Countryside Drive Quotes

Chicago happened slowly, like a migraine. First they were driving through countryside, then, imperceptibly, the occasional town became a low suburban sprawl, and the sprawl became the city.

You want to drive it.” “Me? I’m only twelve.” “I didn’t ask you how old you are. Do you want to drive the tractor?

From then on, it was even twistier B-roads through a country so photgenically rural that I half expected to meet Bilbo Baggins around the next corner - providing he'd taken to driving a Nissan Micra.

Arriving on Bainbridge Island is the opposite of arriving in Seattle. When you got in your car and waited to unload off the ferry in Seattle, you saw the Space Needle, cars, and a mound of urban construction. Once you exit the ferry terminal on Bainbridge, however, it’s mostly trees. Pine as far as the eye can see. Well, pines, firework and coffee stands, and eventually a casino. You drive through the Port Madison Indian Reservation when you leave the island. I couldn’t help but smile as I went past the casino. I didn’t really get gambling, since I’d never had money to throw away, but as I passed through all the beautiful countryside that I’m sure once belonged to the tribe, I sort of hoped they would rob the white man blind. Perhaps not politically correct, but the feeling was there all the same.

It’s only when you drive out of London that you get the sense that most of this country is made up of countryside: wide-open fields and a sky uninterrupted by buildings.

Your average genre novel is like a high speed car chase ending in a massive crash, with death, destruction, and balls of flame, from which the main characters (usually) emerge mostly unscathed. Everything builds up to the crash, and it’s the anticipation that keeps us turning pages. Anthony Trollope, by contrast, is like a pleasant Sunday afternoon drive through the countryside in an open carriage behind a pair of matched horses. There’s conflict, sure; a herd of sheep blocks the road, two countrymen come to blows outside the pub, the cows in this field are looking daggers at the cows in that field. But the point of the drive is the drive itself, not the destination, because of course you’re just going to end up at home anyway.

High rents had priced out the very service sector whose presence at ready hand once helped to justify urban living. For all practical purposes, affluent New Yorkers resided in a crowded, cluttered version of the countryside, where you had to drive five miles for a quart of milk. Florence

Individually and collectively, we will have to be the resistance—offering daily, bold, defiant pushback against all that feels wrong here. This pushback will come as we loudly and unapologetically speak truth where truth is not welcome. It will come as we connect with one another on social media and in faith communities and in our neighborhoods, and as we work together to demand accountability from our elected officials and pastoral leaders. It will come in the small things: in the art we create and the conversations we have and the quiet gestures of compassion that are barely visible. It will come in the way we fully celebrate daily life: having dinner with friends, driving through the countryside, playing in the yard with our children, laughing at a movie we love. It will come as we use the shared resources of our experience and our talents and our numbers to ensure that our children inherit a world worth being here for. It will come as we transform our grief into goodness.

They are taking away all the nice things there because they are impractical, as if that were reason enough – the red phone-boxes, the pound note, those open London buses that you can leap on and off. There is almost no experience in life that makes you look and feel more suave than jumping on or off a moving London bus. But they aren’t practical. They require two men (one to drive and one to stop thugs from kicking the crap out of the Pakistani gentleman at the back) and that is uneconomical, so they have to go. And before long there will be no more milk in bottles delivered to the doorstep or sleepy rural pubs and the countryside will be mostly shopping centres and theme parks. Forgive me. I don’t mean to get upset. But you are taking my world away from me, piece by little piece, and sometimes it just pisses me off. Sorry.

Dusk settled over our shoulders like a damp purple blanket. The river- the churn and clank of boat traffic, the shush of water, and the tangy smell of catfish and mud- was slowly beaten back by honeysuckle and cicadas and some bird that cooed the same three syllables in a lilting circle. It was all so familiar and so foreign. I pictured a young girl in a blue cotton dress running down this same road on cinnamon-stick legs. Then I pictured another girl, white and square-jawed, running before her. Adelaide. Mother. I would've missed it if I hadn't been looking: a narrow dirt drive crowded on either side by briars and untrimmed boughs. Even once I'd followed the track to its end I was uncertain- who would live in such a huddled, bent-back cabin, half-eaten by ivy and some sort of feral climbing rose? The wooden-shake shingles were green with moss; the barn had collapsed entirely.

By the time John F. Kennedy became involved in 1961, the situation was out of control. So Kennedy simply invaded the country. In 1962, he sent the U.S. Air Force to start bombing South Vietnam, using planes with South Vietnamese markings. Kennedy authorized the use of napalm, chemical warfare, to destroy the ground cover and crops. He started the process of driving the rural population into what were called 'strategic hamlets,' essentially concentration camps, where people were surrounded by barbed wire, supposedly to protect them from the guerillas who the U.S. government knew perfectly well they supported. This 'pacification' ultimately drove millions of people out of the countryside while destroying large parts of it. Kennedy also began operations against North Vietnam on a small scale. That was 1961.

I want her, bro. Not only for me, but because I think she has the best chance against these terrorists we're hunting." Tony placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "She's a vampire, Deryn. And not just any vampire. Weldon Harper calls her Pack and she's a member of the Sacramento Pack, too. Now do you know who I'm talking about?" Deryn's eyes widened as he stared at his brother. Now he knew why they were out in the middle of the English countryside in the dark. They wouldn't find a vampire awake during the daytime and it would be dangerous to move one anyway, during that time. No wonder he'd seen a body bag in the trunk of the rental Tony was driving. "Bro, you can't be serious; we can't kidnap a vampire—they'd shred us. And if it's the one dad was telling mom and me about, she'd really shred us." Deryn figured he would have to convince Tony to forget this mission. "All we need to do is find where she is, just before dawn. Then, when she falls asleep, we'll just take her with us. I don't think she'll hurt us, she's not that way," Tony said, climbing inside the car.

What am I? Chopped liver? Is there some specific reason he never pulls me over close to him as we drive around the countryside? Why doesn’t he hook his right arm affectionately around my neck and claim me as the woman of his pickup? I never knew I had such a yearning to ride next to a man in a pickup, but apparently it had been a suppressed lifelong dream I knew nothing about. Suddenly, sitting in that pickup with Marlboro Man, I’d apparently never wanted anything so badly in my life. I couldn’t keep quiet about it any longer. “So…,” I began. Was it just a high school thing? Or worse, I imagined, is it just that I’m not and never will be a country girl? Is it that country girls have some wild sense of abandon that I wasn’t born with? A reckless side, a fun, adventurous side that makes them worthy of riding next to boys in pickups? Am I untouchable? Am I too prim? Too proper? I’m not! I’m really not! I’m fun and adventurous. Reckless, too! I have a pair of jeans: Anne Kleins! And I want to be Middle Seat Worthy. Please, Marlboro Man…please. I’ve never wanted anything this much. “So, um…why don’t you do it anymore?” I asked. “Bucket seats,” Marlboro Man answered, his hand still resting on my leg. Made sense. I settled in and relaxed a bit.

POEM – MY AMAZING TRAVELS [My composition in my book Travel Memoirs with Pictures] My very first trip I still cannot believe Was planned and executed with such great ease. My father, an Inspector of Schools, was such a strict man, He gave in to my wishes when I told him of the plan. I got my first long vacation while working as a banker One of my co-workers wanted a travelling partner. She visited my father and discussed the matter Arrangements were made without any flutter. We travelled to New York, Toronto, London, and Germany, In each of those places, there was somebody, To guide and protect us and to take us wonderful places, It was a dream come true at our young ages. We even visited Holland, which was across the Border. To drive across from Germany was quite in order. Memories of great times continue to linger, I thank God for an understanding father. That trip in 1968 was the beginning of much more, I visited many countries afterward I am still in awe. Barbados, Tobago, St. Maarten, and Buffalo, Cirencester in the United Kingdom, Miami, and Orlando. I was accompanied by my husband on many trips. Sisters, nieces, children, grandchildren, and friends, travelled with me a bit. Puerto Rico, Los Angeles, New York, and Hialeah, Curacao, Caracas, Margarita, Virginia, and Anguilla. We sailed aboard the Creole Queen On the Mississippi in New Orleans We traversed the Rockies in Colorado And walked the streets in Cozumel, Mexico. We were thrilled to visit the Vatican in Rome, The Trevi Fountain and the Colosseum. To explore the countryside in Florence, And to sail on a Gondola in Venice. My fridge is decorated with magnets Souvenirs of all my visits London, Madrid, Bahamas, Coco Cay, Barcelona. And the Leaning Tower of Pisa How can I forget the Spanish Steps in Rome? Stratford upon Avon, where Shakespeare was born. CN Tower in Toronto so very high I thought the elevator would take me to the sky. Then there was El Poble and Toledo Noted for Spanish Gold We travelled on the Euro star. The scenery was beautiful to behold! I must not omit Cartagena in Columbia, Anaheim, Las Vegas, and Catalina, Key West, Tampa, Fort Lauderdale, and Pembroke Pines, Places I love to lime. Of course, I would like to make special mention, Of two exciting cruises with Royal Caribbean. Majesty of the Seas and Liberty of the Seas Two ships which grace the Seas. Last but not least and best of all We visited Paris in the fall. Cologne, Dusseldorf, and Berlin Amazing places, which made my head, spin. Copyright@BrendaMohammed

Moscow can be a cold, hard place in winter. But the big old house on Tverskoy Boulevard had always seemed immune to these particular facts, the way that it had seemed immune to many things throughout the years. When breadlines filled the streets during the reign of the czars, the big house had caviar. When the rest of Russia stood shaking in the Siberian winds, that house had fires and gaslight in every room. And when the Second World War was over and places like Leningrad and Berlin were nothing but rubble and crumbling walls, the residents of the big house on Tverskoy Boulevard only had to take up a hammer and drive a single nail—to hang a painting on the landing at the top of the stairs—to mark the end of a long war. The canvas was small, perhaps only eight by ten inches. The brushstrokes were light but meticulous. And the subject, the countryside near Provence, was once a favorite of an artist named Cézanne. No one in the house spoke of how the painting had come to be there. Not a single member of the staff ever asked the man of the house, a high-ranking Soviet official, to talk about the canvas or the war or whatever services he may have performed in battle or beyond to earn such a lavish prize. The house on Tverskoy Boulevard was not one for stories, everybody knew. And besides, the war was over. The Nazis had lost. And to the victors went the spoils. Or, as the case may be, the paintings. Eventually, the wallpaper faded, and soon few people actually remembered the man who had brought the painting home from the newly liberated East Germany. None of the neighbors dared to whisper the letters K-G-B. Of the old Socialists and new socialites who flooded through the open doors for parties, not one ever dared to mention the Russian mob. And still the painting stayed hanging, the music kept playing, and the party itself seemed to last—echoing out onto the street, fading into the frigid air of the night. The party on the first Friday of February was a fund-raiser—though for what cause or foundation, no one really knew. It didn’t matter. The same people were invited. The same chef was preparing the same food. The men stood smoking the same cigars and drinking the same vodka. And, of course, the same painting still hung at the top of the stairs, looking down on the partygoers below. But one of the partygoers was not, actually, the same. When she gave the man at the door a name from the list, her Russian bore a slight accent. When she handed her coat to a maid, no one seemed to notice that it was far too light for someone who had spent too long in Moscow’s winter. She was too short; her black hair framed a face that was in every way too young. The women watched her pass, eyeing the competition. The men hardly noticed her at all as she nibbled and sipped and waited until the hour grew late and the people became tipsy. When that time finally came, not one soul watched as the girl with the soft pale skin climbed the stairs and slipped the small painting from the nail that held it. She walked to the window. And jumped. And neither the house on Tverskoy Boulevard nor any of its occupants ever saw the girl or the painting again.

I’d never been with anyone like Marlboro Man. He was attentive--the polar opposite of aloof--and after my eighteenth-month-long college relationship with my freshman love Collin, whose interest in me had been hampered by his then-unacknowledged sexual orientation, and my four-year run with less-than-affectionate J, attentive was just the drug I needed. Not a day passed that Marlboro Man--my new cowboy love--didn’t call to say he was thinking of me, or he missed me already, or he couldn’t wait to see me again. Oh, the beautiful, unbridled honesty. We loved taking drives together. He knew every inch of the countryside: every fork in the road, every cattle guard, every fence, every acre. Ranchers know the country around them. They know who owns this pasture, who leases that one, whose land this county road passes through, whose cattle are on the road by the lake. It all looked the same to me, but I didn’t care. I’d never been more content to ride in the passenger seat of a crew-cab pickup in all my life. I’d never ridden in a crew-cab pickup in all my life. Never once. In fact, I’d never personally known anyone who’d driven a pickup; the boys from my high school who drove pickups weren’t part of my scene, and in their spare time they were needed at home to contribute to the family business. Either that, or they were cowboy wannabes--the kind that only wore cowboy hats to bars--and that wasn’t really my type either. For whatever reason, pickup trucks and I had never once crossed paths. And now, with all the time I was spending with Marlboro Man, I practically lived in one.

Patton had been a reflective man, an extraordinarily well-read student of wars and military leaders, ancient and modern, with a curiosity about his war to match his energy. No detail had been too minor or too dull for him, nor any task too humble. Everything from infantry squad tactics to tank armor plate and chassis and engines had interested him. To keep his mind occupied while he was driving through a countryside, he would study the terrain and imagine how he might attack this hill or defend that ridge. He would stop at an infantry position and look down the barrel of a machine gun to see whether the weapon was properly sited to kill counterattacking Germans. If it was not, he would give the officers and men a lesson in how to emplace the gun. He had been a military tailor’s delight of creased cloth and shined leather, and he had worn an ivory-handled pistol too because he thought he was a cavalier who needed these trappings for panache. But if he came upon a truck stuck in the mud with soldiers shirking in the back, he would jump from his jeep, berate the men for their laziness, and then help them push their truck free and move them forward again to battle. By dint of such lesson and example, Patton had formed his Third Army into his ideal of a fighting force. In the process he had come to understand the capabilities of his troops and he had become more knowledgeable about the German enemy than any other Allied general on the Western Front. Patton had been able to command with certainty, overcoming the mistakes that are inevitable in the practice of the deadly art as well as personal eccentricities and public gaffes that would have ruined a lesser general, because he had always stayed in touch with the realities of his war.

Wait until the truffles hit the dining room---absolute sex," said Scott. When the truffles arrived the paintings leaned off the walls toward them. They were the grand trumpets of winter, heralding excess against the poverty of the landscape. The black ones came first and the cooks packed them up in plastic quart containers with Arborio rice to keep them dry. They promised to make us risotto with the infused rice once the truffles were gone. The white ones came later, looking like galactic fungus. They immediately went into the safe in Chef's office. "In a safe? Really?" "The trouble we take is in direct proportion to the trouble they take. They are impossible," Simone said under her breath while Chef went over the specials. "They can't be that impossible if they are on restaurant menus all over town." I caught her eye. "I'm kidding." "You can't cultivate them. The farmers used to take female pigs out into the countryside, lead them to the oaks, and pray. They don't use pigs anymore, they use well-behaved dogs. But they still walk and hope." "What happened to the female pigs?" Simone smiled. "The scent smells like testosterone to them. It drives them wild. They destroyed the land and the truffles because they would get so frenzied." I waited at the service bar for drinks and Sasha came up beside me with a small wooden box. He opened it and there sat the blanched, malignant-looking tuber and a small razor designed specifically for it. The scent infiltrated every corner of the room, heady as opium smoke, drowsing us. Nicky picked up the truffle in his bare hand and delivered it to bar 11. He shaved it from high above the guest's plate. Freshly tilled earth, fields of manure, the forest floor after a rain. I smelled berries, upheaval, mold, sheets sweated through a thousand times. Absolute sex.

How come I wasn’t riding around in his middle seat? Was I supposed to initiate this? Was this expected of me? Because I probably should know early on. But wouldn’t he have gestured in that direction if he’d wanted me to move over and sit next to him? Maybe, just maybe, he’d liked those girls better than he liked me. Maybe they’d had a closeness that warranted their riding side by side in a pickup, a closeness that he and I just don’t share? Please don’t let that be the reason. I don’t like that reason. I had to ask him. I had to know. “Can I ask you something?” I said as we drove down the road separating a neighboring ranch from his. “Sure,” Marlboro Man answered. He reached over and touched my knee. “Did you ever used to drive around in your pickup with a girl sitting in the middle seat right next to you?” I tried not to sound accusatory. A grin formed in the corner of Marlboro Man’s mouth. “Sure I did,” he said. His hand was still on my knee. “Why?” “Oh, no reason. I was just curious,” I said. I wanted to leave it at that. “What made you think of that?” he said. “Oh, I was really just curious,” I repeated. “Growing up, I’d sometimes see boys and girls riding right next to each other in pickups, and I just wondered if you ever did. That’s all.” I stopped short of telling him I never understood the whole thing or asking him why he loved Julie more than me. “Yep. I did,” he said. I looked out the window and thought for a minute. What am I? Chopped liver? Is there some specific reason he never pulls me over close to him as we drive around the countryside? Why doesn’t he hook his right arm affectionately around my neck and claim me as the woman of his pickup? I never knew I had such a yearning to ride next to a man in a pickup, but apparently it had been a suppressed lifelong dream I knew nothing about. Suddenly, sitting in that pickup with Marlboro Man, I’d apparently never wanted anything so badly in my life.

In my own mind I find that I can also classify highways advantageously as dominating, equal, or dominated. A dominating highway is one from which, as you drive along it, you are more conscious of the highway than of the country through which you are passing. Six-lane highways, and four-lane highways, particularly in flat country, give this impression. You see the highway itself, the traffic upon it, and the life that has grown up along it and is dependent upon it—all the world of service-stations and garages and restaurants and motor-courts. To many people, of whom I am one, parkways produce the same effect. Although esthetically beautiful, the artificial landscape on both sides of the parkway becomes part of the road itself, and is divorced from the countryside and from reality. The parkway by-passes towns, and therefore the motorist has no sense of actuality. A parkway is excellent at providing unimpeded transportation, and for allowing the city-dweller his escape, but when you drive along the parkway, you are not seeing the real United States of America. The dominated highway, on the contrary, is one which seems to be oppressed and to lose its own identity because of the surroundings through which it is passing. Highways are dominated when they pass along city streets. There is too much close by on either hand. There is too much local traffic that has not the slightest concern with the farther reaches of the highway. On the other hand, highways may be dominated when they are comparatively small roads passing through high mountains or vast plains. Again the highway becomes insignificant, and one's interest is pulled outward, away from it. In between, lies the equal highway, that one which seems to be an intimate and integral part of the countryside through which it is passing. On such a road there is a division of interest between one's focus upon the highway and its margin and upon the country back from the highway. . . .

It’s just a devilish odd coincidence. I shared a boat – and a carriage – with Balcourt’s sister and cousin." "I didn’t realise he had a sister." "Well, he does." Richard abruptly pushed away his empty bowl. "What a great stroke of luck! Could you use the acquaintance with the sister to discover more about Balcourt’s activities?" "That," Richard said grimly, "is not an option." Geoff eyed him quizzically. "I realise that any sister of Balcourt’s is most likely repugnant at best, but you don’t need to propose to the girl. Just flirt with her a bit. Take her for a drive, call on her at home, use her as an entrée into the house. You’ve done it before." "Miss Balcourt is not repugnant." Richard twisted in his chair, and stared at the door. "What the devil is keeping supper?" Geoff leant across the table. "Well, if she’s not repugnant, then-what’s the – ah." "Ah? Ah? What the deuce do you mean by ‘ah’? Of all the nonsensical…" "You" – Geoff pointed at him with fiendish glee – "are unsettled not because you find her repugnant, but because you find her not repugnant." Richard was about to deliver a baleful look in lieu of a response, when he was saved by the arrival of the footman bearing a large platter of something covered with sauce. Richard leant forward and speared what looked like it might once have been part of a chicken, as the footman whisked off with his soup dish. "Have some," Richard suggested to Geoff, ever so subtly diverting the conversation to culinary appreciation. "Thank you." Undiverted, Geoff continued, "Tell me about your Miss Balcourt." "Leaving aside the fact that she is by no means my Miss Balcourt" – Richard ignored the sardonic stare coming from across the table – "the girl is as complete an opposite to her brother as you can imagine. She was raised in England, somewhere out in the countryside. She’s read Homer in the original Greek—" "This is serious," murmured Geoff. "Is she comely?" "Comely?" "You know, nice hair, nice eyes, nice…" Geoff made a gesture that Richard would have expected more readily from Miles.

Maybe nostalgia is itself the problem. A Democrat I met in Macon during a conversation we had about the local enthusiasm for Trump told me that “people want to go back to Mayberry”, the setting of the beloved old Andy Griffith Show. (As it happens, the actual model for Mayberry, Mount Airy, a bedraggled town in North Carolina, has gone all in on the Trump revolution, as the Washington Post recently reported.) Maybe it’s also true, as my liberal friends believe, that what people in this part of the country secretly long to go back to are the days when the Klan was riding high or when Quantrill was terrorizing the people of neighboring Kansas, or when Dred Scott was losing his famous court case. For sure, there is a streak of that ugly sentiment in the Trump phenomenon. But I want to suggest something different: that the nostalgic urge does not necessarily have to be a reactionary one. There is nothing un-progressive about wanting your town to thrive, about recognizing that it isn’t thriving today, about figuring out that the mid-century, liberal way worked better. For me, at least, that is how nostalgia unfolds. When I drive around this part of the country, I always do so with a WPA guidebook in hand, the better to help me locate the architectural achievements of the Roosevelt years. I used to patronize a list of restaurants supposedly favored by Harry Truman (they are slowly disappearing). And these days, as I pass Trump sign after Trump sign, I wonder what has made so many of Truman’s people cast their lot with this blustering would-be caudillo. Maybe what I’m pining for is a liberal Magic Kingdom, a non-racist midwest where things function again. For a countryside dotted with small towns where the business district has reasonable job-creating businesses in it, taverns too. For a state where the giant chain stores haven’t succeeded in putting everyone out of business. For an economy where workers can form unions and buy new cars every couple of years, where farmers enjoy the protection of the laws, and where corporate management has not been permitted to use every trick available to them to drive down wages and play desperate cities off one against the other. Maybe it’s just an impossible utopia, a shimmering Mayberry dream. But somehow I don’t think so.

Also a superstitious man, a crosser of fingers, who knew, for example, that in America wicked spirits lived in trees so it was necessary to knock on wood to drive them out, whereas British tree- spirits (he was an admirer of the British countryside) were friendly creatures so one touched wood to get the benefit of their benevolence.

This is Daybright,” Lidia said, and Ruhn glanced behind them. A pillar of smoke rose from the part of the city where the glass domes of the train depot used to gleam. “You want good news or bad news first?” Dec asked over the radio. “Good.” “Most of the imperial security forces are at the train station, and the city is under lockdown. Irithys made it out—she vanished into the countryside. Off to wherever.” “I gave her instructions on where to go—what to do,” Lidia said quietly. But then asked, “What’s the bad news?” “Mordoc and two dozen dreadwolves also made it out of the southwestern gate before it shut. I think they’ve figured out you’re headed for the coast.” “Fuck,” Athalar spat from the back seat. “Flynn?” Lidia asked. “Flynn’s behind them. Mordoc and company are crossing onto your road. They’ll be on your tail within ten minutes at your current speed. So go faster.” “I’m already driving at top speed.” “Then you’ll have to find a way to ditch them.

in the aftermath of the Nuremberg trials in 1946. After the executions of Nazi celebrities on 16 October, fourteen bodies, including those of Goering (who had ‘cheated’ by managing suicide), Ribbentrop, Keitel, Rosenberg, Frank, Streicher, Jodl and Seyss-Inquart, were delivered to a Munich crematorium. That same evening a container holding the amassed ashes was driven through the rain into the Bavarian countryside. After an hour’s drive the vehicle stopped and the ashes were poured into a muddy ditch.4 Five or six years before, these men could dominate and intimidate. That night a drizzle washed them away.

At the age of 54 I saw my first aurora in Salem, Oregon, USA. I knew something was up with the environmental radiation, as I had a headache when I woke up and unusual nerve pains in my left leg during the daytime. By the afternoon I was aware of the impending visual display that was forecast for the night sky in Oregon. Driving into the darkness of the unlit countryside revealed a visually spectacular display of green and purple glowing structures in the night sky. My sky camera recorded the display in the brightly lit city of Salem, which surprised me!

We went on drives sometimes, just for the sense of going somewhere. It helped to stave off winter restlessness - seeing the countryside slip past and looking back on what you'd left behind. You tricked yourself into thinking you were leaving.

This is the only story of mine whose moral I know. I don't think it's a marvelous moral, I simply happen to know what it is: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. My personal experience with Nazi monkey business was limited. There were some vile and lively native American Fascists in my home town of Indianapolis during the thirties, and somebody slipped me a copy of The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, I remember, which was supposed to be the Jews' secret plan for taking over the world. And I remember some laughs about my aunt, too, who married a German German, and who had to write to Indianapolis for proofs that she had no Jewish blood. The Indianapolis mayor knew her from high school and dancing school, so he had fun putting ribbons and official seals all over the documents the Germans required, which made them look like eighteenth-century peace treaties. After a while the war came, and I was in it, and I was captured, so I got to see a little of Germany from the inside while the war was still going on. I was a private, a battalion scout, and, under the terms of the Geneva Convention, I had to work for my keep, which was good, not bad. I didn't have to stay in prison all the time, somewhere out in the countryside. I got to go to a city, which was Dresden, and to see the people and the things they did. There were about a hundred of us in our particular work group, and we were put out as contract labor to a factory that was making a vitamin-enriched malt syrup for pregnant women. It tasted like thin honey laced with hickory smoke. It was good. I wish I had some right now. And the city was lovely, highly ornamented, like Paris, and untouched by war. It was supposedly an 'open' city, not to be attacked since there were no troop concentrations or war industries there. But high explosives were dropped on Dresden by American and British planes on the night of February 13, 1945, just about twenty-one years ago, as I now write. There were no particular targets for the bombs. The hope was that they would create a lot of kindling and drive firemen underground. And then hundreds of thousands of tiny incendiaries were scattered over the kindling, like seeds on freshly turned loam. More bombs were dropped to keep firemen in their holes, and all the little fires grew, joined one another, and became one apocalyptic flame. Hey presto: fire storm. It was the largest massacre in European history, by the way. And so what? We didn't get to see the fire storm. We were in a cool meat-locker under a slaughterhouse with our six guards and ranks and ranks of dressed cadavers of cattle, pigs, horses, and sheep. We heard the bombs walking around up there. Now and then there would be a gentle shower of calcimine. If we had gone above to take a look, we would have been turned into artefacts characteristic of fire storms: seeming pieces of charred firewood two or three feet long - ridiculously small human beings, or jumbo fried grasshoppers, if you will. The malt syrup factory was gone. Everything was gone but the cellars where 135,000 Hansels and Gretels had been baked like gingerbread men. So we were put to work as corpse miners, breaking into shelters, bringing bodies out. And I got to see many German types of all ages as death had found them, usually with valuables in their laps. Sometimes relatives would come to watch us dig. They were interesting, too. So much for Nazis and me. If I'd been born in Germany, I suppose I would have been a Nazi, bopping Jews and gypsies and Poles around, leaving boots sticking out of snowbanks, warming myself with my secretly virtuous insides. So it goes. There's another clear moral to this tale, now that I think about it: When you're dead you're dead. And yet another moral occurs to me now: Make love when you can. It's good for you.

complete with driving winds and a sky nearly black enough to turn the twilight of the city and surrounding countryside into full night.

Have you no sense?" he snarled. "I tell you that you are 'in danger' and to stay inside the abbey, and that causes you to go tripping about the countryside?" She tried to step back. "I merely-" "No." He yanked her into his chest, his face within inches of hers, his breath hot on her lips. "No explanations, no excuses. I've had enough of your carelessness, madam." Her eyes widened and for a second she was almost afraid. Something in Raphael's face twisted and changed. "What you do to me-" He slammed his mouth onto hers, forcing her lips apart and thrusting in his tongue. She mewled helplessly as he bent her back over his arm. Her senses were filled with the taste of coffee and the scent of cloves and she couldn't think. He lifted his mouth from hers so abruptly she could only stare up at him, dazed. Then she heard the sounds of wheels on gravel. A carriage jolted down the drive at a fast clip and halted in front of the house. Raphael swung her to the side and partially behind him, his grip on her arm still firm.

Ben held her as they spun around the room, her body light against his. As they danced, his mind floated on a heady mix of champagne, triumph, and memory. He and Tenzin were laughing in a cargo truck driving through the Chinese countryside. They were dancing to scratched records on a steamy summer in Venice. They were sparring with daggers in a castle in Scotland.

You can’t cultivate them. The farmers used to take female pigs out into the countryside, lead them to the oaks, and pray. They don’t use pigs anymore, they use well-behaved dogs. But they still walk and hope.” “What happened to the female pigs?” Simone smiled. “The scent smells like testosterone to them. It drives them wild. They destroyed the land and the truffles because they would get so frenzied.” I

When he did not answer, his enemies took their revenge. On October 2, 2011, his twenty-two-year-old son Sariya and one of his professors were driving from their university in the countryside to Aleppo when armed men fired on their car and killed both men. When the mufti recalled the murder in our conversation, he wiped tears from his cheeks: “He was twenty-two years old, a student at the university. What did he do to be killed? At his funeral, I said I forgive you all. I expected them to show remorse. They said we don’t need your forgiveness. We are going to kill you. They say this on television in Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Britain. They say the mufti of Syria speaks of Christianity in a positive way. He believes in dialogue, even with Israelis and non-believers. He goes to churches.

The drive to the airport felt eternal. Jane turned the backseat radio to a rock station and worked hard at being more angry than sad. Angry was proactive. “Schmuck,” she kept muttering. It was at herself. Yes, Martin was a schmuck, too. The sheer certainty of that felt invigorating. But really, after all those boyfriends, you’d think she’d have learned that all men are schmucks. It didn’t help her humiliation much that she’d had no illusions about Martin. She knew that he’d just been a fling, motivated by her desperation to feel like a genuine woman amid the pageantry. But then she went and let herself get played. Stupid girl. She’d even convinced herself that Mr. Nobley might have been actually fond of her. “Dream on,” the radio crooned. “It doesn’t matter how it ended,” she muttered to herself, and realized that it was true. Real or not, Martin had showed her that contented spinsterhood was not an option. And real or not, Mr. Nobley had helped her say no to Mr. Darcy. She leaned her head against the window, watched the countryside go whirling by, and forced herself to smile. Pembrook Park had done its job--it allowed her to live through her romantic purgatory. She believed now in earnest that fantasy is not practice for what is real--fantasy is the opiate of women. And she’d buried her fantasy behind her in the English countryside. Her life now would be open to real possibilities. There was no Mr. Darcy, there was no perfect man. But there might be someone. And she’d be ready.

trattorias, and taking a drive along the countryside. I was definitely going

In the countryside, traditional parents avoid flattery, and the mother’s responses were automatic—it was like knocking her knee with a rubber hammer. She didn’t want to spoil the child, but there was also the Chinese superstition that pride attracts misfortune.

She could drive down Hadley Road until she reached the right spot, then walk in. Would have to drive by the reservoir. She didn’t drive that road anymore. But even if she could, she wasn’t going to chase some imaginary dead man, or almost dead man, around the countryside.

One time, they went to the city to stand on the bat bridge at dusk, watching in horrified wonder as thousands of bats swooped into the orange sky. Her mother used to set aside one entire Sunday every April to take a drive into the countryside to look at the bluebonnets. They both found the glorious fields of deep indigo flowers mesmerizing.

My dad loved telling ghost stories from the times he went camping with his father in Sweden. In one story they were driving on a country road at night and kept having to stop because they'd see feet crossing the road in their headlights. My grandfather would get out of the car, confused as to why there were so many people at night in the countryside, and see no one. As the story went, after this happened a few times he finally saw several pairs of feet stopped, facing the car, at close range. He got out again and saw no people, only the remains of a bridge that had collapsed. As I type this now I get thoughts like "They never owned a car!" and "I know for a fact when they camped they took the bus!" and "What kind of headlights only show you the road at feetlevel?" But at the time the moral of the story was always "Ghosts are real!" and to a lesser extent "Dead Swedes are concerned about traffic safety!

But the hours mean nothing to us as we wind through the countryside, leaving the sea-salt wind behind us. The memory is lit by the sun through the trees we drive through, nothing but lemons and copper tones scattering across our arms, lighting our eyes up blue... ...This montage is directed by someone French. A convertible would have been their preference, but the windows are down, so that's something. The air is unseasonably warm and scented like honeysuckle and cut grass.

The ‘real’ Ukraine, the Ukraine that has outlived armies and ideologies, lies in the countryside. Half an hour’s drive out of the city one enters a pre-modern world of dirt roads and horse-drawn carts, of outdoor wells and felt boots, of vast silences and velvet-black nights. The people here live off their own pigs and cows, fruit-trees and hives; they drink themselves to death on home-brewed vodka, roll cigarettes out of old newspapers, and curse ‘American spaceships’ for dropping Colorado beetles on the potato-plants.

Let me tell you what is insane and irrational. Corporate-based agribusiness that relies on mono-crop specialization for export and huge inputs of petroleum-based fertilizer... that harms local ecosystems and drives peasants from the countryside into the cities, into shantytowns and slums... that’s insane. Turning lands previously geared to food cultivation into land to grow fuel crops like ethanol, and the development of an export-oriented agriculture where you have exotic flowers being raised for export while poor people go hungry... that’s insane. Making countries become increasingly dependent on the world market for food staples that are subject to the vagaries of world prices... that is the height of irrationality and insanity.

when she turned to Orlando to speak to him, I saw she had what Pa Salt would have termed a Roman nose, which sat prominently in her striking face. She was certainly not classically beautiful and, from the look of her jeans and old sweater, did not care to make herself more so. Yet, there was something very attractive about her and I realized I wanted her to like me—an unusual feeling. “Are you coping back there?” she asked me. “Not far now.” “Yes, thank you.” I leaned my head against the windowpane as the thick hedges, their height exaggerated by the low car, flew by me, the country lanes becoming narrower. It felt so good to be out of London, with only the odd red-brick chimney stack peeping out from behind the wall of green. We turned right, through a pair of old gates that led to a drive so potholed that Marguerite’s and Orlando’s heads bumped against the roof. “I really must ask Mouse to bring the tractor and fill in these holes with gravel before the winter comes,” she commented to Orlando. “Here we are, Star,” she added as she pulled the car to a halt in front of a large, graceful house, its walls formed from mellow red brick, with ivy and wisteria fringing the uneven windows in greenery. Tall, thin chimney stacks, which emphasized the Tudor architecture, reached up into the crisp September sky. As I squeezed myself out of the back of the Fiat, I imagined the house’s interior to be rambling as opposed to impressive—it was certainly no stately home; rather, it looked as if it had gently aged and sunk slowly into the countryside surrounding it. It spoke of a bygone era, one that I loved reading about in books, and I experienced a twinge of longing. I followed Marguerite and Orlando toward the magnificent oak front door, and saw a young boy wobbling toward us on a shiny red bike. He let out a strange muffled shout, tried to wave, and promptly fell off the bike. “Rory!” Marguerite ran to him, but he had already picked himself up. He spoke again, and I wondered if he was foreign, as I couldn’t make out what he was saying. She dusted him down, then the boy picked up the bike and the two of them walked back to us. “Look who’s here,” Marguerite said, turning directly to the boy to speak to him. “It’s Orlando and his friend Star. Try saying ‘Star.’ ” She particularly enunciated the “st” in my name. “Ss-t-aahh,” the boy said as he approached me, a smile on his face, before holding up his hand and opening his fingers out like a shining star. I saw that Rory was the owner of a pair of inquisitive green eyes, framed by dark lashes. His wavy copper-colored hair glowed in the sun, and his rosy cheeks dimpled with happiness. I recognized that he was the kind of child that one would never want to say no to. “He prefers to go by the name ‘Superman,’ don’t you, Rory?” Orlando chuckled, holding up his hand in a fist like Superman taking off into the air. Rory nodded, then shook my hand with all the dignity of a superhero, and turned to Orlando for a hug. After giving him a tight squeeze and a tickle, Orlando set him down, then squatted in front of him and used his hands to sign, also speaking the words clearly. “Happy birthday! I have your present in Marguerite’s car. Would you like to come and get it with me?” “Yes please,” Rory spoke and signed, and I knew then that he was deaf. I rifled through my rusty mental catalog of what I had learned

The Highway That Redefines Travel: A Journey Through India’s Best Road Infrastructure There’s something magical about hitting the open road, feeling the hum of the tires beneath you, and watching the scenery change as you move forward. As a frequent traveler, I’ve explored numerous highways across India, but nothing prepared me for the India’s best highway infrastructure that I experienced recently. From the moment I entered this highway, it became clear that this was not just another road but a testament to modern engineering and thoughtful planning. Every mile on this highway offered an experience of seamless travel, breathtaking landscapes, and a sense of security that’s rare on Indian roads. If road trips are your passion, this is one journey you don’t want to miss. #modernroad A Masterpiece of Engineering and Planning Unlike many highways in India that are plagued by uneven surfaces, frequent potholes, and congested lanes, this one is an absolute delight to drive on. The multi-lane highway is flawlessly maintained, with clear road markings and strategically placed signboards that ensure smooth navigation. The asphalt feels almost like a runway, allowing vehicles to glide effortlessly without any unexpected bumps. Another major highlight is the intelligent lane distribution. With separate lanes for heavy vehicles, passenger cars, and even emergency services, the highway eliminates the chaotic congestion that is common on most Indian roads. This results in a more disciplined and efficient traffic flow, making long-distance drives a pleasure rather than a stressful endeavor. #modernroadmakers Rest Stops That Feel Like Destinations One of the biggest challenges of highway travel in India is the lack of clean and accessible rest stops. But this highway has truly set a benchmark in this regard. Every few kilometers, you’ll find well-maintained rest areas equipped with food courts, fuel stations, and spotless washrooms. Instead of the usual roadside dhabas that are often unhygienic, the food courts here offer a wide range of options—from local delicacies to popular fast-food chains. Whether you’re in the mood for a quick coffee break or a hearty meal, these stops cater to every traveler’s needs. And it’s not just about food—there are dedicated relaxation zones where travelers can stretch their legs, unwind, and even enjoy scenic views of the surrounding landscapes. This thoughtful addition makes long road trips much more enjoyable and less tiring. #indiabesthighway Scenic Beauty That Enhances the Drive A highway journey is as much about the views as it is about the drive, and this road does not disappoint. Flanked by lush greenery, rolling fields, and picturesque landscapes, it offers a visual treat at every turn. Unlike highways that cut through industrial zones and congested cities, this one allows travelers to experience the true beauty of India’s countryside. The carefully preserved natural surroundings and tree-lined stretches provide a refreshing contrast to the usual concrete-heavy routes. Whether you’re driving during sunrise or sunset, the scenery creates a postcard-perfect backdrop for your journey. #modernroad If you’re someone who loves road trips, this highway deserves a spot on your travel bucket list. Whether you’re heading out for an adventure, a family vacation, or a solo escape, this road ensures a memorable, comfortable, and hassle-free journey. So, the next time you’re planning a trip, ditch the flight and hit the road—you won’t regret it! #modernroad #modernroadmakers #indiabesthighway

A Journey Through Perfection: Experiencing India’s Best Highway Infrastructure Traveling across India is an adventure filled with surprises, but nothing enhances the experience like a smooth, well-constructed highway. On my recent journey, I had the pleasure of driving through a highway that truly represents the pinnacle of modern road infrastructure in India. From flawless roads to scenic surroundings, this stretch stands as a testament to how far the country has come in revolutionizing its highway networks. #modernroad Seamless Driving Experience Like Never Before As I entered the highway, the first thing that caught my attention was the sheer quality of the road. The well-paved surface, neatly marked lanes, and efficient traffic management made my drive effortless. Unlike many highways where potholes and congestion make the journey exhausting, this route offered a smooth and uninterrupted ride. Wider lanes and minimal traffic congestion ensured that vehicles moved swiftly without unnecessary delays. Smart toll systems reduced wait times, making the overall journey more efficient. Clearly visible signboards and proper lighting made night driving safer and more convenient. The highway is a perfect example of how modern engineering can transform road travel into a luxurious experience. #modernroadmakers Scenic Beauty Along the Way A great highway isn’t just about infrastructure; it’s also about the experience it offers. As I drove along, I was captivated by the breathtaking landscapes surrounding the road. Green fields, small villages, and a peaceful countryside atmosphere made my trip even more enjoyable. Rest stops at strategic locations provided much-needed breaks with clean washrooms and food outlets. Lush greenery along the edges of the highway helped in reducing pollution and enhancing the visual appeal. Safe pedestrian crossings and underpasses ensured that local communities weren’t affected by high-speed vehicles. This perfect blend of nature and technology sets a new benchmark for Indian highways. #indiabesthighway Unmatched Safety and Maintenance A highway is only as good as its maintenance, and this one excels in that department. The regular upkeep and advanced monitoring systems ensure that the road remains in top condition throughout the year. Some key features that make this highway stand out include: ✔ Emergency Response Systems: Quick-response helplines and patrol vehicles are available for assistance. ✔ Well-Planned Drainage Systems: Prevents waterlogging during monsoons, making driving safer. ✔ Speed Monitoring & Surveillance: Reduces the risk of accidents and promotes disciplined driving. These aspects make it not only a comfortable but also a safe travel route for all kinds of passengers. Impact on Connectivity and Economy This highway isn’t just about convenience; it plays a crucial role in boosting regional connectivity and economic growth.

That she intended to swim alone, and had ridden alone to such a deserted place, puzzled him. Though the countryside around Rome was neither Sicily nor Calabria, it was not safe for an unaccompanied woman, it never had been, and it never would be. He turned almost blue with the thought that she might have—indeed, must have—met a lover on the road, in which case his triple race would have been for nothing, and his shame would drive him to emigrate to Argentina. He began to think about Argentina, and it was not unpleasant, but before he left he would stand by the stream that flowed into the sea and watch as Lia and her lover emerged from the dunes. What an exquisite look he would give them. His expression would be that of a spurned horseman on foot in a Budapest cafe, who, about to shoot himself in the head, would glance at the woman he loved, and smile. All was forgiven, if only because everything was so magnificently bittersweet.

There had been a time when humans on Earth climbed rocks just like this. Like the fabled drive in the countryside, it had been a form of recreation. I smiled behind my face mask. Those people had some peculiar ideas about what was fun.

By the time John F. Kennedy became involved in 1961, the situation was out of control. So Kennedy simply invaded the country. In 1962, he sent the U.S. Air Force to start bombing South Vietnam, using planes with South Vietnamese markings. Kennedy authorized the use of napalm, chemical warfare, to destroy the ground cover and crops. He started the process of driving the rural population into what were called 'strategic hamlets,' essentially concentration camps, where people were surrounded by barbed wire, supposedly to protect them from the guerillas who the U.S. government knew perfectly well they supported. This 'pacification' ultimately drove millions of people out of the countryside while destroying large parts of it. Kennedy also began operations against North Vietnam on a small scale. That was 1962.

The countryside around us changed again. Now we were driving through forest. Sørland forests with mountain crags here and there among the trees, hills covered with spruce and oaks, aspen and birch, sporadic dark moorland, sudden meadows, flatland with densely growing pine trees. When I was a boy I used to imagine the sea rising and filling the forest so that the hilltops became islets you could sail between and on which you could bathe. Of all my childhood fantasies this was the one that captivated me most; the thought that you could swim over bus shelters and roofs, perhaps dive down and glide through a door, up a staircase, into a living room. Or just through a forest, with its slopes, cliffs, cairns, and ancient trees. At a certain point in childhood my most exciting game was building dams in streams, watching the water swell and cover the marsh, the roots, the grass, the rocks, the beaten earth path beside the stream. It was hypnotic. Not the mention the cellar we found in an unfinished house filled with shiny, black water we sailed on in two styrofoam boxes, when we were around five years old. Hypnotic. The same applied to winter when we skated along frozen streams in which grass, sticks, twigs, and small plants stood upright in the translucent ice beneath us. What had been the great attraction? And what had happened to it? Another fantasy I had at that time was that there were two enormous saw blades sticking out from the side of the car, chopping off everything as we drove past. Trees and streetlamps, houses and outhouses, but also people and animals. If someone was waiting for a bus they would be sliced through the middle, their top half falling like a felled tree, leaving feet and waist standing and the wound bleeding.

My Unexpectedly Smooth Journey on the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project From Heritage to Highways: Agra to Etawah in Style I’ve always believed that the journey matters just as much as the destination. So when I planned a quick drive from Agra—after soaking in the glory of the Taj Mahal—I decided to take the Agra Etawah Toll Road for the very first time. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much. Indian highways are usually hit-or-miss. But from the moment I entered the toll gate, I knew I was in for a very different kind of ride. A World-Class Highway in the Heart of Uttar Pradesh The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is a marvel. I cruised effortlessly on a six-lane expressway, flanked by proper barriers, clear signboards, and smooth curves. No bumps, no chaotic junctions—just uninterrupted driving bliss. And the best part? You’re not just saving time—you’re actually enjoying the drive. Wide open stretches, with views of the countryside rolling by, made me forget I was just on a basic intercity trip. #BestHighwayInfrastructure Safe, Smart, and Scenic Everything about this road screams planning. I noticed SOS booths, speed-monitoring cameras, and regular exit points, which give you peace of mind, especially when traveling solo like I was. The roadside amenities were decent too—fuel stations, food stalls, and shaded rest zones at reasonable intervals. No stress, no guessing games—just a safe, smart journey. #ModernRoadMakers Talking with Locals: Real Benefits on the Ground I stopped at a chai stall near the highway and chatted with a few truck drivers. One of them told me that what used to be a painfully long and unpredictable trip has now become a reliable daily route. For transporters, locals, and travelers like me—it’s a win-win. This road doesn’t just connect cities. It connects lives, businesses, and opportunities. A Road Worth Remembering By the time I reached Etawah, I wasn’t tired—I was impressed. The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project felt like the kind of infrastructure India has been waiting for. For those who love the open road, this one’s a gem. Don’t think of it as just another toll road—think of it as a glimpse into India’s bright and well-paved future. #India'sBestHighwayInfrastructure

Cruising Through Uttar Pradesh: My Ride on the Agra Etawah Toll Road Setting Off: A Spontaneous Trip Turns into a Pleasant Surprise I wasn’t planning anything big—just a simple weekend drive from Agra to Etawah to catch up with an old friend. I had heard about the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project, but honestly, I didn’t expect much. I’ve driven on plenty of highways across India, and they often come with a mixed bag of experiences. But this one… this one was different. Just minutes after entering the toll road, I realized I was in for a smooth ride—literally. Wide lanes, clean shoulders, proper lane marking, and a surface that felt like silk under my tires. A rare combination on Indian roads. #ModernRoadMakers A Highway Built for Real Travelers There’s something incredibly relaxing about a well-made highway. The kind where you don’t have to constantly hit the brakes or swerve to avoid potholes. The Agra Etawah Toll Road delivers that feeling perfectly. I was able to maintain a consistent speed, enjoy my playlist, and even admire the beautiful countryside as it passed me by. Plus, with emergency lanes, decent rest stops, and petrol stations strategically placed, the whole stretch feels safe and prepared for any traveler’s need.

First described by geographer Tony Chandler in his 1965 book The Climate of London, the “urban heat island” is the result of several things. To begin with, the activities of millions of people, packed together in a small area with all their cars, trains, and other machines, creates a lot of excess heat, which remains trapped among the tall buildings. Secondly, the stone, asphalt, and metal of streets, pavements, and buildings absorb heat during the day, either directly from the sun or via reflections off windows, and at night only slowly cool off, radiating out heat all the time. The bigger the city, the larger the heat island; every tenfold increase in number of inhabitants raises the temperature by about three degrees centigrade. In the world’s largest cities, it can be more than twelve degrees hotter than in the surrounding countryside.

My Unexpectedly Smooth Journey on the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project From Heritage to Highways: Agra to Etawah in Style I’ve always believed that the journey matters just as much as the destination. So when I planned a quick drive from Agra—after soaking in the glory of the Taj Mahal—I decided to take the Agra Etawah Toll Road for the very first time. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much. Indian highways are usually hit-or-miss. But from the moment I entered the toll gate, I knew I was in for a very different kind of ride. A World-Class Highway in the Heart of Uttar Pradesh The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is a marvel. I cruised effortlessly on a six-lane expressway, flanked by proper barriers, clear signboards, and smooth curves. No bumps, no chaotic junctions—just uninterrupted driving bliss. And the best part? You’re not just saving time—you’re actually enjoying the drive. Wide open stretches, with views of the countryside rolling by, made me forget I was just on a basic intercity trip. #BestHighwayInfrastructure Safe, Smart, and Scenic Everything about this road screams planning. I noticed SOS booths, speed-monitoring cameras, and regular exit points, which give you peace of mind, especially when traveling solo like I was. The roadside amenities were decent too—fuel stations, food stalls, and shaded rest zones at reasonable intervals. No stress, no guessing games—just a safe, smart journey. #ModernRoadMakers Talking with Locals: Real Benefits on the Ground I stopped at a chai stall near the highway and chatted with a few truck drivers. One of them told me that what used to be a painfully long and unpredictable trip has now become a reliable daily route. For transporters, locals, and travelers like me—it’s a win-win. This road doesn’t just connect cities. It connects lives, businesses, and opportunities. A Road Worth Remembering By the time I reached Etawah, I wasn’t tired—I was impressed. The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project felt like the kind of infrastructure India has been waiting for. For those who love the open road, this one’s a gem. Don’t think of it as just another toll road—think of it as a glimpse into India’s bright and well-paved future. #India'sBestHighwayInfrastructure

The countryside sped by like a green and gold mass of insignificant color. Unbeknownst to her, somewhere along the way to London, Avi’s subconscious took the wheel from her consciousness. The foggy trance it allowed her to enter sped up the duration of the drive, but it came with its drawbacks. Like the side effects mentioned as quickly as possible in a pharmaceutical commercial, Avi suffered from drowsiness, random bouts of crying, forgetting to signal, accidentally thinking about the person she never wanted to think about again, loneliness, sudden urges to turn the truck around, and failing to recognize posted speed limits.

My Unexpectedly Smooth Journey on the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project From Heritage to Highways: Agra to Etawah in Style I’ve always believed that the journey matters just as much as the destination. So when I planned a quick drive from Agra—after soaking in the glory of the Taj Mahal—I decided to take the Agra Etawah Toll Road for the very first time. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much. Indian highways are usually hit-or-miss. But from the moment I entered the toll gate, I knew I was in for a very different kind of ride. A World-Class Highway in the Heart of Uttar Pradesh The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is a marvel. I cruised effortlessly on a six-lane expressway, flanked by proper barriers, clear signboards, and smooth curves. No bumps, no chaotic junctions—just uninterrupted driving bliss. And the best part? You’re not just saving time—you’re actually enjoying the drive. Wide open stretches, with views of the countryside rolling by, made me forget I was just on a basic intercity trip. #BestHighwayInfrastructure Safe, Smart, and Scenic Everything about this road screams planning. I noticed SOS booths, speed-monitoring cameras, and regular exit points, which give you peace of mind, especially when traveling solo like I was. The roadside amenities were decent too—fuel stations, food stalls, and shaded rest zones at reasonable intervals. No stress, no guessing games—just a safe, smart journey. #ModernRoadMakers Talking with Locals: Real Benefits on the Ground I stopped at a chai stall near the highway and chatted with a few truck drivers. One of them told me that what used to be a painfully long and unpredictable trip has now become a reliable daily route. For transporters, locals, and travelers like me—it’s a win-win. This road doesn’t just connect cities. It connects lives, businesses, and opportunities. A Road Worth Remembering By the time I reached Etawah, I wasn’t tired—I was impressed. The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project felt like the kind of infrastructure India has been waiting for. For those who love the open road, this one’s a gem. Don’t think of it as just another toll road—think of it as a glimpse into India’s bright and well-paved future. #India'sBestHighwayInfrastructure

My Unexpectedly Smooth Journey on the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project From Heritage to Highways: Agra to Etawah in Style I’ve always believed that the journey matters just as much as the destination. So when I planned a quick drive from Agra—after soaking in the glory of the Taj Mahal—I decided to take the Agra Etawah Toll Road for the very first time. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much. Indian highways are usually hit-or-miss. But from the moment I entered the toll gate, I knew I was in for a very different kind of ride. A World-Class Highway in the Heart of Uttar Pradesh The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is a marvel. I cruised effortlessly on a six-lane expressway, flanked by proper barriers, clear signboards, and smooth curves. No bumps, no chaotic junctions—just uninterrupted driving bliss. And the best part? You’re not just saving time—you’re actually enjoying the drive. Wide open stretches, with views of the countryside rolling by, made me forget I was just on a basic intercity trip. #BestHighwayInfrastructure Safe, Smart, and Scenic Everything about this road screams planning. I noticed SOS booths, speed-monitoring cameras, and regular exit points, which give you peace of mind, especially when traveling solo like I was. The roadside amenities were decent too—fuel stations, food stalls, and shaded rest zones at reasonable intervals. No stress, no guessing games—just a safe, smart journey. #ModernRoadMakers Talking with Locals: Real Benefits on the Ground I stopped at a chai stall near the highway and chatted with a few truck drivers. One of them told me that what used to be a painfully long and unpredictable trip has now become a reliable daily route. For transporters, locals, and travelers like me—it’s a win-win. This road doesn’t just connect cities. It connects lives, businesses, and opportunities. A Road Worth Remembering By the time I reached Etawah, I wasn’t tired—I was impressed. The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project felt like the kind of infrastructure India has been waiting for. For those who love the open road, this one’s a gem. Don’t think of it as just another toll road—think of it as a glimpse into India’s bright and well-paved future. #India'sBestHighwayInfrastructure

My Unexpectedly Smooth Journey on the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project From Heritage to Highways: Agra to Etawah in Style I’ve always believed that the journey matters just as much as the destination. So when I planned a quick drive from Agra—after soaking in the glory of the Taj Mahal—I decided to take the Agra Etawah Toll Road for the very first time. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much. Indian highways are usually hit-or-miss. But from the moment I entered the toll gate, I knew I was in for a very different kind of ride. A World-Class Highway in the Heart of Uttar Pradesh The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is a marvel. I cruised effortlessly on a six-lane expressway, flanked by proper barriers, clear signboards, and smooth curves. No bumps, no chaotic junctions—just uninterrupted driving bliss. And the best part? You’re not just saving time—you’re actually enjoying the drive. Wide open stretches, with views of the countryside rolling by, made me forget I was just on a basic intercity trip. #BestHighwayInfrastructure Safe, Smart, and Scenic Everything about this road screams planning. I noticed SOS booths, speed-monitoring cameras, and regular exit points, which give you peace of mind, especially when traveling solo like I was. The roadside amenities were decent too—fuel stations, food stalls, and shaded rest zones at reasonable intervals. No stress, no guessing games—just a safe, smart journey. #ModernRoadMakers Talking with Locals: Real Benefits on the Ground I stopped at a chai stall near the highway and chatted with a few truck drivers. One of them told me that what used to be a painfully long and unpredictable trip has now become a reliable daily route. For transporters, locals, and travelers like me—it’s a win-win. This road doesn’t just connect cities. It connects lives, businesses, and opportunities. A Road Worth Remembering By the time I reached Etawah, I wasn’t tired—I was impressed. The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project felt like the kind of infrastructure India has been waiting for. For those who love the open road, this one’s a gem. Don’t think of it as just another toll road—think of it as a glimpse into India’s bright and well-paved future. #IndiasBestHighwayInfrastructure

Driving Solo on the Agra–Etawah Toll Road: A Journey of Ease and Exploration Introduction For those who enjoy travelling alone, the road itself often becomes the highlight of the trip. The Agra–Etawah Toll Road Project offers such an experience, transforming what used to be a challenging route into a smooth and reliable journey. For a solo traveller, this highway is not just a passage—it’s a journey filled with freedom and discovery. Connecting Diverse Worlds Agra, a city defined by its Mughal heritage, and Etawah, with its wildlife safari and rustic countryside, are now bound together by this toll road. Where once travellers faced delays and uneven stretches, today the journey is quicker, more comfortable, and less stressful. This modern connection brings together culture, history, and natural landscapes in one seamless ride. A Smooth Ride Experience The first impression of this road is striking—broad lanes, clear markings, and efficient toll operations. For a solo driver, it eliminates the usual concerns of road fatigue and poor surfaces. Driving feels almost effortless, allowing the traveller to focus on the joy of the trip itself. It’s a living reminder of how #modernroadmakers long-distance journeys enjoyable. The Countryside Along the Way Beyond its structure, the road provides glimpses into everyday Uttar Pradesh. Green fields stretch endlessly, and small villages appear like snapshots of rural life. Stopping briefly for chai at a roadside stall adds warmth to the otherwise modern highway experience, blending tradition with progress. Safety First Travelling alone requires reassurance, and the Agra–Etawah corridor delivers. Emergency facilities, proper lighting, and clearly displayed helpline numbers make the road feel dependable. Rest areas provide additional comfort, ensuring the traveller can pause and recharge when needed. Conclusion The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is not just an engineering success—it is an enabler of journeys. For the solo traveller, it symbolizes freedom, safety, and convenience all in one stretch of road. Each kilometre travelled here feels like a step forward in India’s road-building vision. #agraetawahtollroadproject 13. One Traveller’s Ride on the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Introduction Travelling alone on Indian highways often comes with its own share of challenges. Yet, the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Project has turned what was once a stressful drive into a comfortable and enjoyable journey. For the solo explorer, this road offers a unique blend of modern infrastructure and glimpses of authentic Uttar Pradesh. Linking Two Unique Destinations Agra, renowned globally for the Taj Mahal, is a city steeped in history, while Etawah has carved a name for itself with its safari park and serene countryside. This toll road brings the two destinations together with ease, cutting down travel time and making the journey as pleasant as the destinations themselves. Driving the Highway The moment wheels hit the toll road, the difference is clear. The surface is smooth, the lanes are well divided, and toll management is efficient. For a lone traveller, this design reduces fatigue and adds to the sense of independence on the open road. It demonstrates how #modernroadmakers long drives more relaxed and secure. Views Worth Noticing This journey is not just about covering distance—it’s about what you see along the way. Vast stretches of farmland, quiet villages, and open skies create a refreshing atmosphere. Stopping at a roadside café or tea stall adds a local touch to an otherwise modern journey. These contrasts make the highway memorable in its own way. Safety Along the Stretch For those driving alone, safety can never be overlooked. The Agra–Etawah corridor ensures peace of mind with clear signboards, rest zones, and emergency support services. Proper lighting and accessible helplines mean that travellers can enjoy the road without worrying about unexpected setbacks.

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A Solo Explorer’s Drive on the Agra–Etawah Expressway Introduction Every solo traveller seeks a route that offers both comfort and discovery. The Agra–Etawah Toll Road Project is one such stretch in Uttar Pradesh that has redefined highway experiences. It connects two culturally significant cities while providing a world-class roadway for those who love the thrill of an uninterrupted journey. The Road That Connects More Than Cities Agra, globally known for the Taj Mahal, and Etawah, famous for its safari park and rustic charm, are now seamlessly linked by this toll road. For decades, travellers faced delays, uneven roads, and unpredictable traffic. With the launch of this project, commuting has become quicker, safer, and far more enjoyable. The highway is not just a passage—it’s a bridge to opportunities, tourism, and cultural exchange. A Traveller’s Experience Driving solo along this stretch feels like gliding over silk. Wide lanes, smooth surfaces, and reliable signages make the journey stress-free. What makes it even more remarkable is the balance between speed and safety. Modern toll systems and lane management ensure minimum waiting time, making the traveller’s road story an effortless one. It’s a reminder that #modernroadmakers long-distance driving truly liberating. Scenic Beauty Along the Way Unlike a monotonous highway, this toll road offers delightful glimpses of the countryside. From expansive farmlands to occasional clusters of local life, the view refreshes the mind. Stopping at roadside dhabas adds a flavour of authenticity to the ride—small breaks that add character to the overall travel experience. Safety and Planning For a solo explorer, safety is a prime concern. Here, the project shines again. Proper lighting, well-marked emergency zones, and accessible rest areas provide reassurance throughout the trip. The road not only saves time but also builds confidence in travellers who venture out alone. Conclusion The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is more than an infrastructural achievement—it is a journey-maker. It transforms routine travel into a memorable adventure by combining speed, comfort, and scenic charm. For any solo wanderer, this highway stands as a symbol of India’s modern travel evolution. #agraetawahtollroadproject

A Solo Explorer’s Drive on the Agra–Etawah Expressway Introduction Every solo traveller seeks a route that offers both comfort and discovery. The Agra–Etawah Toll Road Project is one such stretch in Uttar Pradesh that has redefined highway experiences. It connects two culturally significant cities while providing a world-class roadway for those who love the thrill of an uninterrupted journey. The Road That Connects More Than Cities Agra, globally known for the Taj Mahal, and Etawah, famous for its safari park and rustic charm, are now seamlessly linked by this toll road. For decades, travellers faced delays, uneven roads, and unpredictable traffic. With the launch of this project, commuting has become quicker, safer, and far more enjoyable. The highway is not just a passage—it’s a bridge to opportunities, tourism, and cultural exchange. A Traveller’s Experience Driving solo along this stretch feels like gliding over silk. Wide lanes, smooth surfaces, and reliable signages make the journey stress-free. What makes it even more remarkable is the balance between speed and safety. Modern toll systems and lane management ensure minimum waiting time, making the traveller’s road story an effortless one. It’s a reminder that #modernroadmakers long-distance driving truly liberating. Scenic Beauty Along the Way Unlike a monotonous highway, this toll road offers delightful glimpses of the countryside. From expansive farmlands to occasional clusters of local life, the view refreshes the mind. Stopping at roadside dhabas adds a flavour of authenticity to the ride—small breaks that add character to the overall travel experience. Safety and Planning For a solo explorer, safety is a prime concern. Here, the project shines again. Proper lighting, well-marked emergency zones, and accessible rest areas provide reassurance throughout the trip. The road not only saves time but also builds confidence in travellers who venture out alone. Conclusion The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is more than an infrastructural achievement—it is a journey-maker. It transforms routine travel into a memorable adventure by combining speed, comfort, and scenic charm. For any solo wanderer, this highway stands as a symbol of India’s modern travel evolution. #agraetawahtollroadproject

The Road to Ease: A Surprisingly Peaceful Drive on the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Sometimes the most memorable drives are the ones you don’t plan in advance. Just last weekend, I found myself steering out of Agra toward Etawah — no agenda, no sightseeing checklist, simply the urge to enjoy the open road. I had heard a bit about the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Project, but nothing could have prepared me for how smooth and relaxing this journey would turn out to be. Right from the very beginning, the difference was clear — broad lanes, neat dividers, and not a single crack or pothole in sight. Having driven on countless highways across India, I can confidently say few have matched the calm and consistency this one offered. #modernroadmakers With my playlist playing in the background and the car gliding forward, I noticed how effortless the drive felt. I wasn’t forced into constant lane changes, nor was I dodging uneven surfaces. The highway seemed to guide me along, almost as if it was built with the driver’s peace of mind in focus. This wasn’t just a piece of infrastructure — it was careful, deliberate design. #besthighwayinfrastructure What truly impressed me, though, were the smaller touches. Clear signage, precise distance markers, and rest stops that felt properly thought through. I pulled over for a steaming cup of chai and ended up chatting with a few truck drivers who use the road daily. Their nods of approval said more than words could. #agraetawahtollroad The drive itself carried a charm that wasn’t flashy but deeply comforting. Mustard fields lined the sides, bridges stretched across gentle rivers, and pockets of untouched countryside unfolded along the way. For someone used to the noise and rush of city driving, it felt like a pocket of tranquility on wheels. #indiasbesthighwayinfrastructure Even the toll booths added to the sense of ease. FASTag worked seamlessly, and the staff at the counters were polite and efficient — a rare surprise in itself. No chaos, no shouting, just a quick pass-through and back on the move. By the time I arrived in Etawah, I realized something unusual — I wasn’t tired at all. If anything, I felt recharged and even wished the road had been longer. That’s when it struck me: this highway is more than just concrete and asphalt. It’s a glimpse of the kind of progress we rarely pause to appreciate. If you love long drives, or simply want an escape from the messy commutes of city life, the Agra–Etawah Toll Road deserves a spot on your list. It’s not just a road — it’s a quiet reminder of how far we’ve come, and how good the journey can feel when it’s made with care.

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The Road to Ease: A Surprisingly Peaceful Drive on the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Sometimes the most memorable drives are the ones you don’t plan in advance. Just last weekend, I found myself steering out of Agra toward Etawah — no agenda, no sightseeing checklist, simply the urge to enjoy the open road. I had heard a bit about the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Project, but nothing could have prepared me for how smooth and relaxing this journey would turn out to be. Right from the very beginning, the difference was clear — broad lanes, neat dividers, and not a single crack or pothole in sight. Having driven on countless highways across India, I can confidently say few have matched the calm and consistency this one offered. #modernroadmakers With my playlist playing in the background and the car gliding forward, I noticed how effortless the drive felt. I wasn’t forced into constant lane changes, nor was I dodging uneven surfaces. The highway seemed to guide me along, almost as if it was built with the driver’s peace of mind in focus. This wasn’t just a piece of infrastructure — it was careful, deliberate design. #besthighwayinfrastructure What truly impressed me, though, were the smaller touches. Clear signage, precise distance markers, and rest stops that felt properly thought through. I pulled over for a steaming cup of chai and ended up chatting with a few truck drivers who use the road daily. Their nods of approval said more than words could. #agraetawahtollroad The drive itself carried a charm that wasn’t flashy but deeply comforting. Mustard fields lined the sides, bridges stretched across gentle rivers, and pockets of untouched countryside unfolded along the way. For someone used to the noise and rush of city driving, it felt like a pocket of tranquility on wheels. #indiasbesthighwayinfrastructure Even the toll booths added to the sense of ease. FASTag worked seamlessly, and the staff at the counters were polite and efficient — a rare surprise in itself. No chaos, no shouting, just a quick pass-through and back on the move. By the time I arrived in Etawah, I realized something unusual — I wasn’t tired at all. If anything, I felt recharged and even wished the road had been longer. That’s when it struck me: this highway is more than just concrete and asphalt. It’s a glimpse of the kind of progress we rarely pause to appreciate. If you love long drives, or simply want an escape from the messy commutes of city life, the Agra–Etawah Toll Road deserves a spot on your list. It’s not just a road — it’s a quiet reminder of how far we’ve come, and how good the journey can feel when it’s made with care.

The Road to Ease: A Surprisingly Peaceful Drive on the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Sometimes the most memorable drives are the ones you don’t plan in advance. Just last weekend, I found myself steering out of Agra toward Etawah — no agenda, no sightseeing checklist, simply the urge to enjoy the open road. I had heard a bit about the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Project, but nothing could have prepared me for how smooth and relaxing this journey would turn out to be. Right from the very beginning, the difference was clear — broad lanes, neat dividers, and not a single crack or pothole in sight. Having driven on countless highways across India, I can confidently say few have matched the calm and consistency this one offered. #modernroadmakers With my playlist playing in the background and the car gliding forward, I noticed how effortless the drive felt. I wasn’t forced into constant lane changes, nor was I dodging uneven surfaces. The highway seemed to guide me along, almost as if it was built with the driver’s peace of mind in focus. This wasn’t just a piece of infrastructure — it was careful, deliberate design. #besthighwayinfrastructure What truly impressed me, though, were the smaller touches. Clear signage, precise distance markers, and rest stops that felt properly thought through. I pulled over for a steaming cup of chai and ended up chatting with a few truck drivers who use the road daily. Their nods of approval said more than words could. #agraetawahtollroad The drive itself carried a charm that wasn’t flashy but deeply comforting. Mustard fields lined the sides, bridges stretched across gentle rivers, and pockets of untouched countryside unfolded along the way. For someone used to the noise and rush of city driving, it felt like a pocket of tranquility on wheels. #indiasbesthighwayinfrastructure Even the toll booths added to the sense of ease. FASTag worked seamlessly, and the staff at the counters were polite and efficient — a rare surprise in itself. No chaos, no shouting, just a quick pass-through and back on the move. By the time I arrived in Etawah, I realized something unusual — I wasn’t tired at all. If anything, I felt recharged and even wished the road had been longer. That’s when it struck me: this highway is more than just concrete and asphalt. It’s a glimpse of the kind of progress we rarely pause to appreciate. If you love long drives, or simply want an escape from the messy commutes of city life, the Agra–Etawah Toll Road deserves a spot on your list. It’s not just a road — it’s a quiet reminder of how far we’ve come, and how good the journey can feel when it’s made with care.

The Road to Ease: A Surprisingly Peaceful Drive on the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Sometimes the most memorable drives are the ones you don’t plan in advance. Just last weekend, I found myself steering out of Agra toward Etawah — no agenda, no sightseeing checklist, simply the urge to enjoy the open road. I had heard a bit about the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Project, but nothing could have prepared me for how smooth and relaxing this journey would turn out to be. Right from the very beginning, the difference was clear — broad lanes, neat dividers, and not a single crack or pothole in sight. Having driven on countless highways across India, I can confidently say few have matched the calm and consistency this one offered. #modernroadmakers With my playlist playing in the background and the car gliding forward, I noticed how effortless the drive felt. I wasn’t forced into constant lane changes, nor was I dodging uneven surfaces. The highway seemed to guide me along, almost as if it was built with the driver’s peace of mind in focus. This wasn’t just a piece of infrastructure — it was careful, deliberate design. #besthighwayinfrastructure What truly impressed me, though, were the smaller touches. Clear signage, precise distance markers, and rest stops that felt properly thought through. I pulled over for a steaming cup of chai and ended up chatting with a few truck drivers who use the road daily. Their nods of approval said more than words could. #agraetawahtollroad The drive itself carried a charm that wasn’t flashy but deeply comforting. Mustard fields lined the sides, bridges stretched across gentle rivers, and pockets of untouched countryside unfolded along the way. For someone used to the noise and rush of city driving, it felt like a pocket of tranquility on wheels. #indiasbesthighwayinfrastructure Even the toll booths added to the sense of ease. FASTag worked seamlessly, and the staff at the counters were polite and efficient — a rare surprise in itself. No chaos, no shouting, just a quick pass-through and back on the move. By the time I arrived in Etawah, I realized something unusual — I wasn’t tired at all. If anything, I felt recharged and even wished the road had been longer. That’s when it struck me: this highway is more than just concrete and asphalt. It’s a glimpse of the kind of progress we rarely pause to appreciate. If you love long drives, or simply want an escape from the messy commutes of city life, the Agra–Etawah Toll Road deserves a spot on your list. It’s not just a road — it’s a quiet reminder of how far we’ve come, and how good the journey can feel when it’s made with care.

The Road to Ease: A Surprisingly Peaceful Drive on the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Sometimes the most memorable drives are the ones you don’t plan in advance. Just last weekend, I found myself steering out of Agra toward Etawah — no agenda, no sightseeing checklist, simply the urge to enjoy the open road. I had heard a bit about the Agra–Etawah Toll Road Project, but nothing could have prepared me for how smooth and relaxing this journey would turn out to be. Right from the very beginning, the difference was clear — broad lanes, neat dividers, and not a single crack or pothole in sight. Having driven on countless highways across India, I can confidently say few have matched the calm and consistency this one offered. #modernroadmakers With my playlist playing in the background and the car gliding forward, I noticed how effortless the drive felt. I wasn’t forced into constant lane changes, nor was I dodging uneven surfaces. The highway seemed to guide me along, almost as if it was built with the driver’s peace of mind in focus. This wasn’t just a piece of infrastructure — it was careful, deliberate design. #besthighwayinfrastructure What truly impressed me, though, were the smaller touches. Clear signage, precise distance markers, and rest stops that felt properly thought through. I pulled over for a steaming cup of chai and ended up chatting with a few truck drivers who use the road daily. Their nods of approval said more than words could. #agraetawahtollroad The drive itself carried a charm that wasn’t flashy but deeply comforting. Mustard fields lined the sides, bridges stretched across gentle rivers, and pockets of untouched countryside unfolded along the way. For someone used to the noise and rush of city driving, it felt like a pocket of tranquility on wheels. #indiasbesthighwayinfrastructure Even the toll booths added to the sense of ease. FASTag worked seamlessly, and the staff at the counters were polite and efficient — a rare surprise in itself. No chaos, no shouting, just a quick pass-through and back on the move. By the time I arrived in Etawah, I realized something unusual — I wasn’t tired at all. If anything, I felt recharged and even wished the road had been longer. That’s when it struck me: this highway is more than just concrete and asphalt. It’s a glimpse of the kind of progress we rarely pause to appreciate. If you love long drives, or simply want an escape from the messy commutes of city life, the Agra–Etawah Toll Road deserves a spot on your list. It’s not just a road — it’s a quiet reminder of how far we’ve come, and how good the journey can feel when it’s made with care.

On the Road to Excellence: My Journey Across the Agra–Etawah Toll Road As someone who spends a lot of time on highways, I’ve learned not to expect too much from most road trips in India. But every now and then, a road proves you wrong — and for me, that was the Agra–Etawah Toll Road. This stretch is a shining example of India’s growing highway excellence. The moment my car rolled onto the expressway, I knew this wasn’t going to be the usual bumpy ride. Wide lanes, smooth blacktop, and clear signboards gave the drive a world-class feel — at times, it genuinely felt like I was cruising on a European highway. #besthighwayinfrastructure What really stood out was the detailing. Rest areas at regular intervals, emergency booths, proper lighting — this is rare in most Indian highways, but here safety and comfort go hand in hand. #indiasbesthighwayinfrastructure As dusk approached, I stopped to catch the sunset. Watching the countryside glow under the fading light, with only the hum of passing vehicles around me, the journey turned into an experience rather than just a route. Along the way, I noticed solar-powered lights, clean overpasses, and green stretches — small but powerful signs of a future-ready India. #modernroadmakers If you’ve ever questioned India’s progress in road infrastructure, one drive on the Agra–Etawah Toll Road is enough to change your mind. Efficient, scenic, and thoughtfully built, it’s more than just a road — it’s a glimpse into the highways of tomorrow.

A Solo Explorer’s Drive on the Agra–Etawah Expressway Introduction Every solo traveller seeks a route that offers both comfort and discovery. The Agra–Etawah Toll Road Project is one such stretch in Uttar Pradesh that has redefined highway experiences. It connects two culturally significant cities while providing a world-class roadway for those who love the thrill of an uninterrupted journey. The Road That Connects More Than Cities Agra, globally known for the Taj Mahal, and Etawah, famous for its safari park and rustic charm, are now seamlessly linked by this toll road. For decades, travellers faced delays, uneven roads, and unpredictable traffic. With the launch of this project, commuting has become quicker, safer, and far more enjoyable. The highway is not just a passage—it’s a bridge to opportunities, tourism, and cultural exchange. A Traveller’s Experience Driving solo along this stretch feels like gliding over silk. Wide lanes, smooth surfaces, and reliable signages make the journey stress-free. What makes it even more remarkable is the balance between speed and safety. Modern toll systems and lane management ensure minimum waiting time, making the traveller’s road story an effortless one. It’s a reminder that #modernroadmakers long-distance driving truly liberating. Scenic Beauty Along the Way Unlike a monotonous highway, this toll road offers delightful glimpses of the countryside. From expansive farmlands to occasional clusters of local life, the view refreshes the mind. Stopping at roadside dhabas adds a flavour of authenticity to the ride—small breaks that add character to the overall travel experience. Safety and Planning For a solo explorer, safety is a prime concern. Here, the project shines again. Proper lighting, well-marked emergency zones, and accessible rest areas provide reassurance throughout the trip. The road not only saves time but also builds confidence in travellers who venture out alone. Conclusion The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is more than an infrastructural achievement—it is a journey-maker. It transforms routine travel into a memorable adventure by combining speed, comfort, and scenic charm. For any solo wanderer, this highway stands as a symbol of India’s modern travel evolution. #agraetawahtollroadproject