Thomas Swick Takes On Agra Station

In his latest column in the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, Thomas Swick describes his arrival at the station in Agra, the former capital of the Mughal Empire and home of the Taj Mahal. Foreign train stations, Swick writes, “have always held a certain terror for me.” But Agra’s was even more intimidating than most: “I stepped over sleeping bodies on the sidewalk and rolled my suitcase into a human maze. Crowds engulfed the platform, grudgingly making way for porters, machinery, luggage, new arrivals. There was no visible information, though every once in a while a woman’s voice—soothing in this predominantly male world—descended from the PA system. I couldn’t understand a word.”

The story brought back my own uncomfortable memories of Agra station. I had spent my first two days in India hiding out at the Canadian diplomatic compound, staying with friends of my dad’s, lounging by the pool eating “masala” flavored potato chips and drinking Fanta. A safari-suited driver had whisked me from the airport to the small gated community, and another driver had brought me to a Delhi station, and even walked me to my platform. When I stepped off the train in Agra, I looked around at the chaos that Swick captures so well, and thought: I can’t do this.

I nearly turned around and got back on the train—not my proudest travel moment. Still, it’s comforting to know that I’m not the only traveler to be thrown off by Agra’s train station. In fact, it seems I’m in good company.

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