After about 60km Sanjay had to stop in order to replace his broken cigarette lighter/power outlet. Little did we know that this would become a common theme of the trip. Apparantly little Sanj had no idea how to get to Amritsar. Once we crossed the Himachal border into Punjab we stopped nearly every 20 minutes to ask for directions (they were almost always "Go straight").
After a hellaciously hot and dusty drive into the plains of Western India we arrived in Amritsar approximately 5 hours after leaving. The intense heat was matched by the intensity of the traffic and market vendors of the city. The comparison between Amritsar and the easy-going agrarian life of Palampur is as polar as night and day. So, as we sat for some dinner and an ice-cold Kingfisher beer we planned the next day's activities. We decided upon the Golden Temple, the "mecca" of the Sikh faith, and the infamous Jalianwala Bagh. The latter is a memorial to thousands of Indian protesters shot down in cold blood by British troops in 1919 (Google for exact dates and information).
We soon realized that our ambitious ordering habits yielded too much food for only two people, and invited Sanjay the cabbie to join us. He kindly accepted our generous offer and came to dine. The rest of our experience with little Sanjay eerily reminds me of the children's book "To Give a Mouse a Cookie" and its counterpart "To Give a Moose a Muffin". If you give Sanjay a bite of dinner, he'll want lunch the next day.
When we awoke the next morning we went downstairs for breakfast and prepared to head to the Golden Temple. As we walked out to greet Sanjay the little rascal attempted to force bus to take an autorickshaw. Naturally, he didn't know the way, and told us there was no parking. After a short argument I went into the hotel to get an honest answer and, with the issue resolved, we forced baby Sanj to drive us to the temple. We stopped a minimum of four times on the way, which was down a straight road with the towering spires of the temple staring us in the face. Once we arrived in the Old City we ditched Sanjay and began to wander around.
As we approached the temple, little boys surrounded us on all sides, trying to hawk postcards and headcoverings, which must be worn in the temple. After shaking them we were finally at the entrance to the temple. We left our shoes with the temple-sanctioned receptacle (like an ape shit crazy version of the coat check at American restarants) and made our way inside. We were astonished by the sight. The purest white marble, inlaid with semi-precious stones, created an other-worldly fortress surrounding a lake. In the center of the lake lies the epicenter od Sikhism, the small Golden Temple itself. Walking to the edge of the water, we bathed our feet in the sacred, emerald green water beside Sikh pilgrims (they go for the full body rinse). Within 30 seconds we had our first request to take a 'snap'. This would be a reoccurring theme. We lined up for a picture and then began our clockwise journey, around the pond, to the line for the temple. On the way we were stopped a minimum of five times for 'snaps'.
Now, we had been asked for pictures before, but this was something new. Seemingly everyone we saw wanted to take a picture. We realized later that, especially in spots popular for domestic tourism, people like to do this. They take pictures with 'their new American friends' and show them off to friends and family at home. They supposedly treat this experience as a 'feather in the cap' so to speak. Little do they know that their celebrity friend is a 22 year-old kid with no job. As of the time of this posting I have taken pictures with the likes of grannies and babies alike. I have even held small children in my arms at the request of their parents.
The entrance to the line for the Temple (yes, the entrance for the line) was exquisite. Ornately designed brass (polished to a high sheen, so as to appear golden) was topped off with a crystal chandelier and the 'standard' white marble and gem stone on the walls. We waited for about 40 minutes with hundreds of other pilgrims and tourists for an opportunity to enter the most holy shrine. The process is essentially two palace guards (men who wear saffron-colored turbans and wield peculiar looking knives) with a 'limbo' stick who let in about 60 people at a time. They raise the bar, withstand the rush, and abruptly slam the bar down until the next interval of tourists. Weezie and I, luckily, were the last ones through in our particular wave.
As we stood in the line we heard the faint sound of four gurus, playing traditional Sikh and Punjabi instruments, singing verses of the holy Sikh book, the Guru Granth Sahib. When we entered the temple we saw the most clean and ornate temple, beautiful in every way imaginable. In the middle was the supreme Guru, reading from the holy book and performing ritual. To the side were the four gurus singing the verses of the Granth Sahib. Crammed into every corner were pilgrims of the Sikh faith, reading along as the holy men recited their verses.
We passed through the first story and made our way to the upper floors. The second floor was, again, packed with people following the prayer, as well as another guru following along in the original Guru Granth Sahib. Our resident Sikh, Vicky, told me afterward that this is the original holy book, of which one copy exists. This was, in itself, a sight to be seen. The book is massive, with tremendously long pages (not top-to-bottom, but spine-to-fore edge) and is kept and prayed to only in the Golden Temple. After a short stay, in which no pictures were allowed (sorry) we were out and on our way back to the dull marble fortress surrounding the temple. On the way out we stopped to visit the Sikh/Punjab museum and I bought a replica Sikh knife.
A short walk away from the Golden Temple is the memorial sight of the infamous Jallianwala Bagh massacre of 1919. The site was witness to a peaceful protest of Indian nationalists during April of that year when it was fired upon by Reginal Dyer's men. There were said to be anywhere from 350-1200 casualties (British and Indian figures, respectively) of the incident. As the story goes, men, women, and children all ran to the Bagh's well and jumped inside to avoid further rifle fire. Now the site is popular for Indian and foreign tourists alike, and is home to a beautiful memorial, etc. You can still see some of the bullet holes, left in the brick walls, which were fired by Dyer's men.
After a short visit we were ready to head back to the hotel. We excaped the 120+ degree heat and had a short nap before our intense Pakistan border experience. We re-met Sanjay at 4:15 and made our way to the Wagah border. Once we got close (within 5km) traffic had slowed to a standstill. In the intense heat this was no real fun. After 45 minutes of waiting we were finally able to park our car and try to head to the border. The experience reminds me of seeing cattler herded into a small pen. A literal mob scene ensued. Weezie thought that she would be cunning and squeezed beyond me in the crowd. Within 5 seconds she was being whisked away with the over-eager Indian crowd, erstwhile screaming and crying as if her life depended on it. Shocked, I bolted across the seats of two rickshaws in an attempt to reach her. I wasn't able to get to her before we were inside the customs area.
Not to worry, some Indian man was just looking for a little fun. After scooping her up in his arms he let her go right after we got inside, as he was sprinting for a good seat in the bleachers. After a few minutes of regrouping and wiping the tears away we were ready for the ceremony. We met another American in the process of all this, a nice guy from Denver who has been travelling the world for just over a year. We were ushered to the special VIP section of the stands and awaited the ceremony (about which we had heard a great deal).
The Indian side of the stands were packed with what I suspected to be anywhere from 2,000-4,000 'fans'. The scene was like a high school pep rally, as the head cheerleader, microphone in hand,
We soon realized that our ambitious ordering habits yielded too much food for only two people, and invited Sanjay the cabbie to join us. He kindly accepted our generous offer and came to dine. The rest of our experience with little Sanjay eerily reminds me of the children's book "To Give a Mouse a Cookie" and its counterpart "To Give a Moose a Muffin". If you give Sanjay a bite of dinner, he'll want lunch the next day.
When we awoke the next morning we went downstairs for breakfast and prepared to head to the Golden Temple. As we walked out to greet Sanjay the little rascal attempted to force bus to take an autorickshaw. Naturally, he didn't know the way, and told us there was no parking. After a short argument I went into the hotel to get an honest answer and, with the issue resolved, we forced baby Sanj to drive us to the temple. We stopped a minimum of four times on the way, which was down a straight road with the towering spires of the temple staring us in the face. Once we arrived in the Old City we ditched Sanjay and began to wander around.
As we approached the temple, little boys surrounded us on all sides, trying to hawk postcards and headcoverings, which must be worn in the temple. After shaking them we were finally at the entrance to the temple. We left our shoes with the temple-sanctioned receptacle (like an ape shit crazy version of the coat check at American restarants) and made our way inside. We were astonished by the sight. The purest white marble, inlaid with semi-precious stones, created an other-worldly fortress surrounding a lake. In the center of the lake lies the epicenter od Sikhism, the small Golden Temple itself. Walking to the edge of the water, we bathed our feet in the sacred, emerald green water beside Sikh pilgrims (they go for the full body rinse). Within 30 seconds we had our first request to take a 'snap'. This would be a reoccurring theme. We lined up for a picture and then began our clockwise journey, around the pond, to the line for the temple. On the way we were stopped a minimum of five times for 'snaps'.
Now, we had been asked for pictures before, but this was something new. Seemingly everyone we saw wanted to take a picture. We realized later that, especially in spots popular for domestic tourism, people like to do this. They take pictures with 'their new American friends' and show them off to friends and family at home. They supposedly treat this experience as a 'feather in the cap' so to speak. Little do they know that their celebrity friend is a 22 year-old kid with no job. As of the time of this posting I have taken pictures with the likes of grannies and babies alike. I have even held small children in my arms at the request of their parents.
The entrance to the line for the Temple (yes, the entrance for the line) was exquisite. Ornately designed brass (polished to a high sheen, so as to appear golden) was topped off with a crystal chandelier and the 'standard' white marble and gem stone on the walls. We waited for about 40 minutes with hundreds of other pilgrims and tourists for an opportunity to enter the most holy shrine. The process is essentially two palace guards (men who wear saffron-colored turbans and wield peculiar looking knives) with a 'limbo' stick who let in about 60 people at a time. They raise the bar, withstand the rush, and abruptly slam the bar down until the next interval of tourists. Weezie and I, luckily, were the last ones through in our particular wave.
As we stood in the line we heard the faint sound of four gurus, playing traditional Sikh and Punjabi instruments, singing verses of the holy Sikh book, the Guru Granth Sahib. When we entered the temple we saw the most clean and ornate temple, beautiful in every way imaginable. In the middle was the supreme Guru, reading from the holy book and performing ritual. To the side were the four gurus singing the verses of the Granth Sahib. Crammed into every corner were pilgrims of the Sikh faith, reading along as the holy men recited their verses.
We passed through the first story and made our way to the upper floors. The second floor was, again, packed with people following the prayer, as well as another guru following along in the original Guru Granth Sahib. Our resident Sikh, Vicky, told me afterward that this is the original holy book, of which one copy exists. This was, in itself, a sight to be seen. The book is massive, with tremendously long pages (not top-to-bottom, but spine-to-fore edge) and is kept and prayed to only in the Golden Temple. After a short stay, in which no pictures were allowed (sorry) we were out and on our way back to the dull marble fortress surrounding the temple. On the way out we stopped to visit the Sikh/Punjab museum and I bought a replica Sikh knife.
A short walk away from the Golden Temple is the memorial sight of the infamous Jallianwala Bagh massacre of 1919. The site was witness to a peaceful protest of Indian nationalists during April of that year when it was fired upon by Reginal Dyer's men. There were said to be anywhere from 350-1200 casualties (British and Indian figures, respectively) of the incident. As the story goes, men, women, and children all ran to the Bagh's well and jumped inside to avoid further rifle fire. Now the site is popular for Indian and foreign tourists alike, and is home to a beautiful memorial, etc. You can still see some of the bullet holes, left in the brick walls, which were fired by Dyer's men.
After a short visit we were ready to head back to the hotel. We excaped the 120+ degree heat and had a short nap before our intense Pakistan border experience. We re-met Sanjay at 4:15 and made our way to the Wagah border. Once we got close (within 5km) traffic had slowed to a standstill. In the intense heat this was no real fun. After 45 minutes of waiting we were finally able to park our car and try to head to the border. The experience reminds me of seeing cattler herded into a small pen. A literal mob scene ensued. Weezie thought that she would be cunning and squeezed beyond me in the crowd. Within 5 seconds she was being whisked away with the over-eager Indian crowd, erstwhile screaming and crying as if her life depended on it. Shocked, I bolted across the seats of two rickshaws in an attempt to reach her. I wasn't able to get to her before we were inside the customs area.
Not to worry, some Indian man was just looking for a little fun. After scooping her up in his arms he let her go right after we got inside, as he was sprinting for a good seat in the bleachers. After a few minutes of regrouping and wiping the tears away we were ready for the ceremony. We met another American in the process of all this, a nice guy from Denver who has been travelling the world for just over a year. We were ushered to the special VIP section of the stands and awaited the ceremony (about which we had heard a great deal).
The Indian side of the stands were packed with what I suspected to be anywhere from 2,000-4,000 'fans'. The scene was like a high school pep rally, as the head cheerleader, microphone in hand,
No comments:
Post a Comment