Today I am having random thoughts and am short on time so forgive the disjointedness. Days like this I look around me and realize what's going on here. This place is so different from anywhere I've ever been and dare I say, I am getting used to it. Before I become too jaded, allow me to jot some of this down.

- Personal space and privacy do not exist in this country. A woman fell asleep on my shoulder on the train today. No one waits in lines; those who shove the hardest and thrust their money-clenching fists the fastest get service the quickest. I rode in a Mahindra (India's answer to Jeep) to Agra from the nearby town of Fatephur Sikri; 22 people somehow squoze themselves into this vehicle designed for 10. Wrestling with infants, shopping bags and each other, people elbow, squash and jostle for space. No one complains.

- Babies rarely cry. While children are coveted and adored, they are completely unspoiled and accustomed to a life of noise, chaos and sensory overload. Diapers and strollers are luxuries reserved for very few. Bare-bottomed babies cling quietly to their mothers bosoms, peeing and pooing at will.

- Most places smell like shit. All the time. The good news is, most of India is vegetarian and unlike the foul stench of the shit in a country where the diet is flesh-filled like, say, Brazil, the shit here is not quite as offensive as one might expect. But I did see two small children eating grapes floating down the sewer two days ago and it made my stomach turn.

- Saris are perhaps the most graceful and beautiful attire I've ever seen on women, but men with their tight-fitting high-waisted belted pants with collared shirts tucked in remove the possibility of India ever becoming a world fashion center. I've taken to wearing another variety of local dress, salwar kameez (a long blouse over loose-fitting pants with a scarf, or dupatta) and am amazed at how people treat me. More respect. Less hassle. More smiles.

- Current grope count: five. I've learned how to say "mother fucker" in Hindi and have employed this useful verbiage twice. I accompanied it both times with a nicely-timed whack to the head.

- Hinduism must be the tackiest religion on earth. I admire how devout Hindus are, but gee, their presentation could use some work. This morning I went to a temple marking the birthplace of one of the most important Hindu gods, Krishna. Vendors aggressively peddle clocks, postcards, coasters, dishes, keychains and other schlock with ugly portraits of the god-of-your-choice. Large, gaudily painted, foil and flower covered likenesses of dieties sit in recessed alcoves with collection boxes placed prominently in front. Murals depicting important religious scenes painted in typical Rajasthani style (rediculous head-to-nose-to-body ratio, almost always in profile) cover the ceilings. Lifesize plastic statues of the men who built the temple stand with palms together in a gesture of "namaste" to all who enter. Walk down a narrow, dark corridor with a sign indicating the "Way to Birthplace" and feel as if you're being born yourself-- right into a nasty yellow and burgundy painted room with more hideous portrait montages and, *shock*, another collection box. All is accompanied by the cacophonous clang of over-amplified off-key Sanskrit mantras.

Well that's about enough musings for now. I went to the Taj Mahal two days ago and had one of those rare special moments when I feel the energy of a place and it overwhelms me. It is truly magnificent. Got "the shot" of the Taj reflecting in the big pool out front, which I suppose made the $17 entry fee worth every penny.

Plans are volatile these days but the current one is to head to Varanasi, the holiest of holy cities on the Ganges River, and then into Nepal for some late-season trekking. It's getting unbearably hot where I am and it's time to head for the hills.