About ten days go, after a relaxing day in Vaschicht, Hannah, Denny and myself made some plans. Hannah and Denny want to arrive in Dharamsala later in the month to catch some lectures by the Dalai Lama, so in the meantime we planned a journey west.
On the Sunday evening we arrived in Mandi. The following morning I wasn't feeling too well though so I spent the day indoors watching TV as the others explored the town. The next day we caught a bus to Joginder Nagar and sampled some Thali (various dishes on one plate) whilst we waited to catch a vintage 'toy train' through the Kangra Valley to Pathankot.
After a few hours on the train, we were beginning to feel a little drained and bored. There was the occasional nice piece of scenery, but the journey was going to take about ten or eleven hours. However, before long some locals spotted the white faces and decided to practice their English. This happens very frequently in India. Usually you are approached with an opening 'What is mother country?', and before long the interrogation begins. Common questions include 'What is job?', 'What is salary?' (a question not considered rude in India, and used to decipher social status), 'What is father's name?', 'Who is country's Prime Minister?', 'Who is captain of cricket team?', and my personal favourite from this week 'What is aim in life?'.Events on the train dramatically amplified, however, when Denny and Hannah were interested to see what would happen if I took out the guitar and played a few tunes whilst the train lay motionless at a station. They soon found out. Huge crowds gathered within the carriage, huge crowds gathered outside my near window, and apparently yet further crowds gathered outside the opposite window. Following the commotion, the Indian's became hugely more inquisitive. A group of about ten young males suddenly found the courage to say hello, and we were bombarded with attention for the remaining few hours of the journey. It actually began to grate, and I was quite happy when the train finally pulled up in Pathankot; the attention had been quite arduous. However, I did find out that 'Andy' means 'egg' in Hindi.
Hannah wasn't feeling well on Wednesday so we spent an extra day in Pathankot, but on the plus side this gave us extra opportunities to eat at the fantastic Sikh run restaurant near our guesthouse. On Thursday we caught the bus to Amritsar, a fairly uninteresting journey despite the woman next to me continuously vomiting out of the window.
The main attraction of Amritsar is The Golden Temple, a very holy Sikh Temple. Our aim that evening was to stay in one of the gurudwaras in the temple; lodgings primarily aimed at Sikh pilgrims but also open to foreign tourists. The temple was crowded, but we dropped off our shoes at the designated place, and entered the compound. The atmosphere was very impressive, the golden lit temple reflected beautifully in the man-made waters. Amplified singing echoed through the air and thousands of people walked around, listened to the sounds and bathed in the waters. We were also approached by many friendly people eager to offer us help or inform us about the temple. With all of our luggage in hand though, our main focus was to find the gurudwaras.Before long, however, I began to feel uneasy. I was still holding my spare shoes in my bag (a big no-no), and I was suddenly informed that the cap that Denny had lent me was not ample head cover. Furthermore, Denny was informed that it was currently a very holy day (hence the excessive crowds) and that the gurudwaras were likely to be full. This was the final straw; we decided to leave the temple and find a guesthouse outside the compound.
The following day we entered the temple in daytime, this time more prepared. Again the atmosphere was incredible, and Hannah and Denny were particularly moved. Indeed I feel that it is the most worthwhile visit to a religious building I have been to on my travels. However, my experience differed somewhat from the experience of my friends. At one point I picked up a plate and joined the huge queue that was crowding towards the central and holy centre of the temple. However, the queue was barely moving on such a busy day, and so I left the crowd and continued to walk around, plate in hand. I soon found Denny involved in a long conversation with a local, and Hannah was been approached by numerous women thrusting young children into her hands as an ice-breaker and a possible photo opportunity. Meanwhile, the only time I was approached was when one local pointed to where I should deposit my plate, and duly walked away. I think I need to lose my tan.A little later I found it very amusing walking a few feet behind Hannah as she walked through the crowd. I felt like an ignored and irrelevant bodyguard trailing behind a superstar walking through the adoring fans. All eyes turned and stared at the white woman walking between the masses, and numerous women and children continued to approach and say hello. Meanwhile I blended in unnoticed.
That evening I found myself in a taxi with Denny and Hannah heading to the border ceremony between India and Pakistan. Vague memories of Michael Palin looped through my head. and ironically, my guide book described the ceremony as 'Pyhonesque'. Indeed it was. The event felt like a mix between an episode of Monty Python (including a few Cleese silly walks), a pantomime, and a boisterous football match. Before the real ceremony began, a group of lucky and ecstatic school children danced energetically to modern Indian pop tunes. A little later the real show began. As the guards from opposing sides competed to see who could yell into the microphone the longest, the frontman of the ceremony would wind up the crowd to a frenzy. Periodically the guards would do a crazy march towards the border - and presumably the Pakistan side of was doing the same. The crowd were ecstatic. Pro-Indian and anti-Pakistani slogans were chanted, seemingly all in good nature. Jeering the opposition was also commonplace. It was all a big pantomime, but considering the ongoing difficulties between Indian-Pakistani relations, it all seemed very perplexing, yet amusing.
On Saturday I visited the Jallianwala Bagh memorial in the morning, and later the three of us arrived at the train station in preparation for a journey back to Pathankot. A sad looking homeless boy was slumped by the wall as we waited, and so Hannah decided to buy him a bag of sweets. He swiftly and thanklessly took the bag and began to devour the goodies. Realising that this was probably not the healthiest food we could have given him, we subsequently bought him something somewhat healthier. This time he took the bag with suspicion, but gladly ate the lot. He then remained his distance.
After a while me and Hannah started playing cards, and suddenly we noticed that the boy had been joined by a couple of friends, and they had plucked up the courage to take a closer look at the foreigners' game. The boys revealed that they too had a pack of cards, and before long we were playing together. The bravest boy stepped up. Unfortunately, counting and numbers seemed beyond his knowledge, but nevertheless we managed to teach him a simple game of 'Snap'. Sometimes he would decide to delve into the pack, choose very carefully a card, ponder over it for a while, and then play - although somehow he still failed to make a 'snap'. The game was fun, and the boys certainly seemed to enjoy the interaction. I doubt there is little other fun in their lives.
Eventually it was time to take a train. For the first time on my Indian travels, I was travelling by Sleeper Class, the cheapest ticket. The three hour journey cost me seventeen rupees; about twenty pence. Hannah warned me to prepare for a scrum whilst boarding. She was not wrong. As the train pulled up and the doors opened, hoards of passengers jumping off the train were forced to battle through the crowds trying to fight their way on. It was a first-come first-served basis; if you want a seat to sit on, you need to get there first. Once those exiting the carriage were gone, people began to trickle onto the train; the carriage door was a bottle neck of bodies and bags. As I tried to force myself into the gaping door in front of me, my bag was being inadvertently forced into the adjacent door a couple of feet to my right. I somehow successfully blocked anyone else from boarding my carriage until I had freed my bag from the crush, but even so I was too slow boarding to bag a seat. I was forced to stand for the first half of the journey, although standing totally vertical within the sweaty crowd proved somewhat more challenging. Next time I think I need to use more elbows.
On Sunday we arrived in Pathankot, another chance to return to our favourite restaurant. This time we discovered the incredible tandoori chicken, a choice we revisited again the following lunchtime. In the afternoon we caught a bus to Dharamsala, or more precisely McLoed Ganj, home of the Dalai Lama. Before we even arrived at our chosen guesthouse we bumped into Marco from our jeep journey to Manali, and the following day he informed us of a performance by some local school children. I didn't realise that it was going to be such a professional affair, somewhat similar to school performances in the West. However, it got a little samey after a while, and so we booked a taxi and retired to bed.
Today I have a slight cold, but we are in McLoed Ganj for a while with the intention of taking things easy until the Dalai Lama speaks in a few days time.
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