ABSTRACT
We flew to Delhi where we arrived at an almost empty airport at night. On leaving the terminal we could not find a taxi, but after about 15 minutes one turned up - it looked like a Vanguard, manufactured in England in the fifties. It was built in India, and possibly its manufacturer had bought all the tools and dies from the Standard Motor Company. The driver was wrapped in a blanket, and seemed very sleepy. He took us to our hotel, which was old and rambling, clean but in need of repair. The Ashoka had been one of India's best hotels during the British Raj. Four hours later, one of the same type cars and driver took us to Agra. What a fascinating two-hour drive. The road was long and straight, over a flat plain with scant vegetation on either side, although we saw some orange groves. We passed beggars, performing bears and their keepers, painted elephants, school children in neat uniforms, shrines and temples. At last we arrived in Agra and wandered around the town. We were offered antique stone carvings from some temple, but the taxi driver kindly warned us not to buy them because we would be prohibited from taking them out of India. We had a curry lunch at the Taj Mahal Hotel. A four-piece orchestra played 'Les feuilles mortes' in a very British twostep way, and the waiters wore starched red napkins on their heads, turban fashion, with an end sticking up like a cockscomb.
