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Next stop: AMRITSAR

(Article published in the weekly independent Accès Laurentides October 19)

Next stop: AMRITSAR. City of Golden Temple, the highest shrine of the Sikh religion. We find it as two lost souls in its dusty streets. Horns irritate us eardrums, as the cries of vendors and drivers of pedicabs that we seek to extract a few rupees. The smell of urine we stick to his nostrils. Find a hotel. Afford an intimate space. Out of this mess.

To travel in India without getting tired too, it is imperative to learn to let go. If the Sub-Continent offers its share of wonders, he will rage all Westerners eager to organize. Forget your little comfort, forget the route that you had set, and especially do NOT stay on your first impression. You miss out on India.

So we decide to defy our first impression rather disappointing with respect to Amritsar and we head towards the Golden Temple.

We cover our heads with a scarf, we déchaussons, we wash our feet, and then penetrate into the gurdwara (Sikh temple), the largest in the world. Before the splendor of the scene, the calm takes hold of our exhausted bodies. Nestled in a basin surrounded by huge marble went, advances the sacred building that reflects its gilding under a blazing sun. Prayers to the rhythm of drums, multicolored turbans, pilgrims who prostrate themselves before their holy scriptures ... what make us forget the chaos that reigns outside.



What's your name? Your country, Sir? One photo, please! The

Indians suddenly forget the immense golden temple for which they often traveled hundreds of miles. The focus is now turned to two Western tourists, in this case we. It is jostling to be photographed with us. Click. Click. The crowd gets denser. We find ourselves without our knowledge in the heart of a family portrait. Click. Click. The fascination for us is boundless, even insane. We're white, we wear different clothes and ... Julie is blonde with blue eyes, like in the movies! One snap

With You, please!

STOP!

We make our way à travers nos fans en délire. Direction : SORTIE !

Petite pause dans un dhaba (sorte de snack-bar à l’indienne). Jasmeet Singh, le proprio, nous accueille dans toute son austérité, coiffé d’un turban et d’une barbe fournie, éléments cultes de la religion sikh. Il rêve d’émigrer au Canada comme beaucoup d’autres de ses compatriotes qui composent la deuxième plus importante communauté étrangère.
Il nous fait visiter sa cuisine, fait gonfler quelques chapatis (pains indiens) qu’il nous sert avec des haricots au curry et une préparation de fromage frais tomaté. Ses amis se joignent au repas et les discussions s’entremêlent. The subject of marriage attracts our attention.

Here, the union of one man and one woman can be granted only if both partners belong to the same caste and that if their astrological signs are consistent. The important section is divided encounter newspapers also by social class. But the young men we confess, smile, that if a West offered them his love for a visa abroad could falter their principles ...

Night falls. Our chef Jasmeet we grilled in its clay oven, a chicken just as delectable as yet. In Amritsar, we do not pass near India. Instead, she Absord more.

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Tourists!

(Article published in the weekly independent Accès Laurentides October 26)

I try to sleep, but vain. Vendors of tea, pakoras - vegetables fried in chickpea flour and bottled-water crowd into the aisle of the sleeper train that starts 12 hours of endless journey. Transport in India have no parallel for measuring our degree of patience. Obviously we would need a life for us to do.

"Ugo we play a game of chess? "

Silence. Or rather, heavy breathing in the bed from above telling me that I am only one not to sleep. Comfortable like a sardine in a box, I grab my travel guide, dog-eared as the Bible at the bedside of my grandmother, then browse the description of the Mughal city of Agra. This city is home to one of the seven wonders of the modern world and the most popular attraction of India: the Taj Mahal. We are going with the reluctance of tourists seeking to leave the beaten track.

The story behind the majestic palace, however, arouses my interest. The Taj Mahal was built in the seventeenth century, at the request of the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan's tomb to receive his second wife died giving birth to her 14th child. No other monument built for love is so great.



Five years after construction - which will need 22 years of work and 20 000 workers in total - a son of the emperor who was not heir to the throne, murdered his brothers and imprisoned his father and seize the kingdom. But he has had the kindness (or cruelty) to leave his father views Taj on the back of his dark dungeon where he mouru eight years later. What a dramatic story!

Also in the travel guide, I read a avertisssement reinforces my concerns about this visit: the popularity of the mausoleum has transformed the streets of neighborhoods festival touts of all kinds. They watch your every move. Looking for accommodation, taxi, currency exchange or a restaurant? Here, someone always answers to your needs ... in exchange for a good commission.

I dozed on and the bad news shakes me awake for lorsqu'Ugo announce our arrival

The circus begins as scheduled. We were harassed on all sides. Even the monkeys are part of me stealing the candy and milk that was my breakfast. No mercy!

"We must keep our composure and understand the information. Here is the law of survival. "Throws me Ugo wisely.

It loses some of his wisdom before the entry price to the famous Taj:

"20 bucks! Flight! "

You tell me that's the cost of a cheap restaurant in Quebec, I would say that it is four days of food and accommodation in India. Spend or not spend? Dilemma ... Good. Let's go! We do not often go in the corner after all.

We reject some false guides and a dozen homeless currency changers, and then literally earn our place in paradise. Meet before the Taj Mahal is magical and unreal. Even our photos look like watercolors. Tourists abound, perhaps, but nothing can dispel the feeling of grandeur that we invaded before the huge marble dome which reflected the first rays of sun. Canaries and convinced of being in the right place at the right time, we take a deep breath. An unforgettable moment!



I'd rather not tell you a little later, we get ripped off by a taxi driver. It is better to forget it!

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In Search of the Dalai Lama ... Know

After twelve hours of night train from Delhi and some three hours drive we reach the town of Dharamsala and Mcleod Ganj, respectively, the seat of Tibetan government in exile and home to the famous 14th Dalai Lama. In fact, he is the one we came to catch the last minute before his flight to the United States and ... Canada.

Unfortunately for us, we get a few hours too late: the lessons they gave to the temple in the morning are over and it will do more before his departure. "Is There Any Way We Can Meet Him? We're canadian journalists...» « NO. NOT POSSIBLE!» , nous assure la personne qui s'occupe des communications de sa Sainteté. Déception.



Cet homme, prix Nobel de la paix, est connu internationalement pour ses enseignements bouddhistes et son dévouement pour le peuple tibétain qui lui vouent une immense fierté. Cette fierté est encore plus grande pour les quelques 130 000 Tibétains exilés qui vivent en grande partie à Dharamsala, et ailleurs en Inde, mais aussi au Népal et au Bhoutan. Les États-Unis, la Suisse et le Canada sont aussi les terres d'adoption de quelques-uns d'entre eux. Sa Sainteté le Dalaĩ-Lama est donc carrément an icon for his people but also for Westerners, including us, who are his lectures as short performances of rock stars.
So this man who went under the nose. Passed under the nose is the expression to use, because the day after our arrival, His Holiness was released by car from his home before our eyes of eager groupies. Little satisfaction. It will have at least glimpsed ... failing to have an interview! (Laughs Pace yourself for this pun in two sub ...)

But our exploration of the new home of the Tibetans' s fortunately not stop there. At the foot of the Himalayas, this land seems out of time. It has the taste of land there and enjoy the fresh mountain air (especially after having spent several days under the overpowering heat of Delhi.) We choose an accommodation in the mountainside, set back from the city. The owner of this little corner of paradise is a friendly farmer who built an annex to his modest home he turns into cottage for tourists to question its rounded ends meet. As his English is limited to hi, room, and thank you hot water , our conversations are limited, but extremely intense.



We enjoy visiting temples context pouir Buddhists in the region and spend a day in a village developed specifically to accommodate young Tibetans in exile orphans. They live in foster families and attend schools where they can continue to be taught their culture in their language.



We meet the proud general secretary of the village and we're also making friends with some children who practice their English course with us.



The timing is fabulous. But like all good things, yes, there is an end! After an extended stay in the city the Dalai Lama, we leave this happiness to another. Branch Amritsar in the Punjab region, the birthplace of the Sikh religion.