Delhi, Amritsar & Attari, India...

After the Taj we headed North to spend a few days in Delhi, staying in the scruffy but backpacker-friendly Paharganj area of the city, in Hotel Rak International. Sounds kind of posh... the reality was 10 million gnats living in the bathroom, but other than that not bad! My first impressions of Delhi were that in comparison with Rajasthan and Agra the wide-avenues of the city seemed very clean (and even a little bit green). Our taxi driver said this was because of the upcoming Commonwealth Games. Anyway, Delhi for us was really just a jumping off point to head into the Punjab, but we had a fun few days eating the legendary Delhi food (no, it's not legendary because of Delhi belly) and shopping in Connaught Place, Palika Bazaar and the Tibetan Market on Janpath. I've been really impressed with the religious openness of the Indian people, and we got a great example of that in Delhi. We got chatting to a Hindu optometrist while I was buying contact lenses, and he was thrilled that we were going to visit Amritsar and told us how wonderful and relaxing the (Sikh) Golden Temple is.

Soon it was time to head to Amritsar, very close to the Pakistan border in the Punjab. We took our first 'Chair Car' train seat (instead of an overnight flat bed) for the 7 hour journey, which gave us quite the insight into the scrum it is to get onto an Indian train. This being India, the seat numbers were written above the chairs with marker pen, which in the main had been completely rubbed off and were now illegible, leading to lots of fuss, pushing and shoving and confusion over whose seat was whose. Of course, as soon as everyone was happily seated everyone became their usual delightful, polite, selves. I've been reading a great book about India called Shantaram which describes a very similar situation and he explains it like this, 'I knew the scrambled fighting and the courteous deference following it were both expressions of the one philosophy: What is necessary? That is the unspoken but implied and unavoidable questions everywhere in India.' Which makes sense to me, in a country where daily life can be a struggle that people deal with admirably well. And so we shared our food with the women and children on the train and had pleasant chats in broken English with them until our arrival in the cold, rainy North. We then took a cyclo to the appropriately named Tourist Guesthouse and enjoyed a hot shower and thali before bed.

The next morning we headed to the Golden Temple of Amritsar, also known as the holiest Sikh shrine in the world. A visit there for Sikhs's is the equivalent of the pilgrimage to Mecca for Muslims. To enter you must remove your shoes and cover your head, and then wash your feet in a shallow trough outside the temple (even the foot water is deemed holy, I saw plenty of Sikh's touching it to their heads and mouths!) all of which is presided over by Khalsa guards in brightly coloured turbans holding spears outside and inside the temple. Glittering in the sunshine, the gold plated Gurdwara, surrounded by a huge tank of water full of coi, with the sounds of priests chanting broadcast from inside the temple, is simply breathtaking, and a heavenly place to quietly wander around, or sit cross legged on the Parkarma watching pilgrims bathing and praying or quietly contemplating. The temple seems to reflect what I've learnt about Sikhs as peaceful, level headed, friendly and generous types. Refreshingly, Sikhism is based on equality, and Guru Nanak's level-headed, practical philosophies such as, 'A person who makes an honest living and shares his earnings with others recognises the way to god,' strike a real chord with me. As we stood outside afterwards a kind old man came over to hand us oranges, and when I tried to give him a few rupees he simply walked away. That's the first person in India who has ever refused our money (understandably), and we were touched by his gesture.

We then bought traditional steel karra bracelets for 10 rupees (they symbolise 'fearlessness,' something you certainly need on those Indian roads) and waited for our previously arranged jeep to pick us up and take us to Attari/Wagah, the site of the India/Pakistan border. We were driven by the wonderful Upal, who also gave us oranges and hugs, teased us mercilessly and wedged four of us into the front seat, with the gearstick between one poor chap's legs.

Every night just before sunset there is an elaborate border-closing ceremony of pure theatre. Lonely Planet calls it, 'a fusion of orderly colonial-style pomp, comical goosestepping (recalling Monty Python's Ministry of Silly Walks sketch) and, considering the two countries' rocky relationship, a stunning demonstration in harmony.' It was fascinating, sitting on the Indian side listening to the frenzied cries from the electric, flag-waving crowd of 'Hindustan! Zindabad!' (Long live India) and looking over to the Pakistani side (where the crowd were noticeably separated into men and women, and wearing much less in the way of bright colours) to watch the guards clad in black stomping their feet and yelling 'Jia Jia Pakistan!' At the end of it all the guards shake hands and slam the gate shut for the night.