I woke up staring at the train ceiling which was no more than 20 inches from my nose.  Proceeding with my morning routine, I found myself with the choice between a western-style toilet and the local version, which is little more than a hole in the ground.  Actually, it turned out that both toilets were simply holes in the train, designed to drop excrement on the tracks below.

We arrived in Amristar between 9 and 10AM, disembarked and found transportation to the Golden Temple.  Aside from walking, there are four modes of transportation:  bus, taxi, motorized rickshaw and regular rickshaw (which is essentially a bicycle with two back seats and a platform for luggage).  For the first time this trip we took the regular rickshaw propelled by the frail legs of our driver.  However, we didn't read the terms of service well enough; apparently the fine print reads "up hill not included".  So we found ourselves walking most of the strenuous parts of the way to the temple.

Beggars are rampant in the cities that we visited.  Amristar was no exception.  While beggars like people come in all shapes and sizes, the crippled ones attract the most attention.  Common injuries include amputations, the loss of an eye and withered extremities (likely from polio).  The latter seems to be the most prevalent.  No muscle hugs the thigh and calf of these shrunken legs making them incapable of bearing weight, leaving these unfortunate souls to crawl through the rugged and filthy streets.  Some drag their limp legs behind them, others crawl on hands and knees.  I assume that these folks earn more money than other beggars given the pity that their visible tragedy engenders.  One tourist we met told us that some parents hobble their children to make them more effective beggars; however, this remains unconfirmed.

A well to do family say next to us outside the Golden Temple.  They, like many other Indians, casually integrate English words, phrases and sentences into their Hindi dialogs.  Naturally tuning out the foreign tongue, to me these English snippets continue to be as unexpected as a snowball on a sunny day.

The Siehks visiting the temple wore ornamental daggers or carried shiny metallic spears, armed for the spiritual war they intended to engage in the temple.

We then took a bus to Dharmsalah, the home of the Dalai Lama.  The bus sped over pot holes the size of cauldrons, bouncing the passengers off of their springy seats.  Dust from passing traffic swirled into the windows, darkening our skin, coating our sinuses and drawing blood into our eyes.

After 24-hours of travel, we arrived in the evening, emerging from the bus into a lush mountain region which had the backdrop of the Himalayas. 

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