Amritsar, Punjab, India

Day 7: Amritsar

Part of the Ladakh 2017 Trip series

2017-09-28, 00:49, JASON

BUDGET, STAY: Jugaadus Hostel

In the morning, Tsetan's dad takes us to the airport. The airport in Leh is shared with the military and tourism, and so is a one-terminal thing. To get in, we're required to show that we have a flight and go through security check. You're not allowed to choose whether or not to check things in or carry on. If there's any suspicious things in your bag, you're checking it in.

The line at the gate is a mess, too. There are some fights that break out at the counter, in particular, one Israeli girl that has decided to hold up the line by sitting on the weighing scale so that other passengers cannot put their luggage on to check in. She weights 65 kilograms.

At various steps along the way, there are security checks ensuring that this bag has that tag, and that this bag is checked in there. In the final stretch to board the flight, Thorin is pulled aside to identify our bags so that there is not any unclaimed luggage in the plane. It's like a mock version of Indian bureaucracy at its finest, all huddled here on this cold Ladakhi morning, where no one has the patience to wait any longer, but the motivation to do anything about it. So we stand in line, and wait. To our left is the Indian military that is deployed in Ladakh for the time being. They're also patiently waiting -- their lives an accumulation of this Indian Bureaucracy.

And then, all the anger seems to subside; the patience pays off. Everyone gets off the plane. And, we're on our way to Delhi, transferring over to Amritsar.

---

Deja Vu. We were here a week ago. We land again in the same airport, find the same taxi stand, and take a taxi out to the hostel. Inside, there are your classic tour groups: the white girls on gap year vacation, the ethnic minority among them; the lone white traveler; more recently, the East Asian tourist. All of them have landed on the Golden City, home to the Sikh faith.

We're greeted by our first authentic Punjabi friend, his head wrapped in a turban. He works in the hostel, and he's unidentified by name. He's oddly casual, to a point where I feel like he's disengaged and a bit aloof. At various times during the check-in process, the said groups above pester him about "how to get to the Pakistan border to see the gate closing" or "how to get to the Golden Temple" -- all which he answers with a bit of fluency and nonchalance. He then tucks back into the corner where we are and makes us fill out some forms indicating all of our information. "It's for the government" he says, "I couldn't give a fuck about where you were born. But I see you're 27. Good age." Like I said, weird, but refreshing. The Punjabis certainly have a sense of humor. Upon checking into the room, he spanks my butt and hustles me into the room. "CHECK IN!" he yells while he hits my butt.

Our first stop is the Golden Temple. The Golden Temple is essentially the Mecca for Sikhs. The leadup is an area that is paved with marble with shops lined alongside it, kind of decked out with a pseudo-Arabic feeling to it. When you get to the temple though, you know, because so quickly as one stumbles on that shopping street, so quickly that market hubbub disappears when stepping into the temple grounds. Silence, and peace. Hoards of people, but only a quiet murmur among the crowd.

Thousands of people are probably there. It's already 13:00 and the sun's bright out, but there are still people out. Checking in shoes is free, and we put ours in and they give us a small metal tag. Upon entering the temple, we are required to wear a bandana to cover our heads. Part of the faith, I guess. As we are barefoot, we also are supposed to wash our feet, but we didn't realize this and used the 'bridge' that bypassed the small water basin that was used for washing feet. All along this entrance to the temple, there are Sikh guards, whom, upon seeing us, halts us. He is a big guy, very tall and stern, with a spear in one of his hands (which we would later learn is one of the weapons used to protect themselves). He opens my bag to examine whether or not my shoes are snuck inside as opposed to honestly being checked-in. He looks at our bandanas and adjusts them slightly after they're on our heads, to make sure a certain part is fully covered. It feels a bit like we're being tested already. Please let me pass, I just want to see the temple. He tells us in his stern voice to wash our feet. When he opens his mouth, any sternness goes away. What instead was behind that rough exterior was, what I'd call, a man of faith: gentle and steadfast. "My friends, please wash your feet, and then you may proceed." He apologizes for the regulations, but he says it is his job.

The temple inside is quiet. It's four-faced and there are people walking around it in a clockwise manner. Right in the center is a huge pond, carved into a square shape, without an ounce of trash in the water -- probably some of the cleanest, standstill water I've seen in India. The surface is only interrupted by the occasional nibble of the large fish that swim inside the pond. Right in the center, you see the actual Golden Temple, built on a small island, only accessible from one of four faces. We take a few pictures, then proceed clockwise, joining the crowd.

Without having walked even a few minutes, a coy girl comes up to us and asks if we can have a picture. She smiles and takes a few, and some friends join her, and soon we're at the center of attention. A couple of people stop by and look at us, and some of the people who are in the temple also stop to take pictures. A group of teenage boys also come and ask for a picture, posing with us. The fervor dies down in about 5 minutes, and we get back to taking some pictures of the temple itself.

Inside, there are hundreds of people, but the noise seems to drown out by the pall of religion. What do I mean by that? There's a low murmur of people circling around, and there is also chanting music playing for the entire temple. The music has a hollow quality to it -- that Indian drum that makes a bouncy doom doom sound, whose name I don't know. People are shuffling around, making their pilgrimmate to the Golden Temple. People are stopped to have conversations with other friends. But, among all this, the whole place is still at peace. There's a calmness to it that's alarming; a silence that's deep. We stop to take some more pictures.

At the adjacent face to the way we entered, there are men who are stripping down and standing in the shallow water, facing the temple. I'm ont sure what they're doing, but men of all ages are engaging in this activity. They stand there with their turbans, some socializing, some just casting a gaze towards the Golden Temple.

At each of the corners of the temple, there is a service station either providing water or some food. When we finally get to the face that leads to the Golden Temple, we wait in line to get in.

It's completely worth the wait. Right in the middle are sat a small congregation, and they are facing three men. One is singing, and the other two are playing the instruments. It then strikes me that the music we heard playing over the loudspeaker outside was being live-produced by these men. The congregation closed their eyes and swayed in peace to the humdrum of the music.

Everything inside is made of gold. I just wander around, not sure what I'm looking at, but just listening and feeling what it's like to be here.

I've never felt such a spiritual presence in a place before. Something that swallows you in and suspends you there in some faith-based solution. But there we are, suspended and awed by Culture and Faith and their intersection. The music continues to play in the background.

When we leave, there give you a small dollop of food (I say food, but it's far more religious than that, but the name escapes me). I feel awkward for participating in their religious ceremony, but at the behest of the man serving, he gently smiles and tells me to cup my hands together. He scoops in a dollop of food that is probably some of the best stuff I've had so far in India. And, he smiles. Well, it's sort of a smile and a slight head nod -- in India, these two motions seem to merge.

And so that was the temple. It's really better in pictures.

After, we decided to go to Gobindgarh Fort. It was already approximarly 17:00, and we had to Tuk Tuk over. We picked up our shoes, and asked the closest guy whether or not he knew which direction the fort was. Turns out, he was a rickshaw driver anyway, and then proceeded to take us at our negotiated price.

It had just closed by the time we got there, and we were figuring out how the ticketing pricing worked. Apparently, there would be one price that covers entry into the fort, as well as a "visual experience" or "Wonders of India" sort of thing. The lady started speaking to me in Hindi and I said I couldn't speak any, and she was at a loss for words. So, she kept trying to ge tus to buy the package ticket. After a while, we figure that there's not much we can do since the entry into the fort included automatically that of the show. So, we conceded.

But, upon making the purchase, a man who worked there who apparently saw us in a bit of distress asked us what we wanted. "We want to just go into the fort and not see the show." He jabbers something in Hindi to his colleague, and she charges us way less for just the door price. She almost made a sale, too.

Inside the fort would be described best as a 'historical site turned theme park.' The historical things were barely preserved: maybe a small sign describing what the old structure was -- the odd well for water, the odd sleeping chambers. The Fort instead decided to channel its efforts on providing carnival-themed activities, such as camel and carousel riding and the sort. I liked the contrast of the old history commercialized to modern money making in India. It wasn't so commercialized to the degree of China though in terms of development and dedication. The camel-ride guy was just asking around if you wanted a camel ride. The carousel guy did the same, but his looked like his infrastructure was about to crumble any second.

There were two museum exhibits: one regarding old Mughal coins, and one involving Sikh-wear and traditions. Based on the lack of exhibits and newness, I gleaned that actually restoration had probably just been planned to get started on, and the museums were the first two signs of that. Maybe the tourist things were just the 'first wave' of development of the Fort -- as it got more commercialized, it would slowly make way for more 'formalized' tourist activities.

If I remember anything about Gobindgarh Fort, it wasn't the infrastructure or the exhibit. It was the people. On the way up to the museum, there is a small stage in the middle of a grassy knoll. On this stage would be the performance that we skirted, but while the folks waited for the performance, there were many families on stage dancing to the Bhangra music playing loudly at the two speakers flanking the stage. Kids as young as 2, and men and women as old as 80 (or what appeared to be 80) dancing to this music. No shame or anything, and nothing obnoxious about the group dancing. Just straight up.

On our way out, we saw a band of performers coming in to make their performance. They had the whole gear on, all the outfits, and we passed them by, just having missed the performance, which, quite honestly, might have been somewhat amusing to watch. But something about that procession wasn't as natural as those families on stages.

When we went back to the hostel, we went to eat at the base floor of a concrete building no more than 30 square meters. There were about 7 stalls set up each with their own dish specialties, and we went around trying all of them. Each time we looped around, a local would look at us and then smile, probably disconcerted at the sight of two random foreigners eating their food. Again, some of the best food I have. Such a different taste when compared to Leh. I was glad to be on low altitude again, and the comforts of Amritsar's busy city made me feel like I was in the India I knew.

As night came, and we were full after our "Hipster Manhattan" version of street food in Amritsar, we were debating what to do. So, we decided to head back to the Golden Temple again to see it at night.

That's how I would've liked our India trip to end: a little pilgrimmage back to the Golden Temple. A bit of familiarity. It was the most transquil clockwise rotation I've ever doe around the temple. The calm, Indian night; although the same place, completely different atmosphere at night. It's a new experience. Something to look forward to. A parallel with my moving to Hong Kong.

Except for the fact it's way holier than me.

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