Orchha took my beard

First things first, I've got a moustache. A thin, slightly anaemic-looking moustache, but it's a moustache all the same and no-one can say it isn't. Dad, Uncle Pete, Pete Price, you have all been through this silly and embarrassing phase (Dad for twenty five years...) and I'm sure I'll get over it but, I have to say, I can see how the things might be addictive. Already I'm not sure my sensitive upper lip could face this cruel and bruising world without its tufty armour.

On a slightly less grand note, this Sunday Dixie and I faced down the wonder that is the Taj Mahal. It fully lives up to expectations, even with one thousand-or-so tourists scrabbling around in the dust at its feet. We went at six in the morning so we could catch the sunrise, and it effortlessly overcame the fumbling attentions of our entirely irrelevant guide, a portly chap with English so broken that one of the few phrases we could pick out was the catchy but baffling line 'Only you can have balls'. In the morning mist it loomed like something from the void, its ashen arms thrown upwards, until dawn when it assumed a slight cherubic glimmer. Even then, however, it looked like a ghost among the clouds, and all our pics really can't do justice to its solidity, its thereness - through the medium of a camera it just sort of disappears. The President of Saudi Arabia was visiting, so at noon we had to vacate the premises - and I managed to get an excellent shot from the end of the garden with only three people on the monument. If you'd seen the crowds, you'd realise how improbable this is.

A timely juncture, I think, to deliver my verdict on the Agra Tourist Board: leeches. Corruption, apparently, is rife, and everything in the place is geared towards exacting spectacular amounts from we foreign Taj pilgrims. It cost us a sad 750 Rs. apiece to enter the monument - a price we were willing to pay though it has skyrocketed from the 15 Rs. charged not 5 years ago. We determined to remain all day and bought some biscuits and drinks to take inside. Alas, no eatables were allowed to share the experience (and no cards either! is it sacrilege to play in front of the Taj?) - another new development since as recently as last year - the RG makes no mention of it and positively wills you to spend a whole day watching the light change over the mausoleum's gleaming surfaces. The implications of this are that if Jeff Tourist desires to a) spend a whole day there and b) survive without eating his own arms, then he must pay the entry fee not once but twice - each ticket allows for one entry only. Luckily, an old softy guard let us out to scramble a quick breakfast at 9am, on the condition that we were back within half an hour. Ho hum.

Our impressions of the district tourist office took a further turn for the worse when we decided to detour to the Agra Fort, shortly after being booted out to make way for His Excellency. The Taj ticket promised entry to the fort on the same day, so hopefully we clattered over towards its South Gate, propelled by a sick cycle-wallah and his ten year-old son, who jumped off the back to push on the uphill sections. Alas, our faith in human nature was unfounded - it turns out that the ticket only allowed a 50 Rupee discount on the 250 Rs ticket. Luckily we made it back to the Taj as night fell, bribing our way in with a small baksheesh. Shrouded in darkness, the outline of the tomb was still visible, still staggering. Silently, yawningly it awaited the coming of another day.

Quick question: did you know the Taj Mahal looks the same from all four directions? I always assumed it had a front, but symmetry is the key throughout the complex. No doubt there's a book about the proper significance of this, but I'll never have time to read it.

The following morning we blew Agra and boarded a bus to Fatehpur Sikri. After the hubbub of bribetropolis, this place was a revelation. Lovely guesthouse, sunny courtyard, fresh lemon-sodas all round. On Monday evening we scaled the hill to the Fatehpur mosque and were treated to a free tour by a charming inmate of the school inside the walls. Deepak was a true gent and told us everything we needed to know and, cheered, Dixie and I happily chatted away the evening by a campfire inside the walls of the Gurvedhan Hotel. As night fell we received a knock on the door of our room and were invited out to play guitar and sing around fires with some Italian guests. Unfortunately, the Indians' requests for Ricky Martin fell on deaf ears. As we were getting up to turn in, one of them knocked the whole fire and its stand over onto my guitar, producing a striking chord and much kerfuffle. I'm quite impressed that my axe managed to withstand the sabotage attempt, but the case didn't fare so well and has several holes burnt in it. I have a lasting image of an Indian chap winging my 'Givson' around the clearing in an attempt to evict the last few embers glowing inside.

In the morning, after a lateish start, we climbed the hill again to witness Akbar the Great's marvellous, bizarre city. A purpose-built complex combining, with a spirit of enlightenment entirely unexpected of a Moghul emperor with a name like that, elements of Hindu, Christian, Jain and Muslim architecture and design. Perhaps, because he had a wife from three of the world's major religions, the poor bloke just wanted a quiet life. Our guide this time was Aniss, was also very good, personal slurs aside (he told me he didn't like my beard). With understated precision he led us around a city that was only inhabited for 14 years, before it became clear that there wasn't enough water to finance the dream, and Akbar transferred the court to Agra.

In the early afternoon we departed, war-torn instrument in tow, and by that evening were residing grumpily in what is easily the worst hotel in the world. This was in Gwalior, our jumping-off point for Madhya Pradesh, a region in northern India. On the way, we were fortunate enough to encounter one Santosh Kumar and his family, who, among many gestures of friendship, protected us from a bumper crop of commuters as we attempted to dismount the train from Agra. Throughout the entire journey serviceman Santosh was generous and inquisitive, first plying us with Indian sweets and then with handfuls of a small local nut called chenna, which, he confided, the Indians eat 'to pass the time' on these long rail voyages. The nuts require shelling, and perhaps my favourite moment of the trip so far occurred when Santosh's mother shuffled forward to present Dixie with a handful already-peeled, before backing away to her seat with a big smile and a nod. She didn't speak any English, and we barely any Hindi, but there are other languages.

Gwalior, then, was a nightmare, and I'd really rather not depress myself by talking about it too much. Suffice to say that the Midway Hotel offered the grubbiest, most overpriced rooms in the northern hemisphere - there were weddings in town, and the city was booked up. The one ray of light in the entire escapade was our meal at the Kwality Restaurant, a chain operating throughout the subcontinent. This morning, following a short call to confirm accommodation, we were on our way.

Train to Jhansi, rickshaw to Orchha. The name literally means "hidden place", and if first impressions are anything to go by, it's a winner. Hotel Fortview lies plum in the centre of town, and backs onto the river where at any time of the day or night you can pick your way past the card-playing owners to catch a glimpse of a huge, eccentric fort. Apparently, the ruling dynasty were contemporaries of Akbar, the Alexander of India, but were granted peace when the head of the family showed up at the emperor's pad extravagantly sporting a banned symbol, thus earning his respect.

It is in Orchha that, this evening, beard became moustache. I finally succumbed to the predatory gazes of the barbers and went for a shave Indian-style, flip-handled razor and all. The experience/ordeal involved being sprayed in the eyes with water, cuffed on the nose and flagrantly slapped about. Approximately twenty minutes later I emerged, with the dazed impression that I had been run over by a shoal of fish.

Tomorrow we see Orchha. I strongly suspect that we may stay here for about a week. For the coming month our plans include tiger-spotting, elephant-riding and a week-long meditation course, so we think we need a few days to gather ourselves.

That's all for now, pics to follow. Thanks for reading!