I awoke at 6:30 having missed my alarm (because it was set to pm not am...duh), I jumped off the couch. My train was leaving in 50 minutes from the other side of town. Shit. Anjli ran out of her room "Andrew, you have to get going" she shouted. "I know! I know! I just got up!". I got dressed, brushed my teeth and jumped in a cab 15 minutes later. Luckily I made it to the train station with 10 minutes to spare...jumped on the train, found my seat and set off for Amritsar on the border with Pakistan in the district of Punjab.
On the 6 hour journey North, I sat next to an, at first, friendly, but later, belligerant Chinaman and tried to catch up on some sleep. I worried that I wouldn't get any food on the journey, so was ready to ration the cereal bar that Anjli had given me when running out the door. I couldn't have been more wrong. Firstly, they brought out cups of tea, that we would mix ourselves from a karaffe of hot water, tea bag, sugar and powered milk. Now, in all other circumstances, I hate tea (I realise I just lost a lot of readers). Mixing hot water with milk is odd enough without putting dried leaves in to stew. Given the potential lack of food, I figured I should bite the bullet and have a cup. Much to my complete and utter surprise, it was quite bearable and at times, even, pleasant. However, it was a mix of half a cup of water and a bag of sugar...so it couldn't go much wrong.
Later, again surprised, they brought out breakfast: an omelette with a few awkward peas scattered about the eggy landscape, and two soggy chips sleeping underneath. Great sustenance. I'm reminded of the Ray Mears' type programmes where the documentary's adventurer eats insects "Ughhh oh that's horrible. But a great source of protein". It was a little more civilised than that, so I was pleased.
I arrived in Amritsar late and, starting to get hungry again, jumped on the free bus to the Golden Temple. Free anything is rare in India, so I wasn't going to pass up a chance at saving a few rupees and enjoying a pushing and shoving match with the locals for a seat on a 10 minute bus (it's free for all pilgrims on their journey to the temple).
The town was underwhelming in nature, but overwhelming in how busy it was, much like Old Delhi...cars, mopeds and donkeys jutting in and out of every direction. Dropped off right at the entrance to the temple, I walked straight in and found the cloak room where everyone stores their shoes before entering the holy site. I walked barefoot across the marble floor, with festive tassles hanging from wires, all of which go the entire length of the corridor from the entrance to the main pool. I washed my feet in a small puddle like pool, reminiscent of my days swimming at the public swimming pool with school. Soggy carpets and rubber grills in three rows showed the way to the temple.
A guard with a bright orange turban, navy blue dress and a towering spear pointed to a bin and mumbled something through his bushy Sikh beard. The bin contained headscarves that all have to wear when entering the temple area. Anjli had told me a few days earlier that Obama, who is visiting on the Indian New Year, was meant to come here, but has had to cancel due to the potential domestic political and civil public relations nightmare wearing a headscarf might cause him (especially with the midterms coming up, and reelection soon after).
I descended the marble steps where, at the bottom, Sikh pilgrims touched the steps on their way up and knelt and put their faces on the ground on the way down towards the Golden Temple. In the centre of a large rectangular pool neatly sits the temple. Two storeys up, it glistens magnificantly in the sunlight. White marble arches crown the pool and two clock towers complete the organised marble forest below.
After a few second of awe, I regained the sense that I would be late for the Wagah border ceremony if I didn't have lunch soon. I rushed to the temple's cantine where, at first, one lines up to receive a silver tray with four compartments, a bowl and a spoon. Next, the crowd is ushered to the large dining hall where, along strips of carpets, one sits sideways in a single profile line, cross legged with the tray and bowl off the carpet. There can be potentially up to a thousand people in this room and it has several floors...
Sikh volunteers then shoot along the rows with a bucket of slop each, serving up at lightning speed into each tray with a large soup server. Another volunteer comes along with a basket of Chipatti, passing out two at a time to you, if you cup and hold out your hands. The meal was awesome: Dahl (lentil curry), paneer and chickpea curry and, in the evening, a very liquid rice pudding for dessert. The bowl is meant for water, but suspicious of the hygene of its origin, I opted for my bottled water instead.
One then lines up to have the plate snatched away for wash up...all of which is done for you! The wash up crew can be heard going all night, clattering steel trays and splashing soapy water...even at 4am when I awoke to catch my train. It's a colossal job and takes an army of willing pilgrims. On the way out, I saw 20 or so people chopping garlic in a cordoned off area, and 40 or so people cutting onions in another filled with what must have been 100,000s of onions. I can't help think back to food prep on the truck in Africa and our incessant internal moaning; this was quite humbling.
Aware of the time, I rushed to the entrance to find a shared taxi to the Pakistan border. Crammed into the front seat of a jeep with 8 other people, I had a good hour's drive to think about how, with my kneecaps pressed up against the dashboard, any sudden stop or collision could pop them right off. I prayed to Vishnu and Shiva who peacefully sat on the dashboard, attentively waiting for my early demise and the chance to welcome me back as a reincarnated slug for my sinful life.
The Wagah border between India and Pakistan hosts a daily ceremony at sundown to mark the closing of the border. Packed with a few thousand nationalist zealots and the odd tourist, the ceremony is a mix of a the silly walks of a Monty Python sketch, performed by the guards marching back and forth to the border gate; the ambience of a football match; and the zealotry of a revolutionary rally. The main presentor gets the crowd all rawled up by pointing at sections of the audience and then violently lifting his hands. The crowd responds with something between cheering and screaming. He constantly shouted "Hindustan" and the crowd would yell something inaudibly loud back. There was a certain arrogance in his motion and way of immediately turning around that suggested he really enjoyed the rockstar like ego boost that hosting this show gave him.
The guards, wearing a standard brown uniform, a standardised Saddam Hussein moustache and a red mohawkan headware, walked back and forth as if it was a graduation ceremony at the Ministry of Silly Walks. Even the kids laughed. One guard, I'm pretty sure, managed to kick himself in the face. Impressive, but ridiculous.
There was also, literally, a shouting match between India and Pakistan. A guard would shout and maintain a note into the microphone on the Pakistan side, then would be joined by a guard on the Indian side. They lasted an impressive length of time, but the Indian guards could never last as long as the Pakistani professional shouters.
Once back at the Golden Temple, I endeavoured to find some accommdation. I figured, while I'm here, why not do as the Sikhs do, and stayed at the temple in the pilgrims' accommodation for free (I've had no bed bug bites as yet). There's an especially designated area for non-local pilgrims, in other words, everyone was white. I only had a few hours sleep as I had to get up at 4am to catch the early train back....
I made it back to Delhi, met up with Anjli for a pleasant afternoon wondering around Khan Market, getting some last minute travel stuff, and visitning the Gandhi Smriti where he was shot and killed on 30 January 1947. In the early evening, I got the sleeper train to Varanasi where I have just arrived.
More tomorrow hopefully.
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