The Golden Temple

Forgive me. It's been eight days since my last post. Hard to get to an interim net 'caf' sometimes here. Suey and I just got back from another spine-crunching local bus ride to Amritsar, five hours north-east. We ran into a white chap on the bus, who lives locally and said we're only the second white folk in five years that he's seen on that route. So we are putting some 'in' before the 'trepid'.

Amritsar is an hour from the Pakistan border, and you can go see the border closing ceremony. It's underwhelming. I was expecting gravitas, but all we got was chest beating, feather fluffing and silly walks. I suppose it would be funny if they weren't blowing each other up from time to time. The Pakistanis had nicer uniforms/costumes and looked more fearsome.

Infinitely more astonishing is the Sikh Golden Temple. Set in the middle of a holy lake (Amrit Sarovar -- Pool of Nectar) and surrounded on all sides by marbled promenades, it's packed with pilgrims around the clock. Just as busy at 5am (we got up to watch the Temple change colour as the sun rose) as 5pm.

We slept in a flea-bitten dorm in one of the huge peripheral buildings housing the thousands of daily/nightly visitors. Holy men chant or sing from the Guru Granth Sahib (holy book) around the clock, accompanied sometimes by sitar, tabla and harmonium. This is broadcast throughout the complex over loudspeakers. When you queue up and finally get inside the Hari Mandir Sahib (main temple), though, you stand right next to the priests, sitting, singing, praying (and broadcasting).

We ate dahl, naan and some sort of polenta-based mithai ('sweet'; not so great) in the communal dining hall, in which the Sikh's feed 40,000 people a day for free. You grab a thali (tin plate), rush to grab a spot in one of the long, straight lines on the floor, and get your dahl served from a bucket. Then we spent 45 minutes washing thousands of shiny thalis in the communal kitchen. You don't have to pitch in, but it's all part of the fun.

Sikhism appears genuinely inclusive and tolerant. So it was hard to reconcile the sharp, curved dagger I saw poking from a pilgrim's sari as she kneeled to kiss the marble Parkarma (promenade). This and the border closing foolishness are somehow sadly related.

Anyway ... tomorrow to Shimla in the Himalayan foothills, perhaps then to Rishikesh and the Ganges headwaters for some yoga (if we can gird ourselves for a 10-hour bus ride). Thence to Delhi and Paharganj for, well, Delhi, and thereafter to Jaisalmer in the Great Thar Desert.

Last night I ate Fettucine Alfredo in a local, extremely authentic, Italian restaruant. We're enjoying our adventure.

Namashkaar. xo