Small girl; big country

Well, Amelia and Ed have popped off net door to see the Big Lebowskii - they have a cinema here, which is amazing! Not surprising though, considering it is one of the Dalai ama's great passions. I'm snuggled up in bed (happily so) because my stomach is still a little tender

We're in Dharamsala/McLeod Ganj in the Himalayas, but more about that later.

On my last night in Amritsar I stayed up and watched the world cup finals with a group of frenchies and the Punjabi guys that run our guest house. It was ace..we shouted
"PUTAIN!"
"VAS-Y!"
at the TV lots.

Benjamin, one of the french guys, made me nearly wet myself telling me the story of a guy from Newcastle that he met in Nepal (have a good luagh at the Brits):

Ben: "Every ozher word was "f*ckeeeng" "

Me: "Ah oui, les anglais, ils connaissent pas des adjectivs."

Benjamin: I zheenk so, so everytime I saw 'im after I just call 'im "F*ckman".

F*ckman. Yep, that's the Brits. We have lots of F*ckmans.

I am starting to see more what Emma means about travelling. You meet some really interesting, maazing and funny people. Everyone has the same kind of mindset, you have to really, travelling in a place like this. And you meet some amazingly cool people that you just totally connect with, but you know realistically that you can't stay in touch with everyone, its sad, but just a fact of life.

I attracted quite alot of attention in Amritsar for my ip piercing. Groups of men would point at me and then at their chins, chatting away in Hindi, before waving and smiling. Yep, its the piercing.

Likewise, in the State Bank of India, one man sat next to me smiling, pointed and asked:
"Is fashion in England?"
Errrrrrr.
I tried to explain: "My mother, see this and not happy." (I mime a raving monster - sorry mum! You're really not that bad...I love you!)
They all tutted - rebelling against her mother.
But smiled - crazy Westerner.

DHARAMSALA....

Gah wel, after smug talk of getting better my stomach is still sore. I am lucky though, we got a taxi from Pathankot to Dharamsala but Amelia's friend that we bumped intowas telling us that she knows a girl who was ill like me and got a bus. It seems you're persona non grata if you're vomiting over the other passengers, so, she said, they "stripped her, wrapped her up in a blanket and strapped her to roof." My god.

Currently, I'm sat on Amelia and Ed's balcony, looking out at the Himalayas. The Himalayas. Even the thought that I am here fills me with excitement and happiness. In the background, a man is labouriously hammering away at a copper pot. The constant "tchink! tchink!" is grating away at my nerves, but hey, it must be worse for him, he's the one having to hammer.

Even though I've barely been out because of sickness (NB.... written a good 3 days ago... dont worry!!) I'm in love with Daramsala and Mcleod Ganj already. To be honest, I realy only came to Dharamsala to see a slice of Tibetan ife. Its just the chance to see the closest thing to Tibet, what is more Tibetan than Tibet now, according to lots of people, since the Chinese government engulfed Lhasa, suffocating it with concrete and turning the Potala Palace into a maze of surveillance cameras and bug microphones.

I could never go to Lhasa now, it would make me so depressed and angry. hasa now, according to Amelia, is full of chinese businessmanand prostitues -usualy desperate Tibetan women wo have no other option. How such a beautiful and spiritual place has been so completely ad utterly desecrated, broken apart and ruined is beyond me.

In the reception of our guest house (run by a sturdy and hardworking Tibetan women and her husband) behind the wooden desk, are faded stickers emblazoned with "FREE TIBET" and "Peace In Tibet"; unfortunately, that goal seems more like a dream now, as the Chinese build the first overland railway line linking mainland China and Tibet - strengthening their strangulating grip on the country.

Okay loves, sorry for the super ate update... I've been very sporadic with my diary writing I'm afraid, and being ill hadn't really had a chance, but here it is, the tail end of my Amritsar entry and a bit about Dharamsala....

AMRITSAR

Being pretty much the only Westerners there, we attract much attention, but inlike the touts in the Paharganj bazaar in Delhi and te winking men at the train station, all of it is friendly:

"Where you from?"

"England."

"Ahhhh very good country..."
(This reaction always amazes me considering the 2 centuries of horror and irreparable damage the British Imperial Regime imposed on India.)

"...you watch World Cup? England lose. Maybe France do better." This is said teasingly, not maliciously. (nice one Italia by the way.. yay bene and ben!)

Or it is:
"Can we take picture?" AT which point you are swamped by a grinning family - biji's, diji's, babiji's, kids and all)

In the afternoon we wento the Jellianwallah Bagh; perhaps the most important sight with regards to Indian Independence.

The Scene: On a hot afternoon in 1919, over 2000 Indians gathered in a small square called Jellianwalah Bagh for a peaceful protest against the Imperial Government's new law which meant that those suspected of sedition could be imprisoned without trial.

Generals Dyer and O'Dwyer, heads in the Punjab, hearing of this took troops to hight altitude spots and open fired on the crowd. It was a massace, there is no other word for it. Men clutching at the wals trying to climb out and escape were shot; people tried jumping in desperation down the 50/60 ft well; afterwards 150 bodies were pulled out.

The Generals that committed the atrocities were never offically punished for their actions (another example of the gross inhumanity and injustice that punctuated British Imperialism). However, Dyer was shot several years later. I knwo its bad to say an eye for an eye, but it serves him right. Bastard. O'Dwyer on the other hand, lived for quite a while and was buried in Westminster Abbey. Westminster Abbey?! Te place of heroes, saints and poets, I'm sorry but that is just screwed up.

The one, if you can use the phrase "positive thing" to come out of the Jellianwallah Bagh massacre was that it was the catalyst which spurred Gandhi's first real fight for Independence from British rule.

Jellianwallah Bagh itself has now been made into a beautiful garden, as a constant memorial of those who gave their lives for the right to free speech. The garden itself is such a moving place, green twisting trees bursting with orange blossoms, knee high grass that strokes the calves of your legs and shady groves carry the weight of national sadness. I find it extremely touching that in a place of such death and despair there is such beauty, life and hope. Being English, I felt so fraudulent walking around, even though I am wholly unconnected with the event, I feel the guilt of the cruelty of my people. 3 children run up to me and start chattering away, introducing themselves, chuffed to be able to practise their language skills, one of them, Pooja, the leader in a salwar kameez, uber cool kid shades and plastic platforms that'd put the Spice Girls to shame. I feel guilty when I lie and tel them I'm from New York, but I feel that now is not the time or the place to bring up my nationality. One thing that should really be admired, and taken as inpiration is the friendliness, openness and forgiveness with wich the British are treated here. WE ARE VERY LUCKY. I totally would understand as well if people were rude, but they're not. Maybe those Brits who still harbour hostility towards modern day Germans can take a leaf out of the book from India.

Welllllllllll after being really smug about missing the monsoon its finally descended upon us super stealthily. Everyone seems pretty happy about it though, our hostel owners were laughing, running and slipping over chasing each other... glad I think for some water to provide relief from the oppressive heat. I don't think anyone will be smiling though when the side sewers (India takes a very open view about s**t.. i.e no need to cover it up, be proud of your produce, so alot of it is open) start overflowing, so tomorrow we are escaping to the mountains and Dharamsala, the home of the Dala Lama... where its TWENTY FIVE DEGREES! 25 degrees seems like a far away and wonderful legend in Amritsar. Okay, anyways, overdue, my diary entry from Amritsar, wrote on the 6th before I started spewing from every oraface.

After a pretty turbulent night, I have managed to haul myself to breakfast. The aptly named "Tourist Guest House" where we are staying is lovely - the reception is a white bulding with balconies, pretty grand by Indian standards, with trees twisting their way up the side of the building, engulfing the brickwork and then exploding out in orange vivacious blossoms.

My room itself is extremely cute, a building outside on its own in the front yard, almost like my own little hermit's cottage. Needless to say though, it fuels my paranoias... at night my imagination runs wild with the endless possible ways in which scorpions/snakes/thieves could force entry. So i shut the glass windows and had an extremely sleepless night, never taking my eye off a harmless clump of dust, blowing in the breeze, which to my - 6 short sighted eyes looked scarily like a tarantula.

I am halfway through reading an amazing book called City of Djinns - Ed and Amelia are walking libraries on India. The book is set in Delhi where the writer talks alot about the effects that partition and the consequent migration had on the city. It seems strangely fitting here. Amritsar, and in fact the whole of the Punjab state, is tinged with a background of religious division and tragedy. A predominantly Sikh state, new Punjab stretches from the bottom of Himachal Pradesh, Jammu and Kashmir, bordering Pakistan on its left and to the bottom, Haryana - these being the 2 most controversial nieghbours.

Before partition, (the splitting of Pakistan into a Muslim state and India into a predominantly Hindu state- Hindustan) Lahore in Pakistan was the Punjabi capital.

Indeed, partition seems to be the most recurrent political theme in India. As I have been reading, it is since partition that Delhi has received a mass influx of Hindu migrants (6000 a day) and this has changed the political and physical landscape irreparrably, in some eyes.

Amritsar is home to 2 of the most important events in Indian history. The Golden Temple, a place of Sikh pilgrimage, but in 1984 home to a catalyst of events that shook India and created a religious clivage between Hindus and Sikhs. Some Punjabi Sikhs are separatists and wish to create their own indepependant Sikh nation, Khalistan. In 1984, Sikh speratists took control of the GT. Indira Gandhi, them prime minister, sent in tanks and the temple was completely desecrated. A year later she was assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards, an act which caused massive Hindu riots and anti Sikh violence, resulting in displacement; and the death of nearly 3000 sikhs. Seeing the GT today, it is hard to imagine such a tragedy taking place there.

The GT IS amazing. Absolutely amazing. Its cliche'd but it really is hard to find words to describe the feeling when your feet tread down the hot marble steps and you catch the first glint of gold and the first ripple on the water.

It is overwhelming.

The reality of seeing such a famous and such a beautiful sight, something that is splashed over calendars and postcards and dubbed one of the sveen wonders of the world is hard to digest. usually when there is such suspense before, there is an anticlimax. But I felt none. People were bent over, foreheads on marble, lips in reverent prayer. I was so overwhelmed by the view, even I felt inspired to bend my head and pray to this beautiful building to the power of the belief that created it.

The atmosphere of the GT itself is quite relaxed in some ways. Little boys in topknots and older men in lungi, sporting turbans and majestic beards bathe on the steps, their khalsa swords glinting in the harsh midday sun. Women sit underneath the shady groves of marble pillars that ring the outside of the water tank, or they fervently hurry down the steps, holding up the ornately patterned botoms of their salwaar so that they can fill a bottle with the precious holy water that ripples around this beautiful place. All aound the continuous chant of the Guru Granth Sahib rises and falls with gentle cadence in the balmy summer air, teaching and reassuring.

In the centre of it all, emanating a soft gold light is the holiest of Sikh creations - the things that families save half their lives for; to fly around the world and kiss the front step, the cause of political wars amd instrumental in the death of Indira Gandhi and nearly 3000 Sikhs. However that is no the fault of the inner temple, it is simply tragic circumstance, humanity and the strangth of an unquenchable faith. It is easy to understand why. Holiness envelopes you like an old friend...

(more to write... but too tired, still a bit bleurgh and I'm sutre I've bored everyone to death with my rambling already!)

Hey everybody, well here I am, sat in an internet cafe in Amritsar typing up what I wrote in my diary yesterday... its amazing actually, we were lucky enough to find a place that has ISDN broadband (thank you LP!) so hopefully I can upload some photos. I don't really have the energy to type much new except to say that Amritsar is MAD. Just as background info, Amritsar is in Punjab, in Northern India, about 30km from the Pakistani border and home to the Golden Temple. Amritsar itself is very dusty and totally crazy, with the Golden Temple standing majestically and silently, almost like a protector above the madness of the old town. We had a 7 hour train journey from Delhi... longggggg.... but it went surprisingly quickly. There's nothing like travelling by train to give you a concept of how vast and beautiful India is... fields upon fields of rice paddies, looking wet and inviting in the midday sun... except for the cobra factor. I'm a bit paranoid about that to be honest, silly really, but I've made sure my room was snakeproof before I left today. Anyways, its 38 degrees here and my brain is very tired, so I will just copy out what I wrote in my diary yesterday.

DELHI-4th July, 2006

It's 38 degrees today and you can definitely feel it. The fresh ice cold bottle of water I bought this morning was actually steaming 2 hours later. But India is amazing, I've barely been here a day and a night but it feels like forever. I feel like I've been taken back to the 70s - there seems to be a general rule of thumb here that if something's not broken; why replace it? The STD-ISD phones (vaguely humorous that the telecommunications here stands for a sexually transmitted disease in England) look like props from Dynasty and the entire railway ticketing computer system is done on DOS!

Being tourists in Delhi has its advantages - the "International Tourist Reservation Office" at the train station has patterned 60s geometric print sofas and air con; whereas for the locals its one massive mad hall with people milling about; men pushing wagons of grain; mothers and babies asleep on sari fabric laid on the ground - a bit like the mass exodus at Kings X when the Leeds train platform is announced except more retro and more indian.

This morning we took a wonder through Paharganj to help me acclimatise. I say "wander", really its a leisurely stroll, skipping over puddles, dodging touts and weaving in between autorickshaws that are driving up your ass.

Going back to the train station (sorry my thought pattern is a little erratic, I wrote last on a rooftop drinking chai as the sun set on my first night in Delhi. Now,I am laid out on my bed in a bikini top and shorts watching Wimbledon (home comfort) having just showered and washed my hair. Okay, by "showered" I mean repeatedly tipped a bucket of water over my head. (NB: English/India translations are very loose!) But I feel so wonderful and clean after being a COMPLETE sweat monster all day - not to be too disgusting but my silk topped was soaked through by midday. Yum.

Anyways, back to the trains. In India it seems, everything is an experience; including booking a train ticket. Like I said before, us "tourists" are lucky enough to have an air con room - the bureaucracy though, is incredible! You have to queue and go to 3 DIFFERENT DESKS to get a reservation.

Step by step guide to train tickets in India:
1. Find out what tpe of train and the number
2. Fill out a reservation form
3. Quw\eue and show reservation form to a man at a desk (usually with a handlebar moustache) who types all your details into an old Acorn-esque computer and tells you the price.
4. Take reservation form and your passport (here you can't do anything w/0 it - change money, book a hotel room or book a train ticket) to a woman who prints off your reservation ticket et voila.

So tomorrow we are catching the 6:50am train to Amritsar... to be honest, I'm worried I won't wake up - the air con and extractor fan here are so noisy - it sounds like a machine being tortured and I'm worried that they will spontaneously combust at any moment.

My room by English standards is very simple; alike to one you would see in Malaga on Holidays From Hell, but by Indian standards its decent and I can definitely more than cope with it - at least there are no cockroaches lurking in the bathroom - something I have been warned about.

India amazes me because some things are so chaotic; its architecture is so higgledy piggledy; houses facing each other are practically touching, and the power lines are just a mangle of wires randomly erected here there and everywhere. traffic, the rumours are true, is insanely chaotic, there are nor rules, no lanes - and yet there's some inherent order to it all. the restaurant-cum-computer shop-cum-dentist seems to work and cars and autorickshaws nearly alway manage to avoid hitting even the most unavoidable of obstacles. And electricity is nearly always available and fully functioning - except for the odd blackout; not good when you're "showering" and the lights cut out and you're slipping around on the floor fumbling for your towel. But nevermind.

One thing that is pretty scarce though is drinking water. From the tap, it just doesn't exist. Luckily bottled water is reasonable plentiful - you can normally get a litrw for around 10/12 rupees (about8-10p) and you have to use it to wash your hands, brush your teeth and for anything hygienic really. Already, after just a day, have I started to really appreciate how lucky we are in the UK to have clean, fresh, safe water at our disposal, straight from the tap. Even the simplest of thingd, like washing your hands before eating has to be timed so that you have a bottle readily available and 12 rs is nothing for us as tourists (thank you strong pound) but for locals, especially the very poor (delhi is full of beggars - heartbreaking at times) 12 rs every time you want a drink or to brush your teeth... forget about it. No wonder then that there is so much disease and water-related illnesses, and also so much dehydration..thin, loose skin a telltale sign.

But, after my first day I can say wow. I've fluctuated between to stay forever and hop on a plane and get the hell out all day. It IS hassle, there is no doubt about it, but if you can get past theheat, dust, pollution and belligerent touts and deal with the pverty in your own way; it holds so much tresure.

It is such a sensual country, every sense, every feeling, every nerve ending is touched - the constant beeping of car horns and the took-took of tuk-tuks; and the smell that is distinctly "India" - a mix of masala and cinnamon, sewage, diesel and the sweet smell of steaming hot chai. It can be rancid and horrible or a sweet heady perfume; it all depends on your outlook

Hello my lovelies! Yes, after much mocking of Si and Gaz for being uber technologists, I've set up a blog as well Don't worry I'll still be sending highly uncomedy e-mails, but realised that I'd quite like some kind of diary to look back on and keep, and seeing as I'm writing and drawing it all up in notebook form anyways I thought I'd type it as well. Just to waste time.

So, I'm pretty much packed... clothes rolled up in the bottom of my backpack.. which at 65 l (not big enough according to Amelia who is the proud owner of A 90 LITRE RUCKSACK!) is roughly 1/2 to 3/4 of my height. I'm looking forward to when its stuffed full with souvenirs and I'll be top-heavy enough to bob sleigh my way around on my back!

My flight is at 9:30 am tomorrow and I'm still agonising over whether or not to sleep at the airport tonight or crash at Geeta's in Brixton... ho hum. I'll check tfl later, hopefully there'll be no mention of "replacement bus services" and all will be gravy.

It really still hasn't sunk in that I'm going! You get so caught up in planning and worrying about visas/jabs/travellers cheques/insurance/sun cream/malaria pills/how you're going to jam all your makeup into your 1cm squared washbag (I'm not taking any! Eeeeh... self enrichment etc) that the actual fact that you're going evades you until the very last moment. I don't think it'll properly hit me until I'm actually on the plane... excited and scared at the culmination of 4 months of planning, dreaming and expectations.

On a final and more serious note, I would like to dedicate this trip to Alfed Terry (23.06.2006), a man who, at the age of 11, acquired his own visa and passport, and took a train in 1938 from Vienna to England, completely alone and with barely any belongings; as well as motorbiking his way across Egypt and taking a boat from England all the way down to Tasmania. I travel with him, and everyone else, in my thoughts.