Amritsar is Golden (Punjab, September 18-21, 2008)

I take the Volvo AC bus to Amritsar and arrive after dark. The weather is not bad on the drive, but when we arrive in Amritsar, the streets are flooded because it has just rained. The flood subsides by the next morning.

I meet a nice Belgian (Dutch-speaking) traveler at the hotel and in the morning we walk to Amritsar's main attraction--the Golden Temple. On the way we stop at Jallianwala Bagh, a small park commemorating the 2000 Indians killed or wounded here by the British authorities in 1919. According to my Lonely Planet guidebook, "Unrest in Amritsar was sparked by the Rowlatt Act (1919), which gave British authorities emergency powers to imprison without trial Indians suspected of sedition...On 13 April 1919, 20,000 Indians were holding a peaceful demonstration in Jallianwala Bagh, an open space surrounded by high walls. General Dyer arrived with 150 troops and without warning ordered his soldiers to open fire. Six minutes later, more than 400 people were dead, and a further 1500 were wounded" (272).

After Jallianwala Bagh, we move on to the nearby Golden Temple. This is the holiest place for Sikhs, who live in many parts of India but are mainly concentrated in the state of Punjab, in which Amritsar is located. Sikhism is a relatively new religion and has cultural elements of both Islam and Hinduism, but resulted from a resistance to both religions. Sikhs have been persecuted for their beliefs but show great tolerance and openness to outsiders. At the Sikh temples I have visited, Sikhs have tried to introduce me to their faith by showing me rituals or by asking how I feel about the temple I am in.

The sun brightens the dome of the temple, which extends into a pool of water contained in a marble square. Inside the temple is the Sikh holy book, believed to be the body of God. It is read continuously by devotees. Musicians sing traditional Sikh music, called kirtan, and it is broadcast throughout the temple arena over loudspeakers. Men bathe in the holy waters surrounding the temple. Just outside the temple is a huge community kitchen, in which the thousands of pilgrims who come here are fed daily.

At night, we take a small taxi to the Attari/Wagah Border between India and Pakistan to see the closing ceremony. This quite an event for all the Indians who have come to celebrate their country. Women are dancing in the street, and men join in (in a segregated section, of course) a bit later. Men wave Indian flags and crowds gather on the stands. The Pakistan side has far fewer audience members, perhaps because it is Ramadan, but I have also heard that this is the case even when it is not Ramadan.

The Belgian traveler and I had picked up a French traveler en route to solidifying our deal with the share jeep driver who took us to the Attari/Wagah Border. We also share the jeep with a British traveler, Glenn, and Belgian (French-speaking) traveler currently residing in Senegal, Mattieu. After the Attari/Wagah Border we head to the hotel where Glenn and Mattieu are staying. Its location in the old city, proximity to the old temple, sociable travelers and hyper-active, eager-to-please manager convince me to move here for my next two nights.

The next day we meander through Amritsar's streets, sipping on fresh-made pomegranate-orange-pineapple juice, and stopping for lunch at Punjabi Rasoi.

After dark, we head to the Golden Temple to see the closing ceremony and view the temple at night. We sit near the huge pool of holy water, marveling at the beauty of the temple by night, and speculating as to whether they really use cow's milk to clean the marble floors at night, as one traveler claims she's heard (turns out, they use water). A husband and wife join us with their new-born baby, and I try to talk with them and play with the baby. Then, about 10 boys come up and start talking with Glenn, asking everything about the UK (Why is it called both "the UK" and "England?" How old are you? Is this your girlfriend? What is your job?). This goes on for some time, and the intimidating Sikh guard comes by several times to disperse the growing crowd of curious boys. They are from nearby small towns and come to the temple every weekend. Religion here is a way for kids to pass time. At night, they will sleep outside on the marble floors of the temple, along with hundreds of other pilgrims. Glenn and I decide finally that we have made enough disturbance and leave. Also, he wants a cigarette, which is illegal in the Temple (and even at our hotel, because it is too near the temple, but he is discrete).

The next day, all the people I have been traveling with leave, and I am alone in Amritsar. I hire a rickshaw to take me to some of the temples and a museum outside the old city. First is a museum, Ram Bagh, about the bloody history of Punjab, which used to occupy land as far north as Afghanistan, Pakistan and Jammu-Kashmir.

Next, I visit Mata Mandir (Mother Temple), which is like a fun house. I enter through a low concrete tunnel that is painted black, then walk up some ramps to what could be called a hall of mirrors. Statues of deities are set in the walls, which are decorated in mosaics made of silver and colored mirrors. Truly sensory overload. After sneaking a picture of my reflection, I proceed down a path and under another tunnel, then walk through ankle-deep water. Looking back, I notice udders carved on the side of the tunnel, which is painted like a cow. What has just happened--where have I just been? As I understand, this temple is good luck for women who want to have children, and walking through this course is one way to ensure a positive outcome. I enter the main part of the temple, look at more deities, and sit down at the invitation of one devotee to listen to some music.

The next temple is less impressive, especially after the Golden Temple and Mata Mandir. It is Sri Durgiana Temple, a Hindu version of the Golden Temple. All in all, though, I have been pleasantly surprised at the variety of Hindu temples--no two are alike, as the religion has so much regional variation and many deities.

Back to India? (Chandigarh, September 17-18, 2008)

From McLeod Ganj I take an 8 hour bus to Chandigarh. McLeod felt very different from the dirty streets of Delhi, crowded and noisy with auto rickshaws, cycle rickshaws, trucks, pedestrians, cars and even cows. Chandigarh feels more like India--It is warmer, and there is no Tibetan presence. Still, it is India's only planned city, and its population has the highest rate of education and income. The city was planned by a French architect, Le Corbusier, after India's independence. The streets are clean and neighborhoods are divided into sectors.

The highlight of Chandigarh is visiting a friend from Milwaukee, Vipul Vohra, and his family. When he picks me up at the bus stand, he has a surprise: "In my car is the woman I am planning to marry!" he tells me. I am honored to meet Neeha, as well as Vipul's parents and relatives. They are so good to me and make sure I don't leave hungry. "Eat, eat...you are too shy...take more." We have an evening dinner at Vipul's uncle's house, and the food is excellent.

The next day, Vipul, Neeha and I visit Chandigarh's fantasy rock garden, designed by Indian sculptor Nek Chand and dedicated to "the imagination of the Indian people." We explore the labyrinthine garden's nooks and crannies, finding nice photo opportunities in the few spaces not saturated with young Indian visitors. At first the garden seems to be simply a maze with colorful pastel walls lined in the porcelain tiles from toilets, and interesting shapes formed by rocks and trees along the way. Eventually, small, playful sculptures of whimsical animals and people emerge--it seems like a hundred monkeys, then a hundred giraffes, then a hundred horses, then a hundred men, then a hundred women...all made of distinct materials. The women's saris are made of broken bangle bracelets. After the rock garden, we pay a short visit to Sukhna Lake, an artificial lake that was created as part of Le Corbusier's master plan for the city.

Vipul and Neeha drop me off at the bus stand, and I carry with me small gifts from his family, fresh fruit they have given me, and wonderful memories!

From British influences to Tibetan culture (Shimla to Dharamsala and McLeod Ganj, Himachal Pradesh, September 14-16, 2008)

The bus ride from Shimla to Dharamsala (both in Himachal Pradesh state) is 10 hours and a train is not an option. I am on an "ordinary" (as opposed to "deluxe") bus, and I am the only Westerner. We stop three times to fix the back tires. None of this is really a problem for me. The worst part of the ride is that two of the people around me--the girl behind me and the man next to me--are sick and vomiting throughout the ride. Still, I manage to get a few hours of sleep. I arrive in Dharamsala the next morning and wait about an hour for the first bus to McLeod Ganj.

Dharamsala is best known as the home of the Dalai Lama. The Tibetan government in exile is based just uphill in Gangchen Kyishong. Most travelers stay in the traveler town of McLeod Ganj, 10 km from Dharamsala on the main road, which is where I'm headed.

I meet a nice Korean girl, Suyeon, at the bus stand. She has been waiting since 4 am for the McLeod bus, and when it finally arrives at around 9 am, we both board. We realize that we are both on a waiting list for a Vipassana meditation course in Dharamsala. I decide not to take the course until later in my trip, but Suyeon does follow through. We share a room at the Ashoka Tibetan Guest House for one night and part later the next day, as she needs to go the meditation course. It is so nice to swap travel stories with her, have dinner and rest.

McLeod is the type of place where travelers hang around for weeks, sometimes months. Some are taking courses in Tibetan or Buddhism, some are volunteering to teach English or computers to local Tibetan refugees. The staple foods of travelers, including banana pancakes, on of my favorites, are readily available. At first I wish I could do the same, but know I cannot as I am on a tight schedule en route to Bangladesh. After three days in McLeod, however, I realize that I'm ready to move on.

In McLeod, I go to see the monastery where the Dalai Lama is based, called the Tsuglagkhang Complex. The monks are yelling and clapping their hands at each other. I gather that they are having philosophical debates. I walk around the temple, and when I return the monks have settled their debates and are chanting harmoniously.

The next day, I walk to a nearby small town called Baghsu. There is a beautiful waterfall here.
The next day, I walk to another nearby town called Daramkot. I continue walking toward Baghsu and the waterfall. More nice views and pictures of the area's lush green hills.

While in McLeod, I also go to a small but educational Tibet Museum, a museum of history and culture, focusing on the persecution of Tibetans in China and their exodus as refugees into India and neighboring counties. Many, even children, had to walk across the Himalayas to the refugee camps.

Hot to Cool (Delhi to Shimla, Himachal Pradesh, September 11-13, 2008)

It takes a few days for me to decide on my next destination. I have three options:
1) Rajasthan
2) Himachal Pradesh
3) traveling east through Varanasi, Bodhgaya, Kolkata and then into Bangladesh

Letting the weather guide me, I decide on Himachal Pradesh, which is cooler than the thick heat I have been experiencing in Delhi, and would experience in Rajasthan or traveling east to Bangladesh. On the advice of a train ticket salesman I meet at an Internet cafe, I devise my route: I will go from Delhi to Shimla to Dharamsala/McLeod Ganj to Amritsar to Delhi.

The first destination on this leg of my journey, Shimla, was the official summer capitol of the British Raj in India. Until the British arrived, there was nothing at Shimla but a sleepy forest glade known as Shyamala (a local name for Kali). Every summer until 1939, the entire government of India fled here from the sweltering heat of the plains. When the Kalka-Shimla railway line was constructed in 1903, Shimla's status as India's premier hill station was assured. British influence is seen in the Anglican church (Christ Church), Viceregal Lodge, nearby golf course, and buildings such as Town Hall, post office, Offices of the Accountant General an Rothney Castle.

Leaving Delhi, I take a 4 hour train to Kalka and then a 5 hour toy train to Shimla. The toy train takes us through green mountain ranges, a foretaste of the approaching landscape in Shimla and Dharamsala. Though a welcome change from the chaos of the city, the highlight of the train ride is not the landscape but the people I meet. I am fortunate to sit next to a very kind Sikh family from Punjab with two cute children, one girl and one boy. The father is constantly pointing out the window to show them the train engine or one of the 103 tunnels we go through. They graciously offer to share their chips and aloo paratha (potato-stuffed bread) with me and buy me chai (black tea, milk and lots of sugar). The father communicates with me the best that he can, and I drop a few of the Hindi phrases I have learned, asking his daughter what her name is, and sharing mine. Immediately, I feel more at ease about my first independent journey in India.

At the Shimla train station, I meet two men from England and ask if they would like to share a taxi into town so that I don't have to pay for one myself. Instead, we decide to walk and are led by one of many workers who probably get commission for recommending hotels to us. This situation is nearly unavoidable. I bargain hard and settle on the Woodland Hotel, which turns out to be far from everything and up a steep hill, a bit dirty and musty. It is far from ideal, but I convince myself it is "rustic."

Where there is bad, there is also good. Although the hotel is not so great, I have the fortune of meeting four young men from Delhi--Ashu, Sandeep, Ravi and Ajay. They are best friends, traveling together for about a week in the north. Shimla is their last stop before heading back to Delhi. They try to teach me some Hindi, and I absorb a little. They say a Hindi phrase I have seen used by Indian tourist agencies. It translates to mean roughly, "In India, a foreigner is a God." Though I have heard it used, I have yet to see how it plays out in practice...

The next day, they ask if I would like to travel with them around Shimla as they have a car. I jump at the opportunity, as hiring a taxi would be too expensive, and it's nice to have company when traveling alone.

Our first stop is a lookout point (possibly called Mashobra, though I can't recall) from which we can see the Himalayan mountains peeking through the thick fog that comes during this time of year. The path to the lookout point is steep and much of it is covered in mud generated from the heavy foot traffic of Indian tourists and ponies. I insist I can make it, but the boys haggle with some locals and about halfway up I am offered a pony and a bumpy ride. They say the locals are doing "social service" by offering me a free ride. We hop in the car again, and listen to Bollywood music. Ashu and I both love song from "Bachna Ae Hasino" and sing along (or, in my case, hum).

After the lookout point, we continue on to Naldehra, where the boys want to see a golf course-apparently one of the world's highest. I am less interested in this, but it turns out to be located near a beautiful cedar forest. We walk through this en route to two small Hindu temples, one located nearly on the golf course. The boys take a break for some entertaining pictures of acrobatic tricks on the green--a variation of the jumping pictures that Austin's group of friends performs as they travel. Some things, it seems, are universal. We have a nice lunch with a view of the mountains. All four boys are vegetarian, as am I. Though not all Indians are vegetarian, vegetarianism is completely acceptable here and nearly every restaurant has many vegetarian options. After experiencing the normalcy of vegetarianism in India, for the first time in my life I realize how abnormal it feels to be vegetarian back in the states.

After Naldehra, we drive back toward Shimla. The road is rough, narrow, and on the edge of a mountain. But Ashu is a skilled driver, as are all drivers here. The last stop before Shimla is Jakhu Temple, Shimla's most famous temple, dedicated to the monkey god, Hanuman. Appropriately, hundreds of rhesus macaques loiter around harassing devotees for prasad (food offerings). Two of the boys rent sticks at the temple entrance to scare away the monkeys. I had seen a few temples before coming to Shimla, but I had not expected to go through Hindu rituals upon coming here. I follow as the boys lead. There is a very young girl, maybe six years old, sitting on the floor and keeping rhythm on her drum. Another rhythm instrument is played by a man in the corner, and different men hammer on loud bells hanging from the ceiling. Inside a small, separate room is a shrine and a man administering incense around a deity. The boys are very serious, separating from each other to pray or bow onto the floor. I fold my hands but keep my eyes wide open, taking in all that is happening. At the end of the ceremony, we each approach the priest and he dabs the middle of our foreheads with thick orange paint. He also gives us a sweet, cereal-like substance to eat as we leave the temple. Though benign at all other Hindu temples, at this particular place the combination of food and monkeys proves risky--as soon as I exit, a monkey quickly grabs for my pants. I scream, realizing I should have stuffed the cereal in my mouth, and one of the boys bangs his stick on the ground. The monkey retreats, I fill my mouth with sweet substance, and we leave.

We drive back to the hotel in the dark, tired and happy after our day.

The next day is less memorable, as the boys head back to Delhi and I am alone. I walk around Shimla and find the bus stand to ensure I will get a bus that evening for Dharamsala. En route, I drop into Shimla's Gurudwara (a gurudwara is a Sikh temple) and am led around by the temple's very inviting religious leader. I walk around to occupy my time. Then I make the tiring climb up to my hotel (the cheapest places, I have learned, are the most out-of-the-way), grab my bag, have a bite to eat, walk to the bus stand once more, and find my bus.

August 26-September 10, 2008

It is hard to believe I arrived in India about 3 weeks ago! Time has passed so quickly.
Here is a summary of what has happened since then:


1) Delhi/Gurgaon (in Haryana state)

I am staying with my very gracious and hospitable friend Austin. He works for Google and has an apartment in Gurgaon along with other "Googlers." This first leg of my trip has been an education not only in Indian culture, but also in Google culture! It seems like a wonderful company to work for.

I spend my first days seeing the major sights in Delhi with the help of Austin's driver. I try to absorb all the Hindi I can from him. Here are the most important phrases I have been using:

ab kesa he?=how are you doing?
me achi ho=I am well.
kitney rupie?=how many rupees does it cost?
ba hood ja da he=too expensive
nahee chaiei=I don't want itshubratrie=good night
ache, do, teen, char, panche, che, sat, ot, no, dos=numbers 1-10
uska nam kie he=what is it called?
apka nam kie he=what is your name?
mera nam Jenni=my name is jenni.

One of my favorite sites in Delhi is the Gandhi National Museum. I learned a lot about the life of the Mahatma here. I cannot believe such an incredible man was alive just decades ago!

Another of my favorite sites is the Jamma Masjid, a major mosque. Another is Lodi Gardens, a huge park and escape from the city. In the middle of the park are old tombs. It feels like I have seen almost every tomb in Delhi by now!


2) Leh (in Ladakh, Jammu and Kashmir state)

I travel by plane with Austin and some of his coworkers to this northern region of India, in Jammu and Kashmir. Don't worry-this is not the section of Kashmir that has seen so much political chaos as of late. Leh is very safe. One of the options to reach Leh is to travel by land, which I had thought about, but I thought for my first trip in India, better to go with Austin, who must fly due to time constraints because he has to work!

This might end up being my favorite place in India. It reminds me of the mountains of Northern Pakistan. They feel oppressive and isolating they are so huge, but I do love them. You can imagine the thrill of flying over the mountains and the plane landing.

Our trip to Leh is only 3 days, so we must pack a lot into each day. The first day we walk around the old city and see the markets, a mosque, a palace and gompa (Tibettan buddhist monestary). The second day we drive to the Nubra Valley. The drive is long, but beautiful through the mountains. We cross the "worlds highest motorable pass" (and later find out that this is not true--that there are higher ones in Tibet). But still, it is high and the air is thin. We do a short camel (two humps!) ride in the Nubra valley and visit a Tibetan monastery and sample local Tibetan food before heading back along the mountainous journey to Leh. Signs along the road creatively warn drivers to be careful. They read:

If married, divorce speed
Love thy neighbor, but not while driving
Don't gossip-let him drive
Driving and day dreaming do not go togetherSpeed is a knife that cuts life
Be gentle on my curve
Life is short. Don't make it shorter.

There are also some that testify to the beauty of Ladakh and the wonder of the mountainous road:

God made Ladakh, we connect it to the rest of the world.
Sky is the limit-we take you there.

The third day in Leh we try to go into the mountains to a lake that stretches into Tibet. But there is a little snow on the road and we turn back. Instead, we visit some more wonderful gompas. The highlight is witnessing a group of monks of all ages reading sacred text, and an army officer tithing while they read and sound their instruments. There is a child monk in the corner whose voice can be heard above all the others-very cute.


3) Agra (Uttar Pradesh state)

A few days after returning to Delhi from Leh, I go for a day trip to Agra (in Uttar Pradesh) with two of Austin's co-workers. We go to the Taj Mahal and Agra Fort.

We also drive down some rough roads (ubiquitous in India) to Fatehpur Sikri, the short-lived capitol of the Mughal empire from 1571-1585, during the reign of Emperor Akbar. Akbar visited Sikri to consult the Suri saint Shaikh Salim Chisti, who predicted the birth of an heir to the Mughal throne. When the prophecy came true, Akbar built his the capital here. The architecture is Indo-Islamic.

We have a quick dinner at McDonald's on the way home, and I have a McVeggie burger-wish they had those in US!

4) Delhi/Gurgaon

Take a break, see some more Delhi sights. Go to Bollywood film, "Bachna Ae Hasino." Now I know the context for some of the music I keep hearing on the radio (all the music on the radio is from Bollywood films).

Subcontinent Sense

It was my senses which led me to the subcontinent. The smell of fresh-ground turmeric. The ratio of cardamom to coriander in garam masala. The heat of cinnamon on my palm as I ground. The colorful saris in National Geographic, bright like the yellow of turmeric, the red of chili powder, the green of fresh coriander, a garnish on so many dishes here. The meditative effect of yoga on my body and breath. The sense of wonder and curiosity that arose when I read the story of Siddhartha Gautama the Buddha, who wandered here so long ago. A sense of sympathy for peoples colonized, countries torn apart. A desire to understand how people living here make sense of their days, their lives.

It is through this blog that I hope to imbue in you a certain sense of what I am experiencing, a sense of the subcontinent.