Tuesday, July 9 from Amritsar

July 9 

Transit to Amritsar

Finished yesterday with trip to Dilli Haat, a "fair" (my word) of regional artisans' work, including handicrafts, clothing and foodstuffs. It was the first time for me that Delhi felt hot, really hot, and I was grateful for the short period of rain we got, even though it helped cut our shopping/touring short. Almost everyone bought something, from artwork to silk bedspreads, to light cotton shirts. Several of us were feeling a bit woozy in the tummy, so we broke off and took the metro home after a thwarted tuktuk negotiation. The station was crowded and we were very grateful again for the ladies car. It was funny to watch last-minute transitters lurch into the ladies car (it's at the far end of the train) and walk through to crunch into the general cars. I wondered if any guys were going to try to sneak into the far less crowded and smelly compartment, but they all squinched into their proper area. Fines must be high.

Back at the hotel, I took a final long run in gym followed by a soak in the jacuzzi. My roommate Lou (from Madison, WI) had used the pool, and I envied her that experience, so we hung out in the small but carefully appointed changing room, enjoying the lotions and toners provided. I was unable to reach Ruby (again!) and felt her cyberwrath through terse angry emails. The time difference and internet system certainly have made it challenging to stay in frequent video contact with the girls. Maybe we're just spoiled, with expectations of easy, multi sensory contact. 

Wendy and I met at the bar for a drink, and my Cardamom Sensation fell a bit short of its promise. Ketel One, cardamom, lime juice, pineapple and...something else exotic...maybe ginger? But after the hot dusty day, it was a good wind-down. We decided to go all out and have dinner at Varq, the hotel's flagship restaurant. Apparently it's "one of the top 25 restaurants in Asia," but it was the hotel staff saying this. Still, our appetizers were amazing. Truly, truly amazing. Mine was black cod with tangerine infusion, gujarati spiced bread. It came in two orange blocks of perfectly cooked and spiced fish, stacked in two tiers on thin, grilled by still soft spiced bread. It was divine. Even so, Wendy's crab dish with coconut, curry leaves and an array of spices was otherworldly, one of the best dishes I've ever had. As with so many restaurant experiences, we probably should've quit while were were ahead. My lamb dish (wish I'd written the name down) couldn't match the succulence of the fish, or perhaps my hunger was sated, my tastebuds already dazzled. Wendy felt the same about her bhindi (okra) dish. We ate most of it, but the high point had clearly been reached moments earlier. 

Up really really early (30 minutes earlier than expected, per the 3 wake up calls we got with this new information). The porter got our bags at 5:30 and the cafe welcomed us in for coffee/breakfast soon thereafter. The Delhi train station is choked with people, tuktuks, some cars and the occasional intrepid bus that, like a fat cow sashaying through the lions' den, attracts hungry porters. In a move that bolstered our can-do energies, our group broke with tourist convention and flouted the red-shirted station porters' demands for 3500 rupees to carry our bags out to Platform 1, the farthest one from the parking area (ha....parking! as if!) To the apparent gratification of our guide Sanjeev, we decided to carry our own bags in lieu of what he described as outrageously high rates. He's the professional after all. The lead negotiator of the porters was tall, rangy and smelled of dried urine. The other guys wore their red shirts open over stained t-shirts. All wore sandals, and several had the reddish-black stains around their teeth that must be signs of paan (a chewed stimulant that turns your spit red). We bucked up and hauled our bags over the half-dozen curbed channels, around sleeping and reclining groups of men, families with luggage, and others sprawled out on the tiles and concrete. There were thousands of people in the station, and it occurred that I'd recently seen this on Paul Merton's documentary (thanks Chris!) about people--largely children--living in the station. There were dozens of dirty, barefoot youth, cagey and aware. I didn't catch anyone's eye or linger for photos. It was enough to simply manage my bag and go the right way, as in any major travel hub. You can't help be struck by a sense of horror (children actually live here? On their own?) but also of awe that people work, move, and live in massive hubbub. I saw porters with badges that looked like kids' sheriff badges tied around their left forearms. Those fellows must work hard. I wonder what they make?

We found our seats on the train, nice chairs with luggage stored on racks above. These are slightly less comfortable than the Metro North seating arrangements, and apparently the toilets are no comparison (right onto the tracks!) But there is an attendant who served us water, tea and then a breakfast of wheat/potato and veggies cakes (I'm guessing here) with slices of bread. We have passed hundreds of rice paddies on our trip north, lots of small cities, and now a river with a few small kids splashing around and a family or two eating on its banks. We've seen lots of make-shift housing, like mini-slums, lots of skeleton buildings that are either dilapidated and abandoned or not yet finished to use. We've also seen lovely buildings, painted in pastels, shops and temples. It feeds the idea that India is all things, has all things. When I find myself generalizing, I realize I'm heading down the wrong path.

The land is almost entirely flat, and I realize I was expecting hills. A read through of Wendy's Lonely Planet and Lou's Rough Guide to India showed me that the Punjab (and its sister state since 1966), Haryana, are India's breadbasket, producing about a quarter of the country's wheat. As an overview, the territory known as Punjab has a storied history, and it used to extend well into Pakistan with its capital at Lahore. Following Partition, Punjabi Muslims moved west to Pakistan and Hindus and Sikhs moved east to India. Apparently the violence that attended this demographic upheaval was some of the country's worst. During the 1960s especially, some Sikhs agitated for a Sikh state, and the radicals among them were willing to use violence to make their point. Indira Gandhi, prime minister though this time, divided the territory into Punjab and Haryana with the planned city of Chandrigash as the capital of both (even though it's in Haryana). There are more interesting details about how nearby states were formed from some of the Sikh territory, but I won't try to capture them here. Today, the Punjab state is among the country's most affluent with double the per capita income level of the rest of India. For folks who don't know about Sikhism, they're neither Hindu nor Muslim. They believe that there is one god and that we are all equal as humans--that's why they eschew the caste system, as it emphasizes inequality. Sikhs are easy to recognize because their belief system has physical manifestations, such as the turban for men (and some women) and articles of faith commonly called the five Ks, though I can't remember all the Punjabi terms. These mandatory articles are the kirpan (ceremonial sword, symbolizing the Sikh's willingness to fight for justice), a bangle, a comb, uncut hair (wrapped in a turban), and special undergarments. I just asked a kid 2 rows behind me for clarification on these. Eleven-year old Simarpreet was all smiles as he told me (with some interpretation from his dad) the 5 Ks--his older brother had to chime in with the 5th. And then he told me his birthday is tomorrow, so I gave him a pen. What a cutie. (p.s. Simarpreet and his cousins came up and talked to us for about 40 minutes about All Things Sikh. Well, mostly he just sat and smiled shyly while his older cousin talked. Will post pics later.)

We are two hours away from Amritsar. Sanjeev just told us it's raining like crazy there and "the city is not well-managed", which he qualified to mean that the drainage is poor. I asked if we'd be walking through water "like this" (holding my hands about a foot apart). No, nothing like that, he promised. But we'll see. 

Going to have dinner with Kelli's friends, the Bawas. This should be amazing!!