So there's this big, white thing.

Hello everyone, I am writing this entry from a small internet cafe by the Taj Mahal. It makes sense then I think to start there. I got up early yesterday to watch the sunrise over the Taj, an event that by reputation is one of the worlds most beautiful sunrises, and that's a pretty tough category, perhaps only less competitive than the worst teeth in Delhi. Have you heard the stories that surround this legendary event? The glowing red marble? The explosion of light that seems to set the river on fire with the passion of a thousand suns?

Well apparently I'm here at the wrong time of year. I have to come back in December if I want to see that. Great. In the hazy month of October, it was adequate, a few more hours sleep would have been preferable I grumped. Apparently that is a word, so yes I grumped in the raging mediocrity of an enormous anti-climax. Ah well, there I was in Agra at six in the morning, having hired a rickshaw for the day, a decision that it turned out I would regret hugely. May as well go see the Taj.

Kipling called it, "a tear drop on the face of eternity." Shah Jahal said it was "the embodiment of everything good and pure in the world." How then shall I best purvey this wonder of human ingenuity? This powerful testament to one mans grief and love, and 22 years of sweat and blood. What words can I use to weave you a picture that will capture but a fraction of it's magnificence?

Well it's really big. Also white. Really white. Ummm.... Actually it wasn't as big as I thought it was going to be. You see for weeks now all I have heard when I say, "I'm going to go see the Taj," is "Ah wow, it's bigger than you think." Every time I heard that it grew a little in my head, swelling into something beyond all plausibility, the top resting somewhere in the Stratosphere. It's not that big, but it is pretty big. And white. Really white. Fuck it, you go there!

You have to take you shoes off in the actual Mausoleum, something which I was a bit worried about. My trainers are old, battered and too big for anyone around here, but considerations like logic won't stop thieves round here, who's kleptomania borders begs belief. Fortunately I step in an enormous Camel poo on the way in, which I think may just make my shoes unappealing enough to be left alone. Like a big pooey padlock. Lots of guides are waving badges in my face, as if a piece of laminated card is the greatest hallmark of knowledge and honesty in the known universe.

I wandered around the gardens, which was an unspeakably serene experience, although I did take a cheeky piss in a bush because after the extortionate entry fee I'm sure as hell not giving these robbing bastards any more money to pee!

I spend most of my time here in the Mosque just to the side of the main tower. It is from here, looking out at the Taj from an archway I finally start to get what everyone's on about, and experience something known as awe. It truly is a beautiful building, and worth every penny of the entry fee. India is full of endless forts, palaces and temples, and after seeing a few I had become fairly bored, preferring simpler, less historical based pursuits, but the Taj is amazing- you just can't stop looking at it! All this over a girl- he was obviously an idealist champion like me!

My musing is interrupted only by some old nutter with a whistle, who I assume is employed by the Taj, who's job it is to run around and blow a whistle at people in the mosque. I talk to him briefly and he insists I take a picture of him, however his interest in me is fleeting as some Indian guys start washing in one of the fountains and he and his whistle go ape shit, much to my amusement.

I have trouble leaving the building as a delegation from the Commonwealth games arrives and they close the gate! I have one of my favourite chats of all time with an Indian chap near the exit, who is I think one of the few genuine instances of someone wanting to just practice their English, as opposed to the fuckers who tell you that then try and sell you a carpet. Here's a sample-

Him: Hello
Tim: Hi
H: My Name is Raj, how are you.
T: I'm good mate, and yourself?
H: I am fine thank you (long pause) What are your hobbies?

I ended up saying football and writing, suddenly feeling I was in a GCSE French lesson. Except in English and I wasn't scared shitless that Madame Vaughn was about to rip my balls off. I eventually find a side exit and get out of the Taj

Now if you take one thing from this blog, please let it be this- NEVER HIRE A RICKSHAW FOR THE DAY!! After the Taj, yesterday was a constant battle to go where I wanted to go and not where he wanted me to go! A battle which I won, but nevertheless was an exhausting experience. Constantly asserting I was not going shopping and was going to the bear sanctuary took most of my energy and in the midday sun that was running at a premium!

I know these guys get commission for taking westerners to certain shops, and I'm not particularly annoyed with the guy, but bloody hell he was persistent. It's hard not to resent the treatment you get from Rickshaw wallahs. Essentially you just have to remember that they're just trying to make some money, and you've just got to be firm! He tried to ply a bit more money out of me at the end, even crying, at which point a gave him another hundred just to piss off. My empathy has limits!

So yes I went to a bear sanctuary that rescues dancing bears, which was fun, although a mission to get to. A sloth bear licked my hand. Check it out if you like- Wildlife SOS agra. After that I went to lie down in the hotel- 45 minutes each way in a rickshaw is draining enough as it is, without the war of wills taking place inside! The driver waiting outside sent hotel staff after me, cue conversations like this-
"Your driver says he is taking you shopping now."
"I'm chilling out mate, you understand?"
"(smiles) I understand,"
"Okay. Make him fucking understand!"

I avoid the shops in the end and am able to have a nice beer watching the sun set over the Taj in a roof top terrace in the Taj Gal. Rooftop terraces are becoming something of a new love for me here. Away from the insanity of the street, these act as a kind of Oasis in the mayhem, and I'm starting to look out for them constantly.

I ate dinner with a guy called Jonny who introduces me to Talhi, a delicious plateau of curried veg, rice and.., some other stuff, that costs 25 ruppees. The best meal for under 50p I have ever had! I think Thali and I will become very good friends over the next few weeks. Jonny's also going to Valerasi on a different train so we decide to link up- wow, I made a friend!

Sorry, sidetracked. I just took a piss in the most pointless urinal ever- I started to go then wondered what the splattering on the floor was- turns out its not plumed in and it all just spills out onto the floor, and my shoes a bit. Why not just piss on the floor! Mental.

Today was a much more chilled experience. Two Swedish girls I met last night in my hostel, along with a coach load of suitably inebriated English people, have a day to kill as well and seem to like my plan- find a place with a pool and chill for the day, and not hire another bastard rickshaw, or go see another fort!

Eventually we find one, and it turns out they're very good company. Jonny and I can scarcely believe our luck, as we cavort around in a massive pool belonging to a much nicer hotel than ours, with two very attractive Swedes! I'd like my lad points sent over first class please.

Everyone here seems to be wearing those cool, baggy indian trouser and shirt combos- I think I need to get involved, feel a little fresh (or whatever the opposite of that is,) though I'm a little fearful of becoming a walking cli-chez! They do look comfy though.... So now I'm waiting for a night train to Valerasi, or as it is nicknamed by some "very nasty." Great! Opinion seems very divided, I'll let you know what I make of it in my usual fatuous verse in a few days.

If I die, build me a massive, marble mausoleum and entomb me there, or I'll come back and haunt you. I'll leave you with the most homo-erotic sports writing I have ever read, courtesy of the Indian Times that appears in my hostel every morning.

"Talk about tough guys, well you are going to get them in bucketloads here. Chiselled and tattooed with sweat sinuously swirling down the meaty curves of their powerful bodies." Chis Wow.