Amiable Amritsar

We spent our last afternoon in Amritsar by heading to Atilla (I have forgetten it's name - just know it as 'the border') to watch, with several thousand other Indians, the closing of the border ceremony with Pakistan. The poor Pakistani guards only had a little stand for a few spectators on their side, while the Indian crowd was getting revved up with (MC:) 'HINDUSTAN' (crowd reply:) 'HINDABA' or something like that as well as other war cries. Following the longest cry of 'guaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaards' I have ever heard (great lung capacity)the guards marched at super speeds with arms flailing before stopping dead, stamping their feet so hard when they about turned that the ground must shake when a few hundred of them march together.

The crowd was the worst behaved I have ever seen and only some yelling by the guards (I'm sure threatening in Hindi to open fire unless they behave themselves) would get everyone seated again until the next moment when there was something worth seeing. I waved my little plastic Indian flag enthusiatically and did my 'ooh ah India ah ha India' as they say on the TV here. I did think the Pakistanis did look a little more menacing - identical outfit, with the big fan sticking out of their hats, but with dark green instead of khaki - something about their march had a little more bite to it.

The one hour jeep to and from the border involved me, Heather, the driver and 13 other Indians crammed into an old landcruiser - cosy (and daredevilish during the rush to get back to Amritsar when the ceremony had ended.

The evening was highlighted by more helpful Sikh men, furthering out positive perception of Amritsar. Not having time to get into the Golden Temple I was struck by it's beauty. The outside building is just a protective fortress - behind which is a large mote around what looks like a pure gold building - stunning (from the view we had through the archways). So holy a place it seemed that I was not that keen to go in given my non-Sikh leanings and the respect I feel they have earnt. The father of Sikhism was actually a farmer who travelled with a Muslim mate singing songs about peace, equality and love. The songs still continue non-stop from the Temple.

An early rise this morning to accompany a lone Israeli girl on the 8 hour train back to New Delhi where we find ourselves now - return bus ticket booked to Agra (Taj Mahal) tomorrow - returning at midnight and heading straight to the train station for our 24 hour ride to Siliguri - near Darjeeling - on the opposite side of India.

We must be getting used to this place as Main Bazaar is a walk in the park compared to the frightful hell hole it first seemed two weeks ago. I did just get mobbed by some kids trying to pick my pockets - but that's life - and fair play - I am a comparatively wealthy foreigner.