The Long Way to the Golden Temple, Amritsar, India (Aug 2008)

It's the nicest and most expensive hotel I've stayed at on this trip, as evidenced by it's 24-hour hot water (I don't even have to turn on the electric heater and wait 20 minutes), toilet paper provided sans the little waste-basket next to the toilet, meaning I can actually flush it, and built-in air conditioning. With all this to luxuriate in, and breakfast on the lovely terrace, the motivation to strike out into the city is wilting.

While at breakfast I meet a middle-aged Indian woman, or rather woman of Indian descent, she's actually British. She's meeting her daughter here and showing her around, they will take a rickshaw to the Temple and then perhaps move on to a little Hindu temple outside of town where one prays for fertility. She is a chatterbox, I know all about her, her daughter, her family, her career, and her home in England after a couple cups of coffee; she seems about to invite me to join her in her tours today but I quickly explain that I plan to walk to the Golden Temple.

She is taken aback, why would I do that, the rickshaw is not expensive. But, I have all day to see the Temple, and if I take the rickshaw there I'll be done by noon and then what will I do? I have the time, instead I will wander through the city on foot and try to get a feel for it. It's my favorite way to experience new places, rather than zooming directly from one attraction to the next. Sometimes it works out, and I find little gems that no one has yet listed in a guidebook, and sometimes I just get shit on my shoes but I won't know what Amritsar has until I walk its alleys.

We part ways. I consult the map in my guidebook and set out, right on Queens Road to Court Road and then across the rail tracks to the Old City gate. Dusty and hot already and it's only 10am. There's a traffic circle outside the Hall Gate, a statue of Someone Important on a rearing horse and brandishing a sword. I walk around and into the gate, map check one more time--this should be easy, I will walk up the Hall Bazaar, past City Hall and the Bank, until it dead ends and then turn right, the Temple will be right in front of me.

I had high hopes for the Hall Bazaar. I wanted to see little stalls with vendors hawking their wares, spices and trinkets and household goods and the mishmash of essential and useless items. Instead, there are metal shutters drawn down over storefronts, and the signs indicate that these businesses serve the needs of those who need their sewing machines repaired, things like that. There will be nothing for me to touch and admire even when the grates open. There are no women in the streets, I'm the only one, and the men are staring openly. It's not so much that they're leering, although there's a healthy dose of leer going on, seems more like shock, like seeing a purple giraffe ambling down the street at 10am pretending that there are always purple giraffes in the street at 10am, nothing to see here move along.

I come to a little square, I was not supposed to come to a little square this is not on my map. In the name of adventure I choose the branch that seems to lead in the right direction, maybe there will be something lovely to see down there, something surprising and worthwhile, a secret between me and the city.

There's not. The alley is narrow and choked with rubbish, mangy dogs slink up and down the street flinching from anticipated blows. Men on scooters and motorcycles roar up and down the alley in the narrow center gutter. My alley peters out, I turn again, following instinct which may not be such a good idea, turn right again just trying to keep going in a straight line. I know the Temple is on a hill, and it's Golden, presumably at some point I will be able to sight the High Shiny Thing and just head towards it.

I see a flutter of color down another side alley and jog sideways, maybe there is something there? There is, but I don't really know what it is. A large gnarled tree, thick branches clawing out from almost ground level, with tattered orange garlands webbed through its limbs. There's a picture of something nested within the cloth, and some incense burning, a shrine of some kind but I have no idea what for. It's also the only living vegetation I've seen so far. I contemplate it for a while, trying to ignore the staring men zooming by on their scooters. At some point I shrug and turn away, contemplating is just making me stand in one place long enough to get a good long whiff of the raw sewage piled up a couple of feet away and the strays are circling me cautiously, trying to decide if I might have food or kicks for them.

I come out into another small square, there are rickshaw drivers all about, it's like a cab stand of sorts. Earlier, when I was more confident of location, the drivers would follow me, standing on the pedals, trying to coax me into their carriages. I demurred, I knew where I was, I was exploring! Now, though, I am standing there trying to look like a customer and am being ignored. Getting to the part of the city where rickshaw drivers ignore tourists is a sign, but I'm not sure if it's good or bad. I keep standing there, just can't believe that not one single rickshaw dude is going to try and make a customer out of me.

Finally, I approach one of them, ask how much to the Golden Temple. He grins, showing me blackened holes in his gums, and quotes 100 rupees. 100 rupees! That's what an auto-rickshaw would cost from the airport ten kilometers away, I may be lost but I am not that lost, I am not ready to pay the Lost Tax yet. It should be 20 rupees at most, but he is not even interested in bargaining. Again, a sign, but not sure how to interpret it.

I plunge back into another stinking alley, turning and turning. I find a street that looks promising, there is one stall of tourist crap open and that means I must not be too far from the concentration of tourists, which is the Golden Temple. Another turn and the trail is cold, back to shuttered metal storefronts and bug-eyed men. A man walking by sees me and stops, asks what I am looking for.

I know I shouldn't trust strange Indian men, but now I'm ready to pay the Lost Tax. Unfortunately, there are no rickshaws around. I ask this man where I can get a rickshaw, he asks again what I'm looking for and I admit that I am seeking the same thing every tourist in the old quarter of Amritsar seeks, the Big Shiny Thing on the Hill that I can't seem to locate.

"Oh, it is not far! I am going that way, follow me."

I do, even though I know I shouldn't, I was led astray by this same tactic in Morocco a few months ago. My options are limited, though. We wind deeper into the old quarter, I am following him and he asks questions over his shoulder, the same questions every stranger asks me: Where are you from, is this your first time in India, where are you staying, what is your name, what is your work... Thing is, while this is a standard introductory interrogation here, these are also very aggressive questions; it's the same information a predator would use to size up prey. I am defensive when he pushes for details on what hotel I'm at, "Near the train station" I say vaguely, he asks which hotel exactly, "I don't even remember," I am starting to get hostile but still following him. "Are we close?" I ask, "Oh yes, very close," but we have been very close for the last ten minutes and just seem to be burrowing deeper into unfriendly territory.

My warning bells are going off, I only realize this when I give him a fake name. I am getting angry, and feeling threatened in an unspecified way, and I start being outright rude, nearly haranguing him, does he know where we are, why does he keep saying we are close, where is he taking me, and then we turn a corner and at last I can see the Shiny Thing, he was leading me correctly the whole time.

I feel bad, now, for being so mean. He insists that he can take me around to the entrance, it is not so far from where he is going, but I hurriedly assure him that I can find my way now thank you, I will just circle the compound wall until I come to the gate. I duck away and wave, thanking him again, and with my eyes always on the golden spire start inching around to the main gate.

I loiter outside the gate, studying the scene and smoking. I need to get all my smoking in before I go through, the Sikh religion stipulates no cigarettes on the grounds and I will of course respect their holy site. I am equipped with a head covering as well. This is actually the only place where I don't slightly resent the interdiction against uncovered heads, as the same requirement is made of men and women equally. In fact, this is a central tenet of the Sikh faith, that they do no discriminate by gender, race, religion, or creed. All are equal, and all are welcome.

I stub out my cigarette to the disapproving looks of the Punjabi men around me, but again their disapproval is not that I am a woman immodestly smoking, but that I am a human polluting the temple of my body. Again, it is a more evenly applied judgment and thus one I find somehow less offensive. I pull my bandana over my hair and cross to the gate.

There are Sikh warriors flanking the gate, in their dramatic turbans and flowing garments, intimidating spears upright. This is three of the five pieces of Sikhism, the five Ks: if I recall correctly from my reading, it is unshorn hair, a wooden comb, an iron bracelet, a spear, and long pants. It's a religion of style and accessories, I smirk irreverently to myself, and pass through the gate.

In the courtyard I am directed off to the side, where there is a shoe check, no shoes are permitted in the temple. I leave my socks tucked into my shoes, there is a foot-washing requirement prior to entering the main compound. It goes against instinct, going barefoot in India, but it is also I suppose the cleanest floor in India as everyone who enters has just washed their feet. There's no charge at the cloakroom, not even a tip jar, this is another refreshing change, part of the "all are welcome" aspect of Sikhism. It is always a bit strange visiting holy sites of faiths I don't ascribe to, I always feel as if there is some level of understandable resentment from the devout towards the tourist with the camera. But not here, they want me here, and not for my tourist dollars, they want me to come here and share their faith.

I approach the steps, pausing in the shallow trough of water to rinse my feet with everyone else. The water is running, not still, and runs clean; I'm sure I could still probably manage to contract river blindness if I tried but I feel somehow safe. The peace of this place is already washing away the earlier panic and confusion, it is working. I enter through the main gate, and now I understand why I had such trouble seeing the High Shiny Thing before. The famous Golden Temple, the familiar image, is inside a walled compound taller than it's spires, invisible from the outside. Stepping in, it is breathtaking.

It glows in the middle of the sacred reservoir, a slim bridge connecting it to the pure marble walkways surrounding the small lake. Beautiful and sublime from every angle, and I want to savor it, I am not entering the temple yet. I amble slowly around the circumference. As I walk, barefoot and bandana'd, a small group of Indians approaches me, two women in beautifully hued saris and a man. I would usually respond to advancing strangers with wariness, but I don't feel wary here with my clean feet, so I smile as they grow nearer.

One of the women asks me where I am from. "New York," I say. What is my name. "Kate," I say, no fake names for her. "You are welcome here," she says, I think this is the end of her English but it was important to her to approach me, a clear stranger here, and welcome me. All faiths, all genders, all races, all creeds. We bow slightly to each other, I thank her for her welcome, and we amble off slowly in opposite vectors on the marble paths.

I'm ready now for the temple, and I queue up on the causeway with the throngs of people patiently awaiting access. I can't take pictures in here so I tuck my camera away, inching down the bridge to the temple and past another pair of fiercely attired warriors. It's packed but there is no pushing, and I ride the current of worshipers around the temple staring as hard as I can all around me, trying to absorb the glowing and ornate decorations, the beautiful flowers scattered everywhere, and then am slowly advanced towards the back of the temple, where it opens onto the reservoir.

This is the holy water of the Sikhs. I know enough not to drink it, although the faithful do, it may be holy but that is no way means it's purified and I walked past mostly naked men bathing in this same water on the other side of the courtyard. There's an older woman with a pitcher stationed just at the water's edge, and as I come past her she proffers it. I have watched others before me and I nod, extending cupped hands over the water so that she can pour a bit over my fingers, giving me a blessing.

We herd ourselves on, there is no one guiding us out but there is a sense of fairness, we must allow the next people their chance for a blessing, all in due turn. Back down the causeway and craning my neck to look behind me, still savoring the rich beauty of this place. Back on the marble, I stop to sit for awhile on the ledge of the pool. After a few moments, one of the costumed guards approaches me, and gently gestures that I am not permitted to sit there. It is very kind, though, no fierce warning to disrespectful tourists.

I wander through the compound a bit more, and turning find the canteen. Yes, I read about this, I meant to go here! This is the communal eating hall, and part of a pilgrimmage to the Temple must be a meal here. The Sikh religion says that they offer food and shelter to all who ask, that all are equal and may eat equally. I join the line, I am the only non-Indian here. There were other tourists like me in the main courtyard but they have not ventured this far. I am given a plate and follow the stairs up to an airy chamber open on three sides with fluted balustrades giving windows on the hazy hot sky. There are long mats rolled down the length of the hall, and I follow the people in front of me as they sit down in lines. Once we sit, with our plates and an cup that was also given to us, men come down the line with food, ladling a spicy black bean concoction onto our plates, some rice I think, and water into our cups. Another man follows him dispensing chapati, Indian flatbread. I am looking all around me, trying to follow what others are doing, and I reach up with one hand to accept the bread, the plate in my other hand. The man handing out bread corrects me with gestures, I must accept the bread with two hands to show respect.

I hurriedly correct my bread acceptance, and he nods smiling and moves on. We begin to eat, and the people on either side of me are stealing sideways looks and grinning with delight to have me in their midst. They ask me where I am from, what my name is in halting English, "You are welcome," "you are welcome." I don't think I've ever felt such unreserved acceptance in my life.

"Thank you, thank you," I smile back, and then the meal is over and it is someone else's turn to eat here, so I turn my plate back into the volunteers waiting to accept them and tuck 100 rupees into the donation box.