Playing The Game

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DAY 378: Every now and then back home in the metro New York City area, my friends and I, inspired by the movie Swingers, hop in the car for a spontaneous 2 1/2-hr. road trip to Atlantic City so that we can pretend to be high rollers.  Because of the free parking (and the fact that we are not high rollers), we often end up in the parking deck of the Showboat casino and eventually walk over to the adjacent Taj Mahal, Donald Trump’s palace of green felt tabletops, shiny slot machines and a pretty good buffet.

This big casino is of course named after the hundreds of little family-owned Indian restaurants found across America, which are all named after the big building in India, arguably the architectural symbol of the country.  The real Taj Mahal is located in the city of Agra, a six-hour bus ride southeast of Delhi.  Half the “fun” was getting there.

I had booked a bus ride from the tour agency in the hotel who assured me that my Rs. 300 ($6 USD) fee would get me a nice “air-conditioned” tourist class bus, which I figured would be worth the splurge because of my leg and all.  But I discovered that “air-conditioning” simply meant a fan mounted on the wall and tourist class simply meant a beat-up old bus where some of the seats were coming off their hinges.  I was the only foreigner on the bus amidst a crowd of Indians, mostly families all legitimately going to the Taj as tourists on a day trip that would return them to Delhi late that night. 

On the way to the bus I met an Englishman who had done the trip to Agra the day before as a day trip.  He told me that the bus dropped him and his friend off i the center of town with the excuse that “there’s too much traffic” and told them to proceed via auto-rickshaw—and that auto-rickshaw ended up taking them to a bunch of stores they didn’t want to go to (in addition to the Taj Mahal and the Agra Fort).  A girl we met said that they tried to pull the same scam on her, but she stayed on the bus—there really was too much traffic and as a result her time at the main attractions was rushed and she didn’t arrive back in Delhi until two the following morning.

SIX HOURS LATER we were in the center of Agra, out of site from the Taj Mahal when the scam started while the bus was still in motion.  The “conductor” got me though, using the excuse that since I’m not a day tripper and needed to find a hotel, I’d better get off now and take a auto-rickshaw, “paid for by the bus company” of course, who would bring me to the sights after I settled in.  I really had no choice because the bus stopped just for me, holding everyone else up, until I got off with my bag.  I was led to an auto-rickshaw guy named Nati who “worked with the bus company.” I told him to take me to the Shah Jahan Hotel recommended in my book, but (as expected), he started up with the “I know a better hotel” thing.

“No, let’s just go to the place I know.  I have a reservation, I sent an e-mail.”

He caught me on my bluff.  “There’s no computer there.” He urged me to go to the other hotel to at least check it out, because “looking is free.” The place was mediocre, even worse because it was in the middle of nowhere, requiring me to be dependent on his auto-rickshaw services for my entire stay in Agra.  I demanded we go to my hotel, which was just down the block from the Taj Mahal’s south gate.

After pulling teeth, I checked into my hotel, which wasn’t much of an improvement since it was just as shabby, but it was all about location, location, location—plus the roof had an obscure view of the Taj Mahal and the ghetto below.  I thought the game was over with Nati, but he kept on urging that he must take me around to see the sights because I paid for it already.  I argued and argued that I was “too tired” and what not, but he was persistent and then pulled out the guilt card—he wouldn’t get paid unless the company knew that I had made it to all the sights.  The hotel manager concurred. 

“Fine.  Let’s say three thirty.”

IN THE INTERIM, I went wandering around the Taj Ganj area just south of the Taj Mahal.  It was a small area with a couple of restaurants and guesthouses—nothing big like in Delhi—and I eventually just walked to the south gate for my entrance into the world-famous Taj Mahal.

Now I’d been on the road for over a year and was totally jaded on seeing new sights, but my Let’s Go had it right when it said “even the most jaded of globe-trotters often find themselves smiling in wonder as they behold the Taj.” Despite the fact that the classic view of the Taj was obstructed with the bodies of the thousands of tourists (picture above) trying to get the same shot, the splendor of the real Taj Mahal was worth all the hype, even if there were no slot machines.  This Taj Mahal was constructed in 1632 by order of Mughal emperor Shah Jahan not for gambling and comp cocktails, but as the tomb of his favorite wife, Argumand Banu Begum, who died giving birth to their 14th child.  He loved her so dearly that only the most beautiful resting place for her would do, and so with the help of Persian architects, French and Italian craftsmen, 20,000 laborers and a whole bunch of marble, construction began.  The construction went non-stop 24/7 until it was completed, which was probably due to the fact that like the Atlantic City casino of the same name, there were no clocks inside to signal when it was time to go. 

I wandered the palace grounds, in and around the palace itself—as big as it was, it was still small that I imagined it for some reason.  Barefooted (a requirement) I walked passing the mosque to the west and the Jawab building to the east, with its archways that framed the main palace nicely. 

IT WAS ALMOST THREE THIRTY when I got back to my hotel and Nati was there waiting for me already.  “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“Let’s go to the fort.”

“You’re the boss.”

I was talking about the other big must-see in Agra, the Agra Fort, constructed under order of General Akbar in 1565 as a military garrison and residence for the emperor.  Nati tried to convince me that the fort was the same as it was in Delhi so that I might not skip it—so that I could most likely go to stores he wanted to take me to.  Actually, on the way to the fort, we stopped somewhere against my wishes, at the “travel agency” were I should “book [my] bus ticket” for the next day before it gets full.  The guy there was most interested in having a drink (most likely tainted) with Nati and me than making a bus ticket sale.  I declined with the excuse that I was undecided where I’d go after Agra.

The Agra Fort was in fact similar to the Red Fort in Delhi, with its red ramparts (looking out to the Yamuna River), Diwani-I-Am (Hall of Public Audience), palaces, hallways, courtyards and gardens, all fit for an emperor and an army of tourists.  I wandered around pretty jaded (it was no Taj Mahal after all) and then went outside for the inevitable continuation of the game with Nati.

“I’m tired,” I told him.  “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“I will bring you to a market.”

“I don’t want to go to a market.  Please, let’s just go to the hotel.”

He tried to tell me that the market had many nice things, from pashima shawl to silk scarves, etc.  “It’s okay, I won’t buy anything.  I have no room.”

This went back and forth, the way the games with auto-rickshaw drivers do, until Nati came out and laid his cards out for me.  “I won’t get paid unless I bring you.  You don’t have to buy anything, just look.  Looking is free.  And they give me money.”

Suddenly I was on the other side, finally hearing the side of the rickshaw driver rather than stupid excuses to bring me places I don’t want with no motive.  “So you get a commission even if I don’t buy anything.”

“[Yes.  More if you buy something, but I still get something if you don’t.]”

For some reason I felt relieved that it was no longer a game anymore and he was honest about it.  I told him I’d help him out by going to the places with him so he could make some money for his livelihood—I had no other plans for the day anyway.

“Promise?” he asked, extending his hand for a shake.

“Yes,” I said shaking it.  “I promise I will not buy anything.”

And so, we went from a big craft store to a textile store to a marble factory/store, as two hustlers going around.  I went in as the “tourist” pretending to be interested in stuff, just so Nati could get the payout for bringing me there. 

“Did you get the commission?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

The last place we went was a big fancy everything-in-one place shop.  “They are slow with the money here,” Nati told me, the old scamming pro.  “Please stay 25-30 minutes.”

“Okay.”

I played the scamster, leading the salesman around to every room in the big place, pretending I was interested in this and that, always with the excuse that something was off about it, or I didn’t like the color, etc.  I managed to kill the 25 minutes for Nati and got out of there.

“You are my brother!” Nati said.  Again he tried to invite me for a drink with him and “his boss,” but I wasn’t about to fall for that and just had him bring me to the hotel in the Taj Mahal area.  It was dark by that time and the streets were lit up for the people to walk around—except for the half hour blackout that made everything go dark.  For dinner I went to the Shankara Vegis restaurant (for obvious reasons to the Indiana Jones fan), a place with the best lassis I’d had in India so far (with chunks of coconut!) and a really good special thali, or Indian buffet, of different spicy stews and bread served on a silver platter. 

There weren’t many other travelers to chat with so I chat with friend and Blogreader Rozzie on-line, the only one on AOL Instant Messenger on a Sunday morning back on the North American seaboard that I knew.  I told her about how I had become part of the scammer side of things instead of being the scammee, but she pointed out that unless Nati split the commissions with me, I was just used to get money and therefore, scammed even more.  Oh yeah, I never thought of it that way.  I was just excited that I was in the loop.

Point taken, I told her.  And so, just like many a time leaving the Taj Mahal casino in Atlantic City, I came away not as a big winner after all—but least there was a pretty good buffet.


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This blog entry about the events of Sunday, October 31, 2004 was originally posted on November 02, 2004 on the blog, "The Global Trip 2004: Sixteen Months Around The World (Or Until Money Runs Out, Whichever Comes First)," hosted by BootsnAll.com. It is one of over 500 entries that chronicled a trip around the world from October 2003 to March 2005, encompassing travel through thirty-seven countries in North America, South America, Africa, Europe, and Asia. It was this blog that "started it all," where Erik evolved and honed his style of travel blogging. (It starts to come into focus around the time he arrives in Africa.)

Praised and recommended by USA Today, RickSteves.com, and readers of BootsnAll and Lonely Planet's Thorn Tree, The Global Trip blog was selected by the editors of PC Magazine for the "Top 100 Sites You Didn't Know You Couldn't Live Without" (in the travel category) in 2005.





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