Dharamsala / Mcleodganj

Fairly sure I caught him up to something...

The bus to Dharamsala was long, bumpy and along some of the most dangerous roads we’d been on so far. Sheer cliff faces, narrow roads and crazy drivers made for some interesting points. But all in all, we arrived in one piece. We’d received some details for a reasonably cheap hotel from the gentleman we had spoken to in Dalhousie, a place in Mcleodganj. This, we realized, was the main place to go, as everything was based there. So after disembarking the coach and having a man lift our bags out of the back and onto the floor, asking us for money for having done so, we were approached by an Indian couple who were on the same coach as to whether we would like to share a taxi with them. Sounded good to us, reducing costs where we can was something we were a fan of.

The taxi pulls up and the couple start loading in their bags. The driver, clearly unaware we were getting in also, looked very surprised when we started putting our bags in also. I have a feeling he’d negotiated a good ‘Indian’ price, and wasn’t happy he hadn’t had a chance to put a foreigner tax on. No problem for us, anyway. We make the way up the mountain side towards Mcleodganj, when it became a little more apparent why he didn’t expect us, the first incline we got to the taxi ground to a halt and couldn’t get up (Well, not with the way he was trying to use the clutch anyway…) so me and the guy got out and ran along side until the road evened out a little. We got back in, and just about managed to avoid having to do the same again on the following hills, although it was touch and go for a few points. It turned out the couple were travelling India due to them having just got wed and this being their honeymoon break. They asked if we had found a place to stay yet, to which we said we kind of did, and they said they planned on looking around to negotiate prices with people.

The narrow streets of Mcleodganj

The taxi arrived at the centre of Mcleodganj. We paid up and called the hotel to find out where it was. Once we worked out which direction to head in, we grabbed our bags and prepared to start walking. The couple asked us to wait up as they planned to come with us to see our hotel. Fair enough, we wait for them, and meanwhile someone approaches us and asks if we want a room for cheaper with all the same facilities. Seemed fine to us, apparently it wasn’t far, so we decided to go with him. The couple also decide to come with us, although they had two people carrying their bags for them now, I have no idea where they found them but they seemed happy about it.

We head down the hill following the man to his hotel. On the way, the newly wed guy went with the bags into another hotel. We approached a set of steps leading down a long way, although half way down they were no longer steps and more just mud and gravel. We followed down, the girl who was still with us to check the hotel out leading the way and not seeming very happy about it. Up to them, we thought. We finally get to the room, and it’s fine for us, so we say we’ll stay there. The girl checked out the room next to us, complaining a few times about the distance from the market and other points. After a while, her husband arrives and says about how great the other place was and the price of it. They talk for a while and then, bizarrely, decide to stay in the room next to us. At this point, we realised we had a pair of stalkers on our hands. I couldn’t think of a good reason you’d want to hang around with two strangers whilst on your honeymoon, but they seemed to. We closed the door to our room and waited until they were settled in theirs and snuck out to go explore. The area is home to many Tibetan refugees and Buddhist monks, and most famously the home and temple of the Dalai Lama. We took a look around to get our bearings and find something to eat.

A beast that greeted us in our room one night. T'was about the size of a human head, I swear.

The next day, we get up and go to sort out actually checking in to the hotel, as the day before they hadn’t been around to take our passports. Whilst we were doing this, our stalker couple must have heard us as they suddenly sprung up from nowhere. Whilst I was sorting out our check in, Diana was busy getting her photo taken with them, as is traditionally when you are foreign in India. They told us they had booked a taxi to take them around to all the temples and asked if we wanted to come and pay half. Not being too fussed about the walk, wanting to save money and not wanting to hang around our stalkers, we politely declined and went to see what the town had to offer.

After getting some breakfast and Diana exploring all the trinkets and clothing the markets had to offer, we decide to visit the temple in the centre of town. On the outside were a number of ‘prayer wheels’, an invention I can only guess was developed by a lazy monk, as spinning these once is the equivalent of saying a prayer. Upon walking around the temple, you can say the equivalent of maybe 40-60 prayers in no time. Genius!

Prayer wheels and a street momo vendor

On the subject of walking around the temple, clockwise seems very popular to the religion. The wheels spin only clockwise, you walk around the temple clockwise, there was a definite theme occurring. We entered the temple, after one clockwise lap, which appeared to be being renovated as people were repainting the main, huge golden statue in the centre. We climbed the stairs up to the top, where a statue surrounded by bowls of water was placed for some form of worship.

Our thirst for local temples not yet sated, we headed towards the temple of the Dalai Lama. A little further away, but with a little bit more going on. We arrived whilst a gaggle of monks were mid sing song, which was nice and we had another go on the prayer wheels. The dedication to their faith was incredible, at least until you realise almost all of them had a smartphone or a tablet. Considering the Slightly took away some of the magic.

Prayer wheels at the Dalai Lamas temple, along with instructions

Monks need to catch up on Facebook too, after all

Monks performing a ceremony at the Dalai Lamas temple

We saw some posters advertising a Tibetan folk show by an organisation called Tibet World www.tibetworld.org that evening and decided to take a look. We turned up to what seemed to be a volunteer run project to help raise awareness of the situation in Tibet and to teach skills to people such as languages, music and cooking. The show was interesting, one lady in particular didn’t seem to have an understanding of how small the room actually was and produced the most deafening high pitched shout it was hard to watch without wincing a little. We were also told a traditional folk tale, about a man named Uncle Emptiness.

Apparently quite a popular character in Tibetan folk lore, it’s about a man who is clever at tricking and scamming people. This particular story I’ll keep short and sweet, Uncle Emptiness has no food or shelter, another man has a stomach problem and needs surgery. Uncle Emptiness tells him he can perform the surgery for free if he can have food and somewhere to stay. They go to the mans house and he asks when they can do the surgery. Uncle Emptiness says tomorrow, and starts sharpening a huge carving knife. The man, worried, looks at it and asks if he’s done it before. Uncle Emptiness says he’s done the surgery over a hundred times. The man, a little more relieved, asked how often it was successful. Uncle says once. The man, now very worried, doesn’t want the surgery anymore, but because he offered the food and shelter, so feels he should still provide it.

Now, personally, I’d recommend against untrained, unlicensed surgeons you’ve simply bumped into who can’t afford their own food and shelter, but apparently there’s a meaning behind this story other than that. At the end, we are taught some traditional dancing and they ask the group for suggestions on dances and games to play. A game of Grandma’s footsteps ended the session, which was in all very interesting.

On the hunt for food, we tried a traditional Nepalese/Tibetan food called momo’s. These little bundles of delicious cheap joy are now one of my favourite foods. They’re simply shredded vegetable, usually cabbage and carrot, wrapped in a thin dough and then either steamed or fried. They’re awesome and only 40rs from street vendors for 10 of them. We then spotted a cake stall and had the greatest cake in the entire world. No kidding, we’ve had some disappointing cakes in India so far, but this was insane. In the end I had to ask what was in it, and got the reply:

• Dark chocolate
• Milk chocolate
• White chocolate
• Coffee
• Nuts

The result is the tastiest, moist slab of carbohydrate I’ve ever had, and I ended up getting one of these most nights. Amazing. If you go to Mcleodganj, don’t worry about Mr Lama, find these gorgeous cakey beasts.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm... The picture doesn't really explain anything though.

The following day we decided to go visit Dharamsala, for three reasons. Firstly, Diana had her usual fascination for buying random apparel and there were markets down there. Secondly, we wanted to do lots of walking in preparation for Nepal. Finally, we had a prepaid phone SIM card, where we’d received a text saying it was going to expire due to our visas running out. Our visas still had a good 2 months left on them at this point, so we called up Vodafone who told us we’d have to visit our nearest Vodafone store to resolve this.

We headed down the mountain which took a fair amount of time and were greeted by a few market stalls and shops. Diana had a look around everything she could spot and we headed in the direction of the Vodafone shop on the map. Not finding the one we were after, we head to the nearest shop that seemed vaguely relevant and tried to establish with them what could be done. 

A hospital for torture survivor victims on the way down

After a few more calls to the main telephone number, they told us to visit a place back where we’d come from, further up the hill. At this point, we were aware we were on another of our famous Indian wild goose chases, which usually end with very little success, but we needed to try something. So we headed all the way back, and, after being unable to find the place we were looking for, went in the next place with Vodafone written above it. After mentioning to this guy, he barely let us continue before he wrote down a name and mobile number, saying we need to go see this person. He showed us on a map where to go, irritatingly back in the direction we just came from but further down.

After reaching the rough area on the map he’d pointed at and finding nothing, we called the number to find out we’d been sent in only vaguely the correct direction. Tired and fed up at this point, we walk towards a hotel he said was nearby and after many, many kilometres of walking at this point, eventually arrive. Expecting to see a shop, or office, or anything, what we actually found was a man stood next to a tiny Vodafone sign by an alleyway. We explain our problem, confident we were now talking to the right person. He asks where we bought the SIM and we tell him Mumbai. “Sorry, nothing you can do”.

Silent rage builds up after walking around 10km and being told there should be a way to resolve it. It wasn’t particularly serious, but as we’d be spending the next month in different places, it was the first time having a phone to use would be incredibly useful. Resigned to the fact we failed, we headed back up the hill, and treated ourselves to a small bottle of rum and more magic bars (Did I mention how amazing these were?).

We had one other goal in mind for while we were in the area. A place named Triund, up in the mountains around 9500 ft, only accessible by trekking. We headed first from Mcleodganj to a place called Bhagsu, another nearby town with more distractions for Diana and a waterfall. Our guidebook had informed us that the trek was just past the waterfall, so upon reaching it we asked some of the shop keepers there which way to head. The last shopkeeper we saw informed us to be careful, as there were not many people around and it was dangerous. No problem, we thought, although a little confused as we understood it was quite a popular trek that takes around 5 hours there and 4 hours back.

The Bhagsu waterfall

Well, approaching the first hour we understood what he meant. The climb was sheer, the path barely highlighted to us by a light gravel track. Up and up we went, not seeing a single soul until around the 1 hour mark, when we bumped into a few people on the way down. Good news, at least we’re on the right trail. We came across a few derelict buildings, god knows who would have lived in them as they were in the middle of nowhere. The path was now gone, we had no idea where to go, although we assumed up. I took a look at my phone, where, as luck would have it, Google Maps had the vague trail mapped out. Orienting ourselves back onto the trail, we finally managed to pick up a further light gravel trail, and we were back on track.

Not a simple walk in the park

The climb was incredibly steep. This was certainly not planned out well, and as we got to the second hour, we wondered if we’d actually make it the whole way. The views were absolutely spectacular, panoramas all around of the nearby towns. However, we were getting exhausted and had barely got half way. We ate half of our food rations (that was the grand total of four bananas) and pushed on. The trail itself was starting to fade, and instead, large piles of rocks were dotted around in the distance, vaguely marking out a path. Every time we’d see the peak of the part of mountain we were currently climbing, thinking it would be close to the top, we’d climb over it just to see another, far taller peak ahead. It was beginning to look impossible and we were conscious of how long it was taking, not wanting to try and negotiate the steep climbs and loose rock in the dark later.

Certainly a scenic route!

Approaching hour three and we’d seen a few more people on their way down. These people had been trekking a couple of days, sleeping in places further up. They told us we were only around an hour away, which was great news as we were expecting it to take 5 hours. However, we were also aware that this may not be the case, as an hour downhill is not the same as an hour up. Cloud was forming over us, which soon turned to thunder, and within 20 or 30 minutes, rain. We took shelter in the porch area of a building for a moment, gathered our thoughts and finished off the last of our nutritional items (that’s two bananas in layman’s terms). It was a lot colder now, we’d climbed perhaps 2500 feet and were getting more and more conscious of the time. Hail fell around us, we waited for it to calm down and carried on, deciding that if we didn’t make it in the next 30 minutes, we’d abandon and turn back.

Pretty awesome views though!

Continuing further, it was significantly colder now, ice and snow patches around us. But in the distance we saw some buildings and tents, it had to be it and we still had 20 minutes before we were at our ‘deadline’. Our legs were at this point getting tired and painful, but with the goal in view, along with more incredibly steep mountain sides, we carried on until we eventually managed to reach the camp, in just under 4 hours.

Feeling a sense of accomplishment, we found a chai shop and had an incredibly rewarding cup each, along with a bottle of water and a pack of biscuits, all overpriced but now beyond caring. A guy also sat in the shop was preparing himself a joint and smoking away, whilst we were struggling to find ourselves the basic necessity of oxygen. Takes all sorts I guess.

Victory chai!

We made it!!!

It was at this point, we had finished our chai and eaten our biscuits, the guy asks us which way we came. A little confused, we pointed over in the direction we had come from. He then points the other way, and tells us there is another path that takes around 2 hours. So we decided to try this way back, as a quicker way sounded ideal.

We had just scaled a mountain, at times literally having to climb up with our hands as well as walking, slipping on loose rock and putting our legs through 4 solid hours of uneven up hills. This route was literally a stair case. Hundreds of people climbing both up and down, this is why we never saw anyone..! They were all taking the easy way! However frustrating it was to find there was basically an escalator to the top, we did feel a sense of accomplishment that we’d taken the more “hardcore” route. We earned our chai.

You call this route a challenge?!

On that note, at the bottom we celebrated with further chai. It took a little more than 2 hours down, but certainly a much easier way than going up. The views were nowhere near as good however, so we didn’t feel cheated for long. The only thing left to do was to purchase our coach ticket back to Rishikesh, in time for Diana’s yoga training.

The coach back to Rishikesh was late in the evening, so we still had another days activity to partake in, which was mostly taken up with Diana doing some shopping, eating more momos and sitting in some café’s for a while. Getting ready for the journey ahead, we stocked up on more magic bars and were off, ready to ground ourselves for just over a month! 

Dalhousie

Jonno developed some vampiric tendencies

Our next stop was a place called Dalhousie, another hill station. We had tried to book a hotel online, but all the hotels that we could book online were expensive ones, and the ones we found that were in our budget were not answering their phones. So we took the risk of winging it and finding somewhere when we arrived- this had worked for us in most other destinations.

We were dropped off by the coach in the town square at 5pm. As soon as we had put our bags on our back, a man approached us, claiming he could take us to a hotel which was in our budget, about a 10-15 minute walk away. Great, that was easy. We walked with him for about 5 minutes uphill, when suddenly he turned back and said he had to go collect some other people but if we carried on we would find it. We didn’t see why this was a problem, so carried on uphill for another 5 minutes. No sign of the hotel yet. We get to a crossroads and decide the most sensible thing to do would be to ask instead of getting lost, but nobody seemed to know where this hotel was, and we had been given a card but were not answering their phone. Instead of spending ages looking for this one hotel, we choose to check out the other hotels along this road, of which there were many. The first few said ‘no rooms’. That’s a shame, but we carry on moving from hotel to hotel. And each time, ‘no rooms’. When I walked in through the back entrance of one hotel so passed corridors of wide open empty rooms but the person on reception still said ‘no rooms’ we started to get suspicious. We went back out onto the street, and met a local man. When we asked him why we were not able to book a room in any hotel, he explained that many hotels do not want to take foreigners as they did not want to do the paperwork required for foreign guests. He did say he knew of a few hotels that definitely did take in foreigners, and pointed us in the direction of them. Jonno went to check them out while I waited with the bags, and came back shaking his head. Apparently they were full minus the guests as well. Feeling tired but still trying to be positive, we carried on our search. Hotel after hotel declined us, and even the International youth hostel of Dalhousie which was in the tourist guide book apparently ‘had a group coming’. It was at this point I became so fed up I actually said ‘I have had enough of this country!’ For those of you that know my level of obsession and love for India, you can only imagine how high my frustration was to utter those words. Luckily Jonno, the calm and level headed person he is, put his arm around me and reassured me that we would find somewhere and we just needed to keep trying. We walked back to the town square and he left me with the bags while he continued the hunt. After about ten minutes he came back, smiling. He had been offered a room in a hotel for a cheap price. Feeling relieved as it was now dark, cold and raining and we were both exhausted, we heaved our bags to the room, closed the door, and collapsed on the bed. But as soon as we had got ourselves comfortable, there was a knock on the door from one of the staff members to say that actually this room was taken. Trying to contain our anger but not believing this excuse at all, we told them we would stay in the room and if the guests come then we will vacate it, and closed the door on them. Then outside the room we heard lots of muttering, and there was another knock at the door, and a man with a suitcase was standing there and said ‘I have booked this room’. This was so obviously set up to get us out of the room, but we didn’t know what else to do. Apparently this had been the last available room in the hotel too, even though they we unprepared to prove this to us. So we had to collect our bags and keep looking. As we walked down the road, a man in one hotel that had previously been ‘full’ poked his head out of the door and shouted ‘room available’, but when we walked into the hotel, turned around and said ‘no rooms’ while laughing at us. An Indian couple walked into the hotel and asked if there were any rooms, and were immediately taken up to a vacant room. It was at this point that Jonno’s tolerance level had reached its limit too, and we started shouting at the man and his friend who had joined in with this joke that we were the butt of, which made them laugh even harder. Realising that this would not change our situation at all, we left the hotel and tried to work out what we should do next. We found a travel agent, who told us that there was a coach to our next planned destination- Dharamsala- the next day so if we could find somewhere that would take us for one night we could get on the coach the next morning. Luckily, we had the details of my mum’s friend’s aunt called Jane who lived in Dalhousie and whom we had been planning to pay a visit to whilst we were here. So I dialled the number to make a plea for some floor space for one night, feeling awful about disturbing her and making this request to someone I had never met before. I was so relieved when Jane answered the phone and said if we got a taxi to a nearby shop she would meet us there.

We asked a taxi driver to take us to the shop we had been instructed to ask for, which he did even though he had a very confused look on his face as even when he explained the shop was now closed we still insisted to go there. We were dropped off, and waited. After a few minutes we saw a torch light approaching us, and were met by Jane. We followed her down a steep, uneven path which lead to the house that she and her husband Maqbul lived in. We entered the cosy house and were amazed to find that there was a spare room with a bed made for us, with heated blankets and duvets as it was so cold, and that we were so warmly welcomed. We were introduced to Maqbul, who is mostly bed bound due to illness, and were encouraged to make ourselves at home and get some sleep. We thanked them again and apologised for the surprise phone call, and got into our nice warmed beds.

The next morning we were greeted by ‘bed chai’, a luxury which we were not used to! Jane then informed us that we would need to register our stay in Dalhousie with the police, and then we could go and explore for the day. They also said that we could stay with them for a couple of nights so we didn’t have to rush off, which was lovely of them. Jane took us up to the police station, where one police officer proudly showed us the holding cells for prisoners (always good to know the accommodation situation if you get on the wrong side of the law), and directed us to the foreigners registration office. We took our passports and after sitting in front of a very stern officer and playing a game of 20 serious questions, were told that our stay was allowed. After this was sorted, we explained to Jane that we wanted to do some hiking around the area and she arranged for a taxi to take us to a point we could hike back from. We jumped into the taxi and were dropped off at the peak of a nature reserve, which was approximately a 2 hour 45 minute walk from Dalhousie. However, we had also heard that a place called Khajjiar that was nearby was a nice area to visit, but it was a 2 and a half hour walk in the opposite direction to Dalhousie. In the end we opted for the Khajjiar direction, and picked up a taxi after about an hour of walking, so that we could do the whole hike from Khajjiar to Dalhousie, a 5 hour walk.

Why did the monkey cross the road?

Khajjiar, which is also known as the ‘mini Switzerland of India’, is a mossy plateau in the mountains with a few small buildings. Granted it was not as picturesque as some of the images we had seen as it was fairly muddy and the lake was dry, but it was still pretty and a nice place to sit and have a chai before the long walk back. 

One of a few chai breaks

Snow selfie!

Once we had fuelled up on chai, we were ready. The walk was not an easy one, with the first 2 and a half hours being mostly uphill and neither of our walking boots had yet been worn in, but the sky was clear and the weather was refreshingly cool. Every five minutes we had to stop to take pictures of the amazing views, and there were points where the path was lined with snow.

Khajjiar

Great views!

 We arrived back in Dalhousie five hours later, hobbling but satisfied. After getting a well deserved thali, we returned to Jane and Maqbul’s house. After showering and crashing out on the bed at about 10pm, there was a knock at the door. Maqbul had fallen out of bed and could not get back up. Thankfully we were there, otherwise he would have been on the floor for a few hours. With a bit of negotiation, we managed to lift him back into bed, luckily he had not hurt himself, and Jonno set about replacing a fuse on the electric blanket which had gone just before Maqbul fell. We returned to our room, feeling relieved that we had been around to help out.

It was just as well that we had done our hiking that day, as the next day it rained continuously. Jane had asked us for some help with a few things (many of them computer related- cue Jonno) so we made ourselves useful. Jane had also offered us use of their toploading washing machine, which we were definitely in need of by this point, but as the rain meant we could not dry the clothes outside, we had to drape our clothes around Jane and Maqbul’s bedroom. Maqbul had been given some exercises from a physiotherapist to maintain his strength and movement, which he had been doing with one of the staff they employed. As I was feeling like I had not been able to use my Occupational Therapy skills in a while, I offered to see if there was anything I could suggest or help with. While observing and giving advice about how to do the exercises, I suggested that Maqbul attempt to stand and march on the spot, which he could do really well considering he had not walked in months. With a bit of reassurance and support, he was then able to take a few steps with a zimmer frame and suddenly a look of determination came across his face and he asked to go to the en suite toilet. Without going into too much OT detail, this was not the easiest task as there was a narrow doorway, a step and an extremely low toilet in a corner of the room. If I would have been at work, I would have told him that this was not recommended until there was sufficient equipment around the toilet and he had been assessed as managing a step safely and had some more walking practice. However, this is India and I didn’t have time to gradually practice with him, so off we went, and with only a few dodgy manual handling techniques (you didn’t see this ESH staff!) he managed to get to the toilet and nearly all the way back again, which was amazing to see.

The rain had died down a little and Jane needed some errands doing around the town, so we offered to go out for her. We were given a list of things that needed doing, including purchasing a lightbulb, going to the post office and a grocery shop. So we set off with our list and with the instruction that we just needed to ask people if we got stuck. We started with the lightbulb, which was easy as we knew where the shop was. From there, we asked one of the staff for directions to the post office, and she pointed in a direction and said ‘5 minutes’. So we went the way she pointed to, but soon came across some crossroads and got stuck again. So we asked another person, who pointed down one of the roads, and we followed their instruction. About twenty minutes later, not quite the five minutes but it is India, and we reached a town square with lots of shops, including a post office. Hooray, we found it! Once we had sorted out the bits there, our next instruction was to go down the steps to the grocery store. But on looking around, there were no steps and three roads that went downhill. We called Jane and she gave us the same instruction. Baffled but certain we could work it out, we followed one road for about 1km but this lead away from the town, so we turned back around and returned to the town square. Jane had called us a few times and was worrying about us. It was only when we called Jane again and put her on the phone with a local shopkeeper that we discovered the reason for the confusion; There were two post offices in town and we had been directed to the furthest one. Feeling a bit sheepish, we returned to the house. Jane then said she needed to go out to get some cream but it was too difficult to explain the directions so she would go herself. I volunteered to make the dinner- macaroni cheese- while she was out. One hour passed and Jane still hadn’t returned, it was dark and had started raining heavily. I was the one now beginning to worry. After ten more minutes she returned, with a man in tow. Jane explained he was the son of one of her friends who had an adventure tour company in Nepal, where we were planning on going to after India. We spoke to him for a while and he gave us some useful advice, and told us he could set us up with a hotel in Dharamsala, our next destination.

Bit cold out there

The next morning it was time for us to leave, we had a bus to catch to Dharamsala. Jane made us a packed lunch of sandwiches and cake (far better than the crisps and biscuits we normally have to rely on!) and we said goodbye. It was so nice to have met both Jane and Maqbul, they made us feel so welcome and at home which is a rare feeling while travelling. Even though I initially felt awful about inviting ourselves to their house as we had never met them before, in the end it worked out well for all of us as we could help them out too.

So, onto our next stop, Dharamsala.

Thank you for having us!

Amritsar

After what could only be described as a beating of a train journey, we arrive late in Amritsar. Diana had been phoning around a few places to stay and we found one that seemed to be reasonable, although somewhat out of the way of the centre of the city. But this didn’t matter, we were in the mode of long walks now, and this was only 30 minutes away from all the action. We grab a rickshaw, where a guy came and sat by the driver and started giving us a sales pitch on where we could go and how we could hire a taxi for a day from him. After politely refusing a few times, we eventually arrive at the hotel, where we hadn’t actually booked a room but were told a room was available. We had a couple of attempts to reduce the price a little further and upon failing that, are shown to our room at the other end of the hotel.

Luckily our room was slightly better furnished than its neighbour...

We were under the impression the hotel had room service, but it didn’t, so we asked which way to get food. Being shown the direction to go, we head off and see a couple of shops on the way selling food. Looking at the menu, we’re tempted, but then told we can’t go in and sit down as they’re currently only allowing people to drink. Most peculiar, but we carried on down the road. Up above us, we spot some familiar golden arches and having never tried a McDonalds in India (in fact, being confused as to how it would even work without beef) we give it a go.

25p for a 'McEgg'!

Diana insisted...

The first thing we spot is how cheap everything is listed at, a reminder of how fast food used to be, but now seems to be one of the more expensive options. At least that’s what we thought. Once we paid and looked at the receipt, there were 4 additional taxes included (VAT, Service Charge, a Secondary Education tax and a Higher Education tax). Still cheap compared to the UK but not what was shown on the board in the end.The food was pretty poor, swap out the burgers made from beef from ones made with what can only be described as chicken pulp, and made into the same shape. Not worried about going there again. However, more interestingly whilst we were there was a woman carrying a toddler, who, within seconds, projectile vomited on the floor. The woman started shouting at the man ‘WHATS WRONG WITH YOUR ICE CREAM!!?!?!’, all the while a few people at another table were tucking into their ice creams with no complaints. “I’M A DOCTOR!!” she continued, tipping up her baby for maximum expulsion over the tiled floor. “I MEAN A DIETICIAN!” she continued, her reputation suddenly dropping as she forgets her own profession. Grabbing her child again and tilting it to pour out the remaining contents of its stomach so as to complete her point, whatever that may have been, she stormed out. Not quite sure what to make of this, we watched as a couple of people walk in and almost slip to their death in child chunder and head back to the hotel to bed.

The next day we try and establish a game plan. We only knew of two things we wanted to do whilst in the area, visit the Harmandir Sahib, or Golden Temple, and the India/Pakistan border ceremony in Wagah. The border ceremony was an evening thing where we’d have to leave at around 2-3pm in order to see in good time, so we decided to go see the temple early and see if we still had time to make it to the border later afterwards. On the way there, we were accosted by people offering taxi rides to Wagah for very little, so we informed them we’d come back to that place at 2pm if we had time to do so and carried on towards the Golden Temple.

Some idiots just wait at railway crossings... But I'm sure we can get a motorbike through this pointless barrier...

The temple is the holiest place of worships for Sikhs, located in the heart of Amritsar. As the name suggests, the building is gilded and located in the middle of a lake with only one walkway to access it. The grounds also provide free meals to anybody without prejudice and free accommodation to anyone in need. The temple was an incredible sight, one that caused numerous Sikh individuals to drop to the ground upon sight of it, causing a few pedestrian traffic jams on the way in.

Lake was home to many huge sea monsters...

Bit of a queue...

We attempted to queue up to see the inside of the palace, however after a queue of 30 minutes without moving further than a couple of metres, we abandoned this idea and headed to the other side of the grounds where the kitchens are for lunch. In here appeared to be a large scale Sadhana forest feeding operation. The entire operation is funded by donations and operated by hundreds of volunteers. It’s an incredible operation to observe, with huge areas of people chopping up onions, massive vats of food being cooked and people handing out cutlery from huge trollies to people as they enter. Some labour saving inventions had been employed, for instance, they dispensed water into bowls on the floor by pushing around a trolley with an urn on it, and pulling a little lever on the handle bar to shoot water into the bowl. Minimal effort from all parties – perhaps Sadhana could have a system like this for jaggery dispensation? The overall vibe was pleasant and as stated, an incredible feat. Unfortunately this didn’t stop people from begging just outside of the grounds, even with their basic human needs catered for, however it definitely felt a lot less than other parts of India we had seen so far.

A fairly intense clean up operation

That's a lot of onion chopping...

Feeding up to 100k people per day!

After this we decided we had enough time to do the border crossing the same day, and it seemed sensible to do so as we had limited time before needing to be back in Rishikesh and still had places we wanted to visit. We headed back to the spot we had been to previously regarding a taxi and waited for the guy we’d spoken to previously. Unable to find him and time ticking on (we’d been there since around 1:50pm but it was now about 2:05pm and we were aware it gets very busy), we had been given a phone number to call. There were probably about 6 people around offering the same service, so it was more out of a misplaced loyalty to the guy having asked us first, a distinctly British trait I would imagine, that we tried to give this guy a chance. A voice at the other end of the phone informed us he’d come get us, so we waited whilst another guy tried to offer us a taxi, stating they were the brother of the guy we’d spoken to.

A man came over and beckoned us down some roads to where there were mini four wheeled vehicles parked. With seats for about 4 people, so no doubt we’d be fitting at least 10. We were asked to wait whilst the guy went and picked up some other people. In the 5 minutes he was gone, another guy came over, insisting he was brothers with the person who had just left (Amritsar is just one big happy family), and ushered us into one of these vehicles containing around 7 other people. We get in, Diana wasn’t particularly happy though as we’d promised the other guy we’d wait. Attempting to stamp the British out of her, I reminded her we’d not paid anything yet and they were still expecting the same amount of money, so what did it matter?

Before the vehicle could get under way however, the man we’d originally seen returned and spotted we’d been poached. An argument broke out between him and the poacher and we were ushered into another vehicle, the same size and the same amount of people crammed in. Not wanting us to be stolen again I assume, we set off almost immediately, for what we thought would be a 30 minute or so drive but turned into around an hour, including a stop and a driver change.

We arrive in a car park of chaos. Our driver ushers us over to a stall to deposit bags, where we’re told it’ll be put in a locker and handed a key. Not being entirely content with that, I watch it being locked up and we take the key on our way, as we’re only allowed wallets, passports, cameras and so on. We leave the area trying to take in any form of landmark, as it’s literally just a stretch of straight road with dirt banks and shanty shops for 500m.

We follow the masses and head to a queue where they’re drip feeding people through. Bearing in mind this is still about an hour before the ceremony begins and Indians seem to be notoriously late, I assumed this was probably considered light traffic. We get through and very quickly a soldier stops us. What did we do!?

Turns out, nothing. We can go a different way if we have our passports, as foreigners get ‘exclusive’ seating. One of the few times being white has worked in our favour, we head down on the other side of the road where there are almost no people, compared to the side we’d been on with hundreds of people pushing through. We make it to a checkpoint, which progresses very slowly if you happen to have been born a male. Diana headed off to a separate queue inside a building for ladies and was waiting for me at the other side for a good 20 minutes. Eventually I get through, after having every nook and cranny of my wallet and camera inspected.

We continue walking along. Another checkpoint. This one seemed a little less thorough and I have no idea what items I could have gathered in that time anyway, but I understand their desire for security, no problem.

Up ahead, we spot a sign stating foreigners and VIPs should go over to the left, whilst everyone else carried on straight. So over we go, again a male and female queue and another checkpoint. I really don’t know what weaponry they thought we could have secreted in this time, but we had little choice and queued up again. They were inspecting everyone’s ID cards, checking them off against a list, patting them down again, making sure everyone should have been there. Until they got to me, eventually, where they looked at my almost transparent complexion in comparison and sent me straight through. Why we even brought our passports I’ll never know.

So we go in and sit down, not knowing exactly what to expect. It started off with some music, ladies and children running up and down carrying Indian flags and dancing in the road, quite nice and everyone was happy and laughing and smiling. The stalls for the Indian nationals were starting to get extremely crowded, even our section was pretty full of foreigners and we were almost sitting on the road itself. The dancing continued and they were slowly letting more and more people in, even though capacity was clearly reached at this point.

And then it started to get a bit weird.

An army drummer was posted on one of a roof and started beating at a rhythmic pace. At this point, people with guns marched out, charging towards the gate, where they looked through, probably stuck their tongue out, and turned back. This happened with a few more groups, the last one a group of 6, again with guns, who turned out to be none other than the famous comedy act “Monty Cobra”, the Indian counterpart to our classic group. They performed the world famous Ministry of Silly Walks sketch, live, for all to see, which was wonderful and really got all the Indian nationals excitable, as they chanted:

“HINDUSTAN!”
“ZINDABAD!!”

“PAKISTAN!”
“MURDABAD!”

Roughly translating to ‘Hail India, Die Pakistan’. Charming.

Warning… Loud!

This goes on for around an hour or so. The level of nationalism is off the charts, with Indian nationals shouting through the border at the Pakistani’s. Several hundred people who arrived late or couldn’t get through the multitude of checkpoints in time were standing at the entrance, hoping to get a glimpse of what was going on, shouting and trying to bribe their way through the gate.

Eventually, the flags are lowered and the gates are closed. We’re fortunate in that VIP’s and foreigners are allowed to vacate sooner than the rest, meaning we were a little ahead of the general stampede to get back to the car park. We just about manage to locate the stall with our bag, where I hand back the key, we’re handed back our bag and he then asks us for money. Having never told us there was a cost before, although we knew for a fact this was going to happen, we stood our ground and ended up giving him far more than he actually deserved, but gave him some useful legal advice in that he should inform people of the costs prior and perhaps erect some signage. I think we did a useful service, really.

The final stampede preparing to leave

After about an hour of hanging around waiting for everyone to congregate back at the vehicle, we head back. Nothing much exciting happened, apart from when one couple asked to be dropped off a little before the last point of drop off, the lady had realised she’d lost her phone, and they proceeded to practically disassemble the vehicle looking for it. Considering we’d just been to a place with thousands upon thousands of people, and were travelling in a vehicle at speed with no doors, it seemed unlikely the phone would be present, but the search took a good 15-20 minutes anyway.

We worked out our plan for the next morning. Our next stop is a hill town called Dalhousie, miles away from anything and not the most convenient place to travel to. We’d been highly recommended to go there however as it was recommended as a beautiful place, with long walks and countryside. Additionally, one of Diana’s family friends had a relative who had lived there for 25 years, so we planned to pop in and say hello whilst we’d be in the area. So, our next stop was a train station named Pathankot, where we could pick up a bus directly to Dalhousie. This meant a train at around 8:20AM, waking up at ridiculous AM as usual.

We head out of the hotel the following morning and go to the closest rickshaw. A group of men say they can take us, but it’ll take a few minutes before someone can. Unsure why, we load our bags anyway and sit and wait for them. In this time, another rickshaw drives past, takes one look and says he can take us immediately. We chuck our bags into it and off we go.

In true India fashion, the train is of course late, however it’s now also confusing to boot, as there are actually two trains, that arrive at the same time, that go to the same place. Apparently. And to confuse matters even further, both trains actually departed 2 days before so it became quite difficult to track. A lady at the enquiry desk told us it would be announced when and at which platform it arrives, but this was not a relief in any way as the announcements are usually in Hindi. We eventually did manage to find it though, even successfully getting a seat and everything.

One observation I did make on the journey was the sheer amount of wild marijuana that seems to grow in this region. Literally the entire banks of the train tracks were thick with plants and a very strong overpowering smell at times. I was aware that the legal loophole for preparing Bhang lassi and the like was to use wild growing cannabis, as this wasn’t regulated and the restriction was on growing it yourself, but I didn’t realise just how much of it was growing, I figured it was perhaps a few plants here or there. Surprising more people aren’t off their face most of the time.

I mean I could be wrong, I'm no botanist

We arrived at Pathankot and looked up the bus station on a map. Under a 1km walk from where we were, through town, perfect. Walking towards it however attracted a number of rickshaw drivers who thought we were incapable of walking such distance, advertising it as ‘very far away! 1km!’. We’ll be fine, thank you.

We stop off for lunch, another thali, and head to the bus station. In a surprisingly organised fashion, a number of bus bays were present, each one with a sign, in ENGLISH, stating where the bus would be going. A man took our bags and put them in the back and informed us we needed to get a ticket at the counter, another incredibly smooth transaction. We boarded the bus, where I found out I am far too long for this country as my knees were trying to get through the back of the seat in front. I ended up spending most of the trip with my legs hanging out into the aisle, much to the annoyance of people trying to sell peanuts and coconuts and carpet sweepings. At one point a man boarded the bus and the front turned into a shopping channel, where he started a speech in Hindi with a little hollow metal tube he proceeded to thrust into fruit and crush the juice through. The juice flowed so easily I assume this was probably the 5^th time today he’d done the same thing, in fact I was suspicious the juice wasn’t even from the same single fruit as it just kept coming, but he managed to make a few sales at 30rs a pop. Not entirely sure it was worth his time investment, but it was interesting to see none-the-less.

A good few hours later, perhaps 4 or 5, we arrived in Dalhousie. A cold, cold place, very high up, and where we experienced the most unwelcome start to a new location we’ve had so far.

Chandigarh

We took a bus from Shimla to Chandigah, to save the hassle of trying to sort out the train and it was also a quicker journey. We had to walk about 45 minutes from the hotel to the old bus stand, and then get a bus from the old bus stand to the new bus stand. Anyway, we boarded the bus in which Jonno got touched up by a man who apparently turned to touch up another guy when he realized how frigid Jonno was, and then began our journey to Chandigah.

Chandigah is different from many towns in that it is divided into sectors of 800m by 1200m, with each sector having a number and a dedicated purpose. So there is a market sector, residents sectors, and public sectors One thing we immediately noticed on arriving in Chandigah is how clean and well looked after it is, with actual rubbish bins on the streets and lots of green spaces. It was also a lot easier to get our bearings and get rickshaw drivers to take us places with sector numbers (most indian addresses consist of (name of place), behind ___school, near ___ shop, (name of city) ) We set down our bags at the bus station and proceeded to try and contact a cheapish hotel we had seen the name of online. They did not answer, but we were then approached by a man who said he could take us to a hotel which was 500-600 rupees per night. We told him that our budget was 500 rupees so as long as they had a room for 500 then we would go with him, to which he assured us there would be. On arriving at the hotel, we checked out the room and it seemed okay, but before we settled in we thought we would double check the price with the owner of the hotel, to which we were told 600. We said thank you very much but before we commit we would like to see if there is another hotel which is 500 as this was our budget. The man who had taken us to the hotel started to protest profusely, shouting 600! At us, and we again explained that we may return if we can’t find a cheaper room but we came to the hotel under the impression that there was a room in our budget and there was not. This was still not enough for the man, who continued to protest and then proceeded to follow us down the road, still pleading with us, as we asked at various hotels along the road. After asking at about 4 hotels and not yet finding one with any rooms, the guy following us said ‘okay okay 500’ and beckoned us back to the first hotel, so we followed. We got back to the first hotel and checked with the owner that this was correct…’500 okay?’ and he said ‘no, 600’ and then started having an argument with the man who brought us back. We left again, stating that we may be back but we were still looking around. The man protested again, and again followed us in our search for another hotel. Again, he said ‘okay okay 500’ so we gave him one last chance and surprise surprise it was still 600 and we were getting pretty fed up with this routine and now not wanting to stay at this hotel on a matter of principle even if it was the cheapest hotel. We left again, and eventually the guy left us alone to hunt for a room in peace. Luckily we did manage to find a room within our budget, in which one of the members of staff decided she and I were new best friends and invited herself to our wedding. I stupidly let her add me on facebook and she sent me lots of messages telling me how much she missed me.

We only had one day in Chandigah as we had planned to catch a train at 5pm the day after we arrived. On reading up about the town, the number one thing that was recommended was a rock garden, so we got up early and went to investigate. The rock garden was created by one man and was a place of his creations, made from rocks and recycled products such as plastic and broken bangles, and had phases. Phase one looked like a 5 year old’s art project, but the second phase had statues of people in various shapes and positions, and by phase 3 whole armies of people and animals emerged. There was also a park area filled with swings and distorting mirrors, which entertained us for a while.

A new pet white person to show off to friends

Armies of rock people and animals

They want brains

Gangnam style

Diana sized doors...

...But not Jonno sized

Swings must be taken very seriously. They are not a fun activity.

 

After the rock park we still had a few hours to kill, and saw on a map there was a lake nearby so decided to visit that. We walked towards it and discovered there was a nature park surrounding it with a 3km walking trail, and after signing in to the park (I am assuming it is to keep track of the people who get eaten alive by the peacocks) we started our leisurely stroll through the woodland. The area was so quiet, such a nice change from the constant horn honking and hawking coughs that we have been living with for the last couple of months. The only sounds were the birds and the rustle of wind through the trees. As we were walking, we heard a rustle and a huge peacock came swooping down from a tree across our path, it was so beautiful to see. We carried on our journey, seeing occasional squirrels and bugs and appreciating the tranquil scenery. We were enjoying the walk so much we carried on past the end point of the trail and continued to walk further, along the lake. It was only when we reached the end of the path and the only way forward was into the lake we realized the only way out was the path we had come, about 4 or 5km back, and we were starting to get tight for time before our train. So we turned back, and a lot less leisurely started our journey back to the entrance in the style of ‘We’re going on a bear hunt’ (http://www.funnysongsforkids.com/childrens-classics/were-going-on-a-bear-hunt). We made it back to the entrance just before the groundsman put our papers in the pile labelled ‘peacock food’, and hailed a rickshaw for a speedy drive by via the hotel to collect our bags and get to the station to wait for our inevitably delayed train.

Do not tease the wild animals

View point in the park

The train arrived with a mere delay of a few hours, and the side of the carriages are labelled ‘chair car’. We assume that means that all seats are the same for this train, so jump on the nearest carriage. The carriage has many vacant seats with a vast amount of room, every seat has a tray table, there is a plug socket and plenty of room underneath the seats for our bags. Thrilled with the luxury for the very cheap tickets, we settle down and prepare for a very comfortable 4-5 hour journey. Unfortunately, a few minutes later we are interrupted by a man saying these seats are reserved for him. Turns out you can’t expect these luxuries for a common man’s ticket price. We reluctantly vacate the seats, and head off in search of the lower class carriage where we belong. By now, the unreserved carriage was nicely full in the way that only Indian transport can be, and we just about managed to squeeze ourselves and our bags on. There was no question regarding if there was an area for us to sit- we could barely find space for our feet on the floor to stand. We tucked our bags behind our legs and settled ourselves in for a not so comfortable journey of standing. As we have mentioned before, the Indian public on trains are extremely friendly and by the time our 5 hour journey was over (we only stood for a short 4 hours of it), pretty much all of the carriage knew our life stories (the ones who spoke English relayed it to the non-English speakers in Hindi). After picking up a few more facebook stalkers, it was time to get off the train at Amritsar. 

Plenty of room in the train