Dicing with death in Agra’s afternoon traffic our tuktuk driver was getting frustrated and aggressive, laying on his horn more or less continuously. Beeeeep beeeeep beeeeep beep beep is his prefered signature honk and that tattoo, with subtle variations, is repeated by hundreds of vehicles in this tangled town.
Every bazaar has a table loaded with replacement horns. Of course some are upgrading to programmed horns that play bits of songs. Have mercy on us.
We’re heading toward the mammoth hulking Agra Fort. A real beast of a fort, although we’re told that there’s also a palace inside. The fort grounds are roughly a mile and a half in circumference, crescent shaped and surrounded by a moat. The walls rise 70 feet from the entrance. Akbar started the fort in 1565 and periodically lived there.
The white marble palace within the fort is a marked contrast to the red walls that protect it. It’s certainly not as finely detailed as the Taj Mahal (and not as well kept) but it looks like it was a nice place to live.
Out on one of the terraces you can see the Taj Mahal in the city.
Every day someone will try to either sneak a selfie or ask for one. I feel like I’m probably stuck on someone’s refrigerator. Marce definitely is. All the women want a photo with her, individually and in groups. Is it the white hair?
