No means no

I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan of Agra. Besides the disagreeable weather (it was hot and sticky), the touts are particularly aggressive there. In most places, you can generally ignore the men who offer rickshaw rides, invitations into their trinket shops, or suggest that they be your guide into the historical site you’re about to enter – or, at any rate, you can say, “No, thanks,” and keep walking. In Agra, these same guys are rather pushy and will follow you down the street, hawking their wares or services. No matter how often you say no, they’ll just keep at it, until you finally have to resort to being rude to get them to leave you alone – and then they’ll act insulted. The moment we walked into the street, we would be followed by guys trying to give us rides on their bike rickshaws or who wanted to sell us postcards and magnets with pictures of the Taj Mahal on them. We might as well have had big neon signs over our heads that said, “We have money” – because that’s how we were being treated, as walking receptacles of money that, if the touts could just squeeze the right way, would issue rupees.

We took an auto rickshaw forty kilometers outside of Agra to see the ancient city grounds of Fatehpur Sikri. As we neared the town, two guys who were standing in the street actually stopped our rickshaw and climbed in to offer us their guide services. Danny told him no and no again, but they persisted, insisting they were genuine licensed guides and also dropping the price lower and lower. When Danny and I started to get angry, they finally got out of the rickshaw but acted like we were doing them some kind of disservice. When we finally reached the site, we found out we actually had to walk the last kilometer to the ruins – or take a second rickshaw, which seemed like just a way for the locals to make extra money off the tourists. As we headed up the road, we found ourselves being followed by a boy offering his services as a guide. We said no, but he followed us anyway. In fact, he followed us for several minutes, trying to tell us about things that we walked by, and we simply ignored him. Finally, Danny had to say again that we didn’t want a guide. The boy then asked me directly (he’d mostly been talking to Danny this whole time – I often get ignored in conversations), and I said, “No, thank you.” He got really mad then and took off in a huff.

All of this persistent and aggressive touting really put me in a sour mood, which is too bad because the ruins of Fatehpur Sikri’s old city were really cool. My favorite thing about exploring cities, especially ones with hundreds of years of history, is the ruins of palaces, forts, and other buildings. I love trying to envision what these places once looked like when they were functioning and bustling. It’s especially interesting to find bits of ancient plumbing, fading paintings, or crumbling reliefs or statues.

The old city still provides a hanging out place for the poor who live in the surrounding area. They sit around the ruined buildings or graze their goats on the overgrown shrubbery. There were several little boys who wanted to say hello and start conversations, but I was beyond being polite at that point, so I just ignored them. I felt bad about doing so, since I knew it wasn’t that big of a deal to just wave or answer a few simple questions (“where you from?”). But it was becoming rather apparent that the locals would take any opportunity to make a sale or ask for money – and it all starts with the acknowledgment of the person who is hoping to collect. Exchange simple hellos, and it’s assumed that you’re ready and willing to have further conversation, which often ends with an invitation to buy some trinkets you don’t actually want. (I did, however, smile at a small boy who was standing at the very top of a tower over our heads and was rewarded with a shuffling dance.)

As is our habit when we visit these sprawling monuments, we spent at least two hours wandering the old city and never actually made it to the main grounds of Fatehpur Sikri. It would have been nice to explore it, as it’s supposed to be one of the must-sees of India, but I didn’t mind not having to pay the Rs. 250 fee to get in. Instead, we hung out with a quartet of grazing goats, walked on the domed roofs of old buildings, and watched school children explore a tall tower studded with phallic-looking tusks jutting out from all sides.

During our 36-hour stay in Agra, we also went to check out the Agra Fort, which happened to have a resident monkey troop. Upon our arrival, I was happily surprised to see a macaque reaching into a trash can and immediately went for my camera. At the same time, a tout offered his services as a guide to Danny. When he said no and walked away, the tout muttered something about tourists who just want to take photos of dogs and monkeys. Sure, tourists want photos of dogs and monkeys – it’s not like we see this kind of thing every day at home! Furthermore, the reason we never accept guides is that they want to rush through the site, sharing information that may or may not be true (for Fatehpur Sikri, the guidebook notes that most of what is said about the ancient palace and fort is made up, since no one actually knows what many of the buildings were used for), while we just want to explore at our own pace, investigating where doors and stairways lead, and photographing monkeys for long periods of time.

Like the Taj Mahal, there are some parts of the fort which were built with white marble and inlaid with semiprecious stones. One whole section is gated off, so as to preserve it and prevent the graffiti and theft of the stones that has happened in a similar section on the opposite side.

That evening, we headed out of town on a train to Mathura. Next stop: Vrindavan.