Agra, the site of India’s most famous monument–the Taj Mahal–is probably the dirtiest, smelliest town that I’ve ever visited. It is really, genuinely, disgustingly filthy even by the often appalling Indian standards. About a minute’s walk from the east gate of the Taj Mahal, the free public toilet was so utterly unclean that I had to hopscotch over scores of human poos to pee up against its outside rear wall. An enterprising–and filthy–little boy waded-in from the other side to request 20 Rupees for my displeasurable experience. Seriously, I couldn’t even get into the building for all the floor-lying faeces and hordes of diseased flies awaiting my not-so-grand entrance. Upon leaving the cesspit, the adjacent shopkeepers clearly had a lot of fun gauging my reaction as I exited. In shock, the only word I could muster was a staccatoed “nice”.

On a more positive note, the Taj Mahal itself is probably the most beautiful building in the world. It really is quite stunning — even more so than in the photographs. Even though the site was teeming with tourists, we all preferred to stay inside the walls of the monument than face the reality that lay in wait on the outside. We were fortunate to visit during the full moon, which made for a nice sunset. Eventually, the time came to leave and the site security guards bustled us back onto the filthy streets after dark. Helpfully, the five-times daily Agra power cut meant that we didn’t have the displeasure of seeing what we were stepping in as we pushed our way through hordes of touts to return to our auto-rickshaw.

We stayed at Agra way too long, three nights in all. Phil was to head back up to Delhi for his flight home and we didn’t want to leave him here alone. Instead the three of us stayed together at the Lonely Planet’s favourite budget hotel and moaned our way through the remaining time in disbelief at just how disappointing this place is. Unfortunately, since achieving an accolade in the Lying Planet, it appears that pretty much all the staff at our hotel had given up trying to provide a reasonable service. Gleefully, I watched as the other guests fruitlessly tried to clean their dirty coffee cups, grimacing through every bite of their lacklustre meal before looking down at my own dirty cup and flavourless mess delivered on a filthy plate, wondering “is this the mouthful that will put me into hospital?” On the last day, I sneaked a look at the kitchen: the bin had filled days ago and now the uncaring cooks simply threw waste food onto the floor around them. Even Agra’s Cafe Coffee Day, a chain coffee shop akin to Starbucks and once our refuge of near-Western hygiene standards, has too hit rock-bottom. I alerted a member of staff to the rodent-type noises emanating from the bathroom cupboard. “I think there’s a mouse in the cupboard in the toilet!”, I explained. “No… it’s probably a rat.”, his response, as he continued his work as if nothing had been said.

Clearly most of the locals and the businesses in Agra believe that, being home to India’s most famous monument, tourists will continue to come regardless of the standard of service provided. Fellers, I’ve got news for you: Agra is only a day trip from Delhi. Once word gets out of your general tardiness and malaise, you’re going to the wall.

It’s about time that I posted a video of a rickshaw ride: