, now almost in a panic as the cramps, sweats and dizziness is becoming much worse, and try to get the bike started. I kick it a few times and it is the same story all over again, the devil bike refuses to start. Swearing at myself for undertaking this horrible trip at all, I continue and manage to get it to cough a couple of times, which brings the manager down with a scowl on his face. This makes me even more frightened but I finally manage to kick the bike to life. I have to have them help me push it off the stand once it get started as I'm too weak, and as soon as its off the stand the bike falls over on top of me as I am unable to hold it up. I jump back up off the pavement and the bike surprisingly is still idling and partially held up by the side bags and the front crash guard. I get the bike up, and madly pull out of the hotel, and start going down the hill.

I am in a horrible sweat and the cramps are getting worse as I drive through the darkness, unable to see through the sweat and dizzyness. I head towards the large hotel complex I remember at the bottom of the hill. Frantically honking the horn, I wake the hotel staff who let me in. Obviously a sight, I demand a room, "Rigth Now!" With truly horrible timing the night staff spends a good 10 minutes fumbling with keys before he manages to get the door open where I run to the bathroom after bolting it and dropping my things on the floor. I barely make it in the bathroom when what can only be described as "projectile diarrhea" starts with liquid and feces literally jutting like a jet out of my body. Through the night I am constantly getting up and running into the bathroom, still in full sweat and somewhat delirious. Early in the morning, it reaches a peak which ends with my being collapsed on the bathroom floor with sewage coming out of both ends at the same time and me being too tired to move.

Sleeping through the day, awaked a number of times by the dreams brought on by the sweats and delirium I am constantly questioning is there any point in going on with this trip, and working out how to get out of India as quickly as possible. By late afternoon, I am finally strong enough to get up and as the manager for a bottle of water and in the evening ask for some soup and tea. He asks if I am feeling any better as I sit outside the room looking over the courtyard. I explain what happened and he agrees that I probably was poisoned and that those hotels at the base of the monument have a reputation for doing such things.

Again grateful I have brought movies on this trip; I watch "City of Angels" to try to help erase the feeling that the world is such an awful place and this trip was a stupid thing to attempt. However, the question is there and still is unanswered, do I really want to continue if it is going to be like this?

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