Day 7: Part 3: On my way to the Taj Mahal: A B-day experience! Part III

A glass of perfectly formed small snug bubbles, in the beautiful hotel visited by Lady D and Prince Charles during their own Taj Mahal adventure, living my dream… but alone. It is always strange when you are alone on your B-day, for some reason it feels wrong. I love being alone; I enjoy a lot my own company with only the frequent sound of the voices in my head. No, I’m not squizo we all have voices in our head, shot your month and you’ll see how strong they are. But there is something about being alone on your B-day that just feels lonely. I was about to write some thoughts in my dairy when three Americans walked into the bar. About ten minutes later I just went to their table and asked them to cheer with me because it was my B-day and it wasn’t feeling like such. There is something special about finding your countrymen when you are far away from home; an immediate bound is created with people you probably wouldn’t even cross paths in your everyday life. They were a nice group of Marriot corporate suckers, who with their corporate credit cards were traveling in India for a week or so. We sat outside with the view of the  flawlessly manicured garden around the big refreshing pool, and the Taj as backdrop, constantly reminding us why we were in this ugly, unfriendly, hot and sticky town. The group grew, as the afternoon became evening. The sunset came and went, and I was gifted with another $26 dollars bubble glass. They invited me to join them for dinner, but if the bubbles were that expensive, I thought, I didn’t want to envision what the dinner bill was going to look like. By then my trip around India was planned to last a month and half, so I had to be careful with my cash flow. Little I knew then that the original plan was about to be extended into a five month life time adventure. In any case, I thanked them for the drink and the invite and took off next door to my $30 dollar hotel and its terrace’s restaurant, beautifully decorated with top of the line plastic chairs. However, we had a even better view of the Taj, and I just couldn’t get enough of it.

The Brits were up in the terrace having dinner, so I decided to join them. We had almost no light up there except for one bulb and few candles. The bulb attracted a lot of little bugs, nothing too scary, but annoying nonetheless. We had dinner, and stayed a little longer enjoying a nice cold beer, when all of the sudden something brutally crashed inside my shirt, right on my terrified boobs. Then something else joined the first one, and there came a third crash. It was like the ambulance and the police got to the crime scene faster than you can say 911. These things, whatever they were, were crawling inside my bra, and my chest. I could fell their little skinny legs tickling me as they moved from boob to boob. I immediately prayed to God, and all the hundreds of Hindu gods that partake on any Indian altar: "please Ganesha just don’t let it be cockroaches." Here I was, jumping up and down in front of my friends and the confused waiter who hopeful eyes were waiting for a reluctant and savage striptease. In a country where showing a little bit of leg can cause traffic jams and fist fights, my modesty had grown stronger faster than I could imagine, so with cockroaches or not the shirt stayed on. Like a manic, and not exactly of the floor, I ran down the stairs straight into my room. Once there I took off the shirt and the first intruder jumped out. Bra came out, and the other two followed. I was almost avoiding seeing the crawling creatures that had just taken a nice evening walk around my own Mount Everest. Oh, what a relief it was to realize that Ganisha heard my prayers even that early in the game. They were not cockroaches but crickets. “Now wait a minute, where did they go?” I couldn’t see where Jimmy Cricket and his friends had run for safety, which meant that I had three little strangers sleeping with me all night. Who knew if this perverts after having a taste of divine boobs, were going to be looking for some more of it later. That was one of the worst night sleeps I had in India, which comparing with many of my friends stories, was not bad at all. Yet, I spent the whole night in my silk bag, covered head to toes, and feeling creatures massaging my tired muscles.

Next morning, I’m glad to inform, my dramatic Agra experience ended when I jumped in the train that would take me to my next destination in Rajasthan, the home of the famous Monkey Temple, Jaipur, or better know as the Pink City because all the building in the old city were and still are pink, creating the illusion of eternal pink sunsets.