The Golden Puke - The Golden Temple & Boarder Closing - Amritsar, Punjab

Originally I wasn't planning to head north towards the boarder but I'd heard on the 'traaavellaaar' grapevine the Golden Temple (the Sikh's holiest shrine)and the pomp and glory of the boarder closing with Pakistan wasn't to be missed either. So heeding the words of from my father: 'I wouldn't go anywhere near the boarder if I were you' I did what came naturally to me and promptly disregarded what said. Before I knew it I was racing (literally) along the windy roads of McLeod towards Amritser in the back of a car with a driver who would give Lewis Hamilton a run for his money!

For those of you who've had the er, pleasure of 'experiencing' the driving skills in India you'll know first hand the journey is well, erratic to say the least. The roads in India can only be described as disorganised chaos. An average one hour journey consists of at least five near misses (the head-on collision kind), car, bus, tractor horns blowing consistently - you don't indicate in India; you sound your horn continuously and pull out when a car on the opposite side of the road is directly in front of you. Most over taking 'maneuvers' are done on a bend, the brow of a hill or as the car/bus is chugging up a steep hill. Oddly enough a car (or bus) journeys have never really bothered me. I started to wonder why then realised I'd experienced it before - my sister Georgia's driving is not that dissimilar!

The drive to Amritsar was no different. After five hours of neath death experiences and endless 'banging' tunes ranging from Bollywood to trance esq 'world music' me, Sonny, Chris and Emma arrived in Amritsar. It was full on in the sense that I'd travelled from relaxing, sleepy (ish) McLeod to a dusty, sweaty, busy Amritsar. And back to the 'real' India with a bang. With that comes the starring, the pushing, the smells of sandalwood, curry and incense.

We'd come to see the Golden Temple. And as it turns out stay at the Golden Temple (well on the grounds) too. So far so good you think. So did I until I realised I would be sharing a bathroom, shower and eating my meals with 1000 pilgrims.

Immediately my stomach churned. This was my idea of sheer hell. Questions and images raced through my head...what are the hygiene standards likely to be of hundreds of people? squat toilets - will they be properly drained of will it be like wading through the sea to get to them (I like to tell myself it's water I'm walking through to stop me from retching). Did they use a high quality brand of washing up liquid to wash utensils in the canteen which feeds thousands of people a day? How often are the toilets cleaned with bleach, whats the bedding like - is it clean? My worst fears and questions were answered when I walked into our room. Sorry, I mean cell.

My jaw would've dropped to the floor if I knew it had been cleaned in the last decade. It was a pit. It was disgusting. For starters there wasn't a window. It was a windowless hovel. And it stank. There were three metal framed beds. There were four of us. We were sharing. I can handle sharing a bed with a few people but not in a cell with the remains of food from the previous 'tenants' smeared on the walls and rubbish on the floor. What I certainly cannot handle is a stinking, dirty 'mattress'.

I made a few major mistakes during my stay in Amritsar. The first was agreeing to stay with a zillion pilgrims in a hovel. My second was smelling the mattresses. They weren't exactly mattresses. I'm exaggerating. They were like the 'mattresses' you get on a sun lounger. The type that means you wake up feeling like you've done 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and you've aged 20 years. Anyway, back to the mattress - as my nose edged closer the stench hit me like a punch in the face. A mixture of sweat, dead skin cells and God only knows what else. I dry wretched.

Let me put this in context for you. Since I started travelling I haven't trusted one single guest house on the issue of cleanliness of their bed linen. When I arrive anywhere my ritual is to lay my sarongs neatly on the bed. I lay two on the bed itself and the third acts as a cover. Call it neuritic, in fact call it what you want. I have a phobia against catching skin diseases and crabs. Therefore my delicate sun kissed skin hasn't felt the crispness of bed linen since July. Needless to say there was no way my lovely sarongs were going to be tarnished with the dirty, stinking ma tress. There was nothing else for it. The sleeping sheet, which I only ever use in extreme circumstances ie trekking and train journeys, was pulled out hastily.

Why didn't I move you may ask. Good question. I couldn't. Well I could but my fellow travellers where not only in the mood for saving rupees but also on a quest to make me a 'proper' traveller. Apparently you're not one until you've stayed in a hovel and paid virtually nothing for it. I tried to argue that I was flashpacker - a back packer with money. I even offered to pay for a room in a guest house. I even pulled out the age card ie 'I'm nearly in my mid 30's you can't expect me to stay here at my age'. My pleas meant nothing to them. It fact I think it encouraged them. I then got annoyed at the fact they thought I wouldn't' be able to handle it so I agreed to stay. Pride is a terrible thing.

First stop was the boarder closing parade. With the words of doom from my father ringing in my ears and the ever growing paranoia that I was about to get nuked, (thanks dad!) we crammed into a taxi for the 50k journey to the boarder.

Basically army guards from Pakistan and India march up and down and have what can only be described as a 'march-off' to signal the end of the day. It's like a mark of respect for both countries. A bit like an extended goodnight or rather a 'we've not killed each other today so as a mark of respect I'd like to thank you for that!'.

Both sides cheer and jeer at each other - the atmosphere on the Indian 'side' was electric. It reminded me of a bollywood film. People dancing, cheering, singing. Brilliant. The Pakistani 'side' would then retaliate with their version.

I was woken at 4am by a million pilgrims and chanting. We were waking up early to watch the sun rise over the Golden Temple so you could call it an early morning wake-up call - literally. The temple itself is utterly gorgeous. Golden would you believe. It's open to all and surprisingly no-one asks for any money. It has a genuine spiritual atmosphere too. Pilgrims and visitors to the complex have to remove their shoes, wash their feet and cover their heads. The architecture, like the religion, is a blend of Hindu and Islamic styles but very different to both. The golden dome represents an inverted lotus flower, a symbol of Sikhism's aim to live a pure life.

Four priests form inside the temple keep up a continuous chant in Punjabi from the Sikh holy book and this is broadcast around the temple complex by loudspeakers. I actually got chatting to one of the priests. Really nice guy who was more than happy to talk about the religon which I know very little about. In fact everyone I met was really happy to explain a bit about the rituals (as such), do's and don'ts etc.

After embracing the sunrise over the temple we headed to the canteen for breakfast which consisted of Dal, a roti (pancake thingy) and chai). Sonny speaks Punjabi so we got chatting to a woman sitting next to him with her husband. Obviously Sonny was translating as my Punjabi isn't quite to up to conversation level yet (LOL). The conversation was pretty alarming. Turns out she was visiting the temple to heal her face which had a fair few scars on it plus you could tell she's suffered from a broken nose. When we asked what had happened to her face she smiled, pointed at her husband and told us that he did it. Just like that. As bold as brass. I nearly spat my chai out there and then. I had to really stop myself from giving him severe dagger looks. Just goes to show how different the cultural differences are - but then maybe not. I think it seems to be more hidden in the UK. Anyway, she seemed totally fine with it - well, accepting at least....

I have to admit I was pretty horrified at the wife beater experience - having been woken up with the birds I toyed with the idea of going back to the cell for a rest but then reconsidered. In stead we decided to try a few delicacies from one of the street vendors.

MISTAKE NUMBER THREE.

The street vendor was such a sweet lady, all smiley and happy for us to sample her snacks which comprised various fried foods ranging from samosas, bahjis and few poppadoms. I gobbled them up and then promptly threw the lot up. Imagine if you will sprinting to the shared toilets. Trying to dodge the various people lying on the floor along the way. Being starred at like you belong in a zoo (the cubical doors don't lock and swing open all the time) as you throw your guts up. Repeatedly. In the end I just wept. I wept for the fact I was puking into a squat loo, for the fact I had 10 women watching me as I did, because I had slept on a bed which hadn't been cleaned since Noah built his arc and I'd OD on fried foods, for the fact that there wasn't a 5 star hotel near by and for the horrifying realisation that I had a horrific choice to make. Do I stay in the cell and try and recover from sick gate or brave a 10 hour bus journey. I chose the bus journey.

Don't get me wrong the Golden Temple is fabulous and the board closing parade is a definite must-see. Just don't stay at the temple or eat from food stalls!!