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To update my friend Gary Williams who is following my food blog, I did venture into the Restaurant late last night and most of the diners had already left, except for a particular large family of Indian’s, who had some particularly large family members, who were continuing to dig into the buffet. I needed to get something wholesome, but I couldn’t see anything on the a la carte menu that suited. The Head Waiter came over and I explained my general condition and that I would eat Indian food as long as he could recommend something that is low in all things that … enough said. “What I could do is get Chef to do you a little Chicken off the tandoori, with a little gravy and you chose what you would like with it”.  Bang on I thought.  I asked for some sides of Pulao Rice, a bit Pilau but spelt differently, and some plain Naan.

A Kingfisher beer (low alcohol one) arrived to test my inner strength.

The dish came and there was a huge bowl of Chicken in a mild spicy sauce of a rich red colour, the Rice, with Peas, Green Beans and Onions and the Naan which was a bit heavy in ghee.  In fact I think it was all a bit heavy in ghee, but it didn’t put me off.  I tucked in and it was delicious.  The Chicken texture was more like a piece of slow braised beef and very moist and the side dishes were really balanced with the main dish.  I managed just over half of it, but it was large and sat back. One of the junior waiters came over and checked if everything was OK.  He is obviously still learning the art of table service, as I noticed that each piece of cutlery was placed entangled with one another, a bit like pick-me-up sticks but putting them into a mess rather than removing one at a time. I said everything was excellent it is just that I cannot eat anymore.  I asked what it was called. He smiled but looked puzzled. I started to gesture if he had a pen so he could could write it down. Within seconds a Customer Care survey was in front of me and he is pointing to the Excellent box for the food. Then he said “Excellent Service too, yes?”  I nodded and just completed it. I went back to my original question “WHAT, WAS, IN, THE, SAUCE?”  He came back at me politely…”TO, MART, TOE SAUCE”.

Topped up I went off to bed to finish off my Blogs and to take a quick FaceTime with Tom and Jon back home.

The next day I slept in until 9am which did wonders, but I was feeling guilty that I needed to get on and do Amritsar.  I was a bit apprehensive.  Today is Holi Day, the festival of colour.  You’ll have seen people in pictures throwing paint and powders of colours, well it’s today.  Major Tom had warned me, but he wasn’t the only person since I have been here, that Holi can get a bit raucous. Some kids have started throwing real paint or Cow dung and also in some areas throw people into mud. As it was, throughout the day I only saw small number of stained people. I think that is more luck than judgement.

The Car and Driver I arranged arrived at around 11am and the plan was to go through until 6pm.  Pradeep was my driver today.  My plan was to spend 3-4 hours at the Golden Temple as the maps I had seen suggested that this was where the concentration of things that I wanted to see and then move onto the Wagah Border which was about 35Km away. The Temple was only a couple of Kilometres of drive. Pradeep stopped on the side of a roundabout and pointed me to a checkpoint barrier that said ‘no cars’. He was going to park the car up and then I would come back to this point when I have finished. He pointed in the general direction down the street which was heaving with people but I just mingled and followed the masses. The road bent around into an L shape, but all I could see was a bric-a-brac Old Amritsar.

I was looking for clues. As a Sikh temple, a lot of locals wore Turbuns, but a number of visitors mostly Indian had bandanas, orange bandanas.  Street sellers sold them for 10 Rupees.  I bought one and then continued with the masses. At this stage everyone was fighting for space with 3 wheeled bicycle taxis and motor bikes. You are warned about pickpockets, so you have all your senses tingling for the least amount of pulling or pushing.  At the next corner, which was still only about 200 yards from where Pradeep dropped me, I saw a sign saying ‘Shoes’ and the masses were queuing up, well, sort of orderly pushing in. In India, if you snooze you lose. I promptly removed them and took them to the counter in exchange for token. I watched the lady trying to squeeze my size 11 walking shoes into the wooden pigeon hole.  From there the procession continued. I was being looked at, a lot. Not so much my height, as some Punjabi’s are really tall, but that I was obviously a foreigner and unlikely to be a Sikh. There was coconut matting rolled out to save the feet all the way to the Temple, only about another 150 yards on and then as you step into the Temple you paddle your feet in a trough of water. A young guy next to me lent down and scooped a handful into his mouth, hmm, I won’t follow that one I thought. As I turned into the large archway the Golden Temple was there right in front of me.  In the middle of a pool of water and surrounded by the most beautiful white buildings and a walkway all around of inlaid marble. It was both bigger and more elaborate than I had thought.  I’m not going to say too much on this, just see the pictures. The people had a purpose with this temple and were showing their thanks by praying, in some cases prostrate facedown with their hands together pointing towards the Temple in the middle of the pond. The Temple laden in gold shone in the sunshine.

Looking to the massive queue to go into the actual temple itself, this was not going to on my checklist today. The guide books warned that thousands would attend and they did. Going around the edges and sitting crossed legged by the side of the pool, there was plenty of space,  I was stopped a few times to ask my name and what Country I came from.  One old Sikh who proudly had his Daughter and her two children with him saw that I was taking photo’s and invited me to take one of them, with my own camera. I could see he was having a really special time and so was I, so I obliged.  I went into the Akal Takht which is to the one end and sat down for 15 minutes rest. An old man smiled at me but then guided me to swivel a bit. I was obviously pointing the wrong way. Another man assured me I was fine after I had adjusted myself.

There is live prayer called out on loud speakers continually. You do get a sense of good feeling.

So overall summary, this was as awesome as the Taj Mahal but for different reasons.

I held off taking water or food which the Temple provides to visitors of all faiths, as I wanted to make sure I controlled my ‘diet’. The mornings breakfast had been 6 plain digestive biscuits. I hope no one was offended that I didn’t take any food.

I got to about 3 hours and called time. I needed water desperately. You couldn’t take bags into the Temple so I ventured out with only my Camera bag today. I returned on the route that I had taken and recovered my shoes and removed the headscarf and headed for anywhere with a clean looking fridge. Suitably refilled with water, I did a couple of circuits of the side streets. I moved down to the Jallanwala Bagh, which is the scene of the Sikh massacre by the British in 1919. Not our finest hour and I did feel uncomfortable being in there. Irony was that it happen on the 13 April, my birthday. After this I headed to the meeting point for my Taxi. You get used to saying “No” to touts and hawkers, that when Pradeep called to me I pushed him off too. He tried again. I think he found it funny too.

We were soon on the road to the border with Pakistan. When I first booked my Visa there were notes about not travelling to certain areas close to borders, but on the recommendation of Major Tom, I headed for Wagah a live border frontier between the countries. Things do heat up between the countries every now and then so I was thinking, how ‘cold war’ could this be?

The driver took me to within 1 Km of the gate and we parked up in one of the usual bits of waste ground, but in this case everyone was there for the same event and there was almost a carnival atmosphere about it. Hoards of people were walking down the road to queue for the event. Now with the privilege of being ‘Johnny Tourist’ and a Foreign Passport holder I was a ‘VIP’, so what ever happens I get a seat at the event. The crowds start building and Pradeep said that not everyone would get in (except VIPs). There were 3 gates at the ‘off’ and 3 gates at the finish all within an Army controlled piece of land. To the right, Ladies were allowed to stand at a specific gate, then Gents, then to the far left a number of VIP Groups. The gates open around 4pm.  At about 10 mins to the hour the Ladies gate opens and they serenely, if not with a bit of giggle and gabble, stream through and make their way up a partitioned walkway which is on one side of a two-laned avenue. I moved into place on the right side then the gates opened for the final two groups. The masses in the Gents lane start running and pushing. A bit like a spanish bull chase. My gate opens, but the only benefit is the gate itself as within 25 yards the paths merge and we are in the thick of it. You know I have talked about Indian queuing. We are soon in a lane which is getting narrower and narrower as a Soldier on a horse is blocking the road. The heaving means that you lose your feet but are pulled along by the group. I was also afraid of losing my wallet, passport or cash from my pockets.  There are lots of smiley people, but you wouldn’t know if anyone had stolen from you.  They tend not to wear hooped T-shirts and carry bags with loot written on the side.

We made a couple of right turns into a narrow lane and I was close to going over the barriers to the Ladies section. One section of a heavy metal barrier came down on the women’s side and one lady went mad. I could not translate a word, but I understood ever bit of her sentiment. At this stage I thought back to my Rugby coaching. Low centre of gravity and use the legs to lever. It worked, I must have been holding about 6 people from a small ledge of tarmac, before we levelled out. The columns narrowed to a single check point and a security check. The fresh Pop Corn sellers at the car park that do a roaring trade, see their produce tossed to one side as it can’t go any further. They must pop their corn every day knowing that the Army will search and discard it anyway.

We are then through to a mild walk for the last few hundred yards to the final split. Gate 3 for VIPs, thats all I am interested in. As we go into the viewing area, the Indian VIP’s that need to book are shown to tiered seat and Foreigners are show to a narrow band of concrete steps about 4 people wide, but they work well. I find myself sitting next to a Chilean girl.

The setting.  Think of a road that is passing between the two countries and there is an ‘Indian’ side and a ‘Pakistan’ side, with two high metal gates that stop any passage, one for each country. The Security Border Post was on one side of the road and the gallery of viewers on the other. As you go down the road, the people in the ‘cheap’ seats are also behind the ‘Border Post’.  There must be 3000-4000 Indian people who have come along for the event. Less on the Pakistan side. The gate opening ceremony starts at 5pm but as a warm up both sides blast music out. On the Pakistan side a couple of fat men run with Flags towards the border to the cheer of their crowd. The Indians have relays of girls and then women to take part in the flag run doing the same. The Crowd go wild. It is a real fun atmosphere but very patriotic. The music turns to bangra and the girls are dancing in the road and that goes on for 30 minutes.  They sound like the latest hits as the girls are having a great time, very Indian and very enjoyable. As the music comes to a halt, the play off between the opposite Armies starts with a rush to the gate on both sides. The Pakistani’s in Black dress and the Indian’s in Khaki. Very colourful. They compete for bugles and holding a chant note, soldier by soldier, interleaved with a march to the gate and a high kick and turn to present themselves. This goes on in a build up until a soldier on both sides throws open their side of the gate in exact timing and without touching, stamp and high kick at each other to show their ‘feathers’. It ends with a crossing of the national flags and then a closing of the gates. Highly charged and I think Indian supporters edged it for passion. This rounded off an excellent tour day.

And back to the hotel.

‘Up for a Kurry?’  (the Hotel’s spelling note mine) , yep.  I waited a bit too late so couldn’t finish it all but the Lamb Chop Kebab’s (Gary, just like Punjab Paradise) were excellent and a Prawn Kurry which was a bit average.  Well that’s Amritsar in a nutshell.