Judith.boudreau's travel blogs:
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jalandhar
Entry 6 of 12 | show all | print this entry |
Please excuse all grammar and spelling mistakes.
((( These keyboards are difficult to manoeuvre around, and it's tough to keep all my thoughts in order. Romeo and I had to get some serious antibiotics to stem the food born illness and tonight I finally feel like myself. )))
The moon here is turned a quarter degree. When we arrived in India I thought the crescent moon was smiling, greeting us. I soon realized it was leering.
The morning after the wedding we had breakfast with the minister who then gave us a brief tour of the village. He had graciously taken time from "International Woman's Day". He gets a day off from his government work. He showed us his parent's memorial garden and the girl's college he founded (sewing, computers and hairdressing) and then he tried to give me these poor girls handiwork. I just couldn't accept his offer. They work too hard for some foreign chick to take their school projects.
We were taken on a whirlwind tour of village life, Peter Scot (whiskey) and more snacks. We visited two different Punjabi village homes of Edmonton men. The wives and servants of course were in the kitchen and never left. There we met a dumb and deaf man who was fascinated by me. My first sight of him was seeing him peering into the room through a dark minaret shaped window for several long minutes, big wide eye staring at me, before he begged an introduction. We then took the necessary photos which pleased him to no end.
We saw flocks of parrots and doves and in one village peacocks flew in to town in the morning to display their beauty on rooftop stoops. The people here are generous and friendly when the meet you but will stare right through you, dissect you from afar when they realize you're from away. It is a little unnerving. However, they do have a huge appetite for laughter even if they did have a wee bit of fun at my expense. At one establishment, I made a chapatti. I think I was very brave. This entailed flattening the dough, then placing the raw dough on a tea cozy and pushing it under the lip of a very hot clay urn shaped oven. It took finesse.
We began to feel like excess baggage after the umpteenth visit to yet another 'friend's home', restaurant and/or bar, where upon I was the only female anywhere to be seen. Every place with another explanation as to why I was there... Even the staff were men. In India it apparently takes 4 people to do any job. People hover over you continuously. Waiting to put more food on your plate or refill an empty glass. They also have a hard time reconciling the word NO, no more please etc.... Conversations were very rarely done in English and everything it seemed had to be translated, but not all I'm sure.
By the time we made it back in the evenings, I was dead on my feet and praying for more variety than what appeared would be the daily norm.
The next day we made a trip to the Pakistani border. One of our host's friends was returning to his homeland. The border is an exercise in futility. Every truck that approaches the border must be emptied and coolies unload and carry all goods across the border by hand. Everything, box by box carried by old men for 11 rupees one way and eight the other, (I'm not sure which way is more profitable). The must carry there burden for about 1 km, over hot concrete barely shaded in areas by forlorn trees and barbwire. It is a very scary border one which I'm glad I will never have to cross. Our colleague paid a bribe to cross, even though big signs prohibit such behaviour. It was deftly tucked into a package of sweat socks. Pictures are strictly forbidden, as I was told after I taken a few snaps. That is, after they scared the beejeebers ought of me first. Who knew??
Then it was off to the obligatory tourist attraction, the Golden Temple, a fly by visit, for a whole twenty minutes before our host brought us to meet yet more dignitaries at another "5 star hotel". Not.
We met another mayor and a few councillors of Amritsar and I think another MP. They were nice and they did a fine job of feeding and watering us, but geez I was tired of the rigmarole.
To tell the truth we did not do much else. We were paraded around until both of us were tired of the pomp. It didn't matter where we went. Same story. We should have left after 4 days. I didn't get to do or see any of the things/sites I wanted to. I never saw the Taj, or visited any of the famed must see places. This disappoints me to no end.
Impressions and Observations of India....
India is a country built of bricks. The more money you have the more you can do with them. You can judge a 'mans' worth on his bricks. If you own land you fence it in. The more money the higher the fence, three brick widths and up. Everything is bricked in even 8 * 10 bits of land. Generally that is all that is done; the land is then left pretty much derelict until further direction. Barren land fenced and basically useless but worth the bragging rights of the owners driving by. If you have more money you can build a building. Less money buys cheap mortar. Plenty of buildings show testament to improper standards, cracks and decay predominate. Buildings in every shape and size are built from bricks and concrete floors. The poor build everything, including the fences to keep them out, for a few rupees a day, mostly without time saving tools. Women, old and young, carting wok size bowls of dirt, sand and bricks up and down bamboo scaffolding. Most homes for the rich are done in a semi-Spanish villa design with courtyards but with demurely muted, plastered or white washed colours. Many buildings are in some state of decay, scavenged, recycled then rebuilt. Piles of brick and sand for mortar are seen constantly as are the chimney spires spewing their thick black smoke. Punjab amongst its many riches also has a plethora of great clay for brick making. Some buildings are so narrow. 10 ft wide maybe... Looks as if you could blow them over. When more money comes they either build another floor on top or finish it off with plaster. Finally, when the brick is damaged or useless in its present condition, the poor are hired to break it, hours spent bent over smashing bricks endlessly. The pieces are then used for pilings, to provide a base for roads or buildings.
The roads are something fierce...
Every type of transportation known to man traverses Indian highways and byways. Tractors slugging along with oversize loads, people dangerously crammed into the back of overstuffed trucks, piled on top of buses and innumerable cows, donkeys, camels, bikes, scooters, buses, mini-cars and vans and all in the same lane, maddingly honking only to hear themselves it seemed. No one else seemed to pay attention much less make eye-contact. The highway is lined by eucalyptus trees, numbering in the thousands. I know because each tree is tattooed with a number to stop illegal foresting. Honeybee towers and the fruits of labour are also sold the entire roadside, as is wicker furniture and a myriad of other wares.
Shopping without a guide or someone you trust is difficult at best, impossible at worst. We didn't do much. The second day I bought a suit. A fancy Punjabi suit for the wedding. The first price quoted was 9000 rupees, 300$ Canadian. When our host and bodyguard showed up the price was halved. This scenario was repeated on several occasions
India is not a country for tourists, but for travellers. And there is a difference. If I can give one piece of advice...hire a driver, a translator. It's worth the effort and will solve most headaches.
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