Himalayan Holiday

While you nestled with the family near your Christmas tree, sipping hot apple cider and munching reindeer-shaped cookies, I was headed north on a tummy-turning trip up north. I left Gurgaon for Chandigargh (India's only planned city- thank you, Le Corbusier) a few days after my last post to stay with another loving family. They put me on a government bus Christmas morning headed to Shimla, the favorite hill station of the British in the Himalayas. The Brits loved it because it wasn't too far from Delhi yet a world away in climate during the summer. Faded tudor buildings, tall brick houses, and a rather organized feel are reminders of Western design. Shimla looks beautiful. It is a small town that looks like it was thrown onto the side of a mountain because the houses spill down the side in a big clump. The Mall is a wide pedestrian-only walkway lined with shops and restaurants. The rest of the roads are like any other Indian city: too small for the number of cars on them. And, in Shimla, there are way too many vehicles for the two-lane streets. I was received by yet another loving family (related to the Chandigarghians) and immediately went off to The Mall. It was packed because it was a holiday. All I could see over the top of the crowd were sharp-looking red points topped with white balls. These were the Christmas caps young boys eagerly sold to the tourist masses on this festive day. There was also the skinniest Santa I have ever seen, welcoming people into a men's clothing store. The place was alive with holiday cheer. I immediately fell in love with the faded charm of Shimla and the stellar views.
The family I was staying with owns a hotel and lives on the property. More family joined us for dinner (even if it was lacking a Christmas feel, I couldn't deny the merriness of the evening). A girl just a bit younger than me came and offered to show me around the place the next day. She did, and we had a blast romping around the single shopping street of the town. Turns out, because it is really a small town without the tourist mask, she knows many of the shop and restaurant owners (major plus). It took about an hour of slow meandering to see all of The Mall. She then decided I should see a famous school in the town, which happens to be Asia's oldest school that isn't affiliated with any religion. It was founded in the 1850's by a British bishop. Bishop Cotton's School is a beaurtiful all-boys boarding school that was closed at the time for Christmas break. Like the rest of Shimla, it was obviously built by the British. The tudor and brick architecture is classic, as is the organization of the campus. There are also marvelous views, big iron gates labeled with the school seal, and lots of that New England prep school feel.
The next day, I was back on a bus down the windy, stomach-turning roads to spend another night in Chandigargh. My family there already had a bus ticket for me bound for the next stop on my journey: Amritsar, the border town to Pakistan well-known as a holy pilgrimage for Sikhs. I only had a day to knock out the sights in this city. I successfully saw all the highlights- a maharaja's mansion and gardens, the Golden Temple- the Sikh's most holy and historic place of worship, and the India/Pakistan border. I ate a typical Punjabi lunch right next to the old gardens of a maharaja- butter chicken (tandoori chicken slices in tomato curry) and naan (Indian bread). It is said the state bird of Punjab is butter chicken. I saw the amazing Golden Temple, made the offerings, did the blessings, and received the traditional sweet treat on my way out. In the evening, I was lucky enough to see the cheering match that is the closing of the border ceremony at the Whaga Border. At 5:00 sharp (this is something that does run on time, because it means some of the gaurds can go home), crowds of people buy cheap flags and wave them furiously in favor of their respective country. I may be biased, but India took the cake on the spirit. With about 1000 in the crowd, as opposed to Pakistan's 100, there really was no way the Pakis could have outmatched India's loudness. The ceremony is simply this: gaurds march around and shout things at the corwd, who answer while shaking their flags like there is no tomorrow. About 15 minutes later, it is all finished and there is a mad dash for the parking lot. Now, I can officially say I have seen Pakistan. And, what does it look like, you ask? Just like India. Now, can they accept thair similarities and stop fighting over Kashmir?
My train back to Gurgaon the next day was delayed and took ten hours instead of the expected eight. I spent my last few days in this country with my Indian Aunty and Uncle. Because of them, and all the other amazing people I met over the past four months, I can truly say I left India with a smile on my face.