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.