Katie Revell\’s India Blog

I forgot to mention that we visited that most classic/cliched of Indian symbols while in Delhi, the (can you guess what it is yet?) Taj Mahal. We took a day trip from Delhi to Agra, like proper tourists (I’m still in denial about my own affiliation with the T-word). The - and I shudder to say it - tour started off at Agra fort, which was a pretty impressive structure with big red sandstone ramparts housing some more delicate little palaces. Pictures will hopefully follow in the not-too-distant future.

It was then on (via a stop at a company-approved cafe) to the Taj itself, where we gritted our teeth and approached the “Foreigner” ticket desk with trepidation and “the Letter”. The Letter is something we got the Principal of the college to sign before we left, stating that we are volunteers and so, please, would [insert name of tourist attraction here] be so kind as to admit us for the “Indian” price and not the extortionate “Foreigner” one.

The phenomenon of the Foreigner price is something across which I’ve come nowhere except India, and it’s the bane of our travels. The original logic is fair enough: the (relatively) wealthy Westerners who come to India on a month-long holiday should pay more, considering exchange rates, than the Indians. However, it fails to account for those oddities like us: Westerners who are not totally rolling in it. Bearing in mind that the difference between “Indian” and “Foreigner” prices can be over Rs700 (the Taj is Rs750 for us and, if I remember correctly, about Rs20 for the Indians), this pigeonholing is more than a little irritating.

So, we handed over the letter and smiled sweetly. Man-behind-the-counter read the letter with a look of typical disinterest, handed it back, and said “Rs750″. We abandoned the smiles, replaced them with our miffed-post-letter-rejection faces, and started digging in our wallets. To soften the blow, however, we did get a free 500ml bottle of water and some attractive disposable shoe covers (to spare our delicate Foreign feet the pain of the burning-hot marble floor).

Bitter irony aside, the place itself was impressive. It’s monuments like that which are always at risk of being anticlimatic, pictures of it having been tacked on to every vaguely India-related thing since forever. However, this was not the case: it really is (well, almost) worth the hype. It’s a very beautiful building, all graceful arches and soaring domes and intricate inlay-work, set in elegantly symmetrical gardens. Our visit was rather short, having left the bus with a strict instruction to be back within the hour, but we got the requisite cheesey photos.

To cut back to the present tense, we’re now in Manali, a ten-hour hairpinned bus-ride South-east of McLeod Ganj. Whereas McLeod Ganj is perched on a ridge, Manali is in a valley. I have no desire to make anyone jealous, but, walking along the road next to the gurgling stream with the dark, snow-capped mountains rising up all around and the odd cow wandering lazily alongside, it is all rather atmospheric. We’re lucky to be staying not in Manali itself (which kind of smacks of McLeod Ganj, which in turn was a similar scene to Goa, of which I was reminded in Kochi…you get the idea). Instead, we’re staying at a place owned by yet another friend-of-a-friend, who also does treks. He lives in a small village about 8km away, and it’s lovely to be out of touristland. We may actaully move further up the valley to an even more un-touristy village where a brother-in-law (and co-member of the trekking company) has a house.

We’re also hoping (again, no hard feelings, as you sit in your office/living room with the cars going by outside/washing in the machine) to go on a trek for a few days, which would take us into even more stunning terrain. I, for one (and, I think this probably counts for both of us) am horrendously unfit and a little apprehensive about quite what I’m capable of. Watch this space to see if I return.