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Tuesday, December 31st – Lahore to Amritsar, India, 15,536 km
It is definitely warmer in Lahore than it was yesterday morning in Rawalpindi, being lower in elevation and further south. It is easier to get up when it is not below freezing. Frank is up and stretching like a lion. He is definitely a morning person like me.
This will be my first day of loaded cycling since I rode into Quetta almost three weeks ago, but it will not be a difficult one. The route between Lahore and Amritsar is as flat as a pancake and only about 60 km in total distance. After a breakfast of fruit and some chipatis we bought at a street stall last night, we set out. It is sunny and pleasant, a touch on the cool side, but warmer than I have known for weeks. It is a fairly busy road with only a narrow shoulder so we keep our heads down and our legs pumping. The fields on either side of us are dry and dusty. From time to time when there is a break in the traffic, Frank drops back to ride beside me and chat. He stays right with me as he promised he would.
Lahore is a large city, the size of Boston or Seattle by population. It is the traditional capital city of Punjab, a nation which was divided between India and Pakistan with the 1947 partition. Lahore fell on the Pakistani side. On the east side of the sub-continent, the ancient nation of Bengal was also divided, and its capital city, Calcutta, was given to India. Mahatma Gandhi went to Bengal when partition was declared, to try to quell the bloodbath that was sure to ensue. He was successful for the most part, but he couldn't be in two places at once to stop the bloodbath that occurred between the two halves of Punjab on the west side.
The Sikhs of east Punjab sided with India, sighting their distrust of Muslim oppressors in recent history, and their main city, Amritsar, lies right over the Indian border. They were particularly brutal during the massacres, at times stopping trains and beheading all the passengers, cutting the breasts off the women and the hands off children. The Muslims and Hindus also went on killing sprees in retaliation.
At present, Amritsar has the only border crossing between the two countries. Technically, the two countries are at war again over Kashmir, which they have been fighting over off and on for 44 years, which is why I have been a bit concerned about the crossing. We coast up to the crossing around noon and wait in line.
When we reach the border crossing kiosk, two border guards question us. They ask me to open my bag but when they see the laundry on top they say that is good enough. We are asked to fill in a form and they give us an instruction form explaining that a minimum quantity of rupees must be purchased from a registered bank and that we must produce a valid receipt for the purchase when we leave the country. It is a government strategy to limit the black market sale of rupees. When I have filled out their bureaucratic declaration form the guard asks me if he can keep my pen. "No, you wouldn't want to do that," I say to him. "Please," he tries again. "No, I'm sorry, I need it," I shake my head, and he gives it back to me. I feel like I am talking to a child.
I notice a complete change of scenery when we cross the border. The dusty, barren fields have transformed to green on the Indian side. Cascades of fuchsia-coloured bougainvillea hang down from the customs house itself and there are flowers and shrubs everywhere, as if to mock the impoverished Pakistani side. If I felt like I fell off the edge of the civilized world when I crossed into Pakistan at Taftan, I now feel like I have climbed out of that hole. Even the roads have a better surface.
The road entering Amritsar follows the railway line and leads past the railway station. We consult the Lonely Planet Guide that says there is a government information office in the Hotel Palace by the Golden Temple in the centre of town, but we cannot find it anywhere. After asking around, we learn that it was moved three kilometres out of town after the hotel was occupied by the Indian army in 1984 during the siege of the Golden Temple. The information is at least seven years out of date.
We have heard that the Sikhs welcome travelers with free accommodation and food at the Golden Temple residences, but we feel awkward taking advantage of their hospitality because we are not Sikhs. We find another cheap hotel called the Tourist Guest House across from the railway station, which has reasonable rates, but not nearly as low as the guide book suggests. When a popular guide book recommends a cheap place to stay so many travelers show up there that the prices soon rise.
It is early afternoon. Our plan was to visit the Golden Temple as soon as possible, but we realize that is more pragmatic to make our required purchase of rupees from a registered bank as soon as possible. Frank and I go together to a bank on Circular Road, which encircles the core of the city. Besides roads, railways, communications systems and the English language, Indians acquired the art of complex bureaucracy from the English. This is our first encounter with this pervasive characteristic of India. It takes the better part of an hour to fill in the forms to purchase the rupees and then a considerable wait to have them witnessed and our ID recorded.
That process proves to be more exhausting than our bike ride from Lahore. The afternoon is almost over when we finish so we decide to put off our tour of the Golden Temple until the next morning. We use the daylight that is left to ride out to the information office. The brochure for the Temple recommends seeing it in the morning light anyway. The agent also recommends we visit the Jallianwala Bagh Park, site of the famous massacre which was featured in the movie "Gandhi".
Frank and I deposit our bikes back at our hotel and walk through the narrow streets of the market area in the centre of the city. The Golden Temple is right beyond them. It offers free meals for visitors so we check it out. What a beautiful place this is! Spiritual music is playing from the temple, which seems to be floating in the middle of a small lake. Lights from the temple and the walkways surrounding the lake reflect across the water in the night sky.
On one side, a wall of white residence buildings borders a courtyard where the food is served. These buildings are where free accommodation is offered to travelers. They look quite nice and Frank concurs that it would be a wonderful and humbling place to stay. We will stay here the next time we come to Amritsar. The food is served out in soup kitchen style, with warm smiles from the heart of servers who are proud of what they are doing. We bow our gratitude for the excellent vegetarian food they serve us.
Most of those eating here are local and visiting Sikhs, but there are also a few overland travelers like us. We chat with a couple women from Australia and another couple from Belgium who are staying in the residences. They tell us the rooms are small and simple but they are clean and have a view over the sacred lake and temple. Neither of these couples wants to come for a drink with us, but as this is New Year's Eve and we specifically crossed into India so we could have a drink, we stick to our plans and find a restaurant that offers Indian and foreign beers on its menu.
Drinking is expensive and not too popular in holy sites like Amritsar. The waiter asks us if we want seconds but neither of us really likes consuming much alcohol. "What - a Canadian and a German who don't like beer? How is this possible?" the waiter chides us. We have a good laugh over that.
We make our way back to our hotel near the train station afterwards and retire for the night. Tomorrow will be 1992, a new year. If it is anything as exciting as 1991 has been it will probably kill me!
PHOTO: Amritsar's Golden Temple at night
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