We arrived in Amritsar at about 11pm, where we were met by a very friendly young rickshaw driver who took us to our hotel. Our hotel, which sounded warm and lovely in the book, was freezing in real life. The room was on the ground floor, with an icy tile floor and two beds pushed together with some blankets. NO SHEETS. Despite my mortal fear of hotel blanket germs, I was cold and tired enough that I put on 47 layers of clothes and jumped under those nasty blankets and watched House and tried not to die of hypothermia or the plague.

We came to Amritsar for a number of reasons: 1. It was on the way to Dharamsala, which was a place we definitely wanted to visit; 2. It is full of Sikhs, and I really like Sikhs; and 3. As such, it is home to the Golden Temple, the holiest site in Sikhdom.

We were staying inside the walled city of Amritsar, and I soon realized why there was no chaos in Delhi—it was all in Amritsar. Because our room was on the ground floor, we awoke to the charming sounds of mopeds and honking and shouting. When we went outside, we understood the full effects of the pandemonium. There were people EVERYWHERE, walking around the bumpy dirt roads: walking, talking, trying to sell us postcards, pulling wagons, riding bikes and generally being in my way.

The first thing I noticed about Amritsar was the color, which I found lacking in Delhi. Turbans of every color! Scarlet and violet and gold and white and moss and black. Color is good, yo. Also, the saris in Amritsar were better than Delhi, with all kinds of crazy colors I had never even imagined. The second thing I noticed was the honking. Oh God, the honking. One of the things I do not miss about New York is the incessant honking, and being in Amritsar made me long for the honkers of NYC. The third thing I noticed was that there was no obvious begging, but there were a few men with disfigured legs scuttling around the ground like crabs, because they couldn’t stand up. It was truly heartbreaking to watch.

We started our day in an internet cafe, where we tried to book train tickets. We came into the internet cafe and were told to wait five minutes, and we sat in the darkness for 15 while a little old woman scurried around on her knees sweeping the floor. Eventually, some power came on and we were able to get onto a computer, but apparently that also involved constant discussion with the kid who ran the internet cafe. He was a young Sikh guy who talks more than I do, if you can believe it. He told us all about how American Sikh girls come to Amritsar to study, and how lots of locals go abroad to study, but he doesnt have enough money yet, so he has to work (and, apparently, talk) instead.

We had initially planned to spend three nights in Amritsar, but the chaos was becoming overwhelming, so we changed the plan and decided to get it all done in one day and then get out. First off came the Golden Temple. To enter, we both had to cover our heads, which meant I used the scarf I was carrying and T had to buy a do-rag from some guy on the street. Those of you who know T, please try to imagine him as a gangsta rapper and try not to die laughing. Next, we had to check our shoes and bags and wash our feet. We ended up having to go back to the room to leave the bag (because there was no way in hell I was leaving our computer and passports and wallets with STRANGERS who would surely rob us!). The second time, we braved the cold, cold ground. Keep in mind that Amritsar is about 5 hours north of Delhi, and when we were there, was about 40 degrees. Fortunately the foot-washing water was warm, and the marble on the floor of the Temple was surprisingly warm as well.

There were very few tourists there when we were there, and so we were kind of a spectacle (which was a feeling to which we were becoming increasingly accustomed). There were men bathing in the moat around the Temple, and a steady stream of people moving slowly around the perimeter of the moat. T and I had decided that we would eat in the public dining hall there, which was probably the best part of the day. Everybody filed into the giant room and started sitting down in rows facing each other. Then, servers would come along and hand out metal trays and bowls of water, and then plop dal and chapatis and rice pudding onto the tray. T and I were the only Western tourists in the room, and it really was a lovely communal experience, even if T didn’t finish his food in time for the entrance of the next round of people. And, it was free, in line with the Sikhs’ belief in equality for all.

The Temple itself was a square building, said to be gilded with 750kg of pure gold. Along the walkway to the entrance, hundreds of people patiently waited in line to go inside, but T and I skipped that part because hey! we aren’t Sikh.

After the Temple, we went to Jallianwala Bagh, which is a quiet little park commemorating the slaughter of 2000 Indians by the British in 1919 (Hey! At least they got trains!). The park was a pretty shocking opposition to the pandemonium outside; it was green, serene and nearly silent. There was a flame to represent the people killed, and some walls still standing with bulletholes from the attack. Thanks again, England!

The final expedition of the day was to Attari, where we would watch the border closing with Pakistan—the only border crossing between the two countries that exists. We bought tickets from some dude on the street, and crammed into a jeep with a South Korean and 10 Indians (and I’m not talking about some kind of Grand Cherokee…I’m talking about a Barbie-sized Jeep).

We got to Attari just before the ceremony began. Both countries have built grandstands for the crowds who come to watch the performance, and T stood in the general attendance section, while I went to sit in the ladies part, so I could get better pictures. There were a couple hundred people there, and they got increasingly excited. It started with some Indian pop music, with a bunch of teenagers dancing in the road. Then a bus full of Indians going to Pakistan drove through, and everyone yelled and waved to them. Then, the border patrol came out and lined up, before marching to the gate, yelling and kicking their legs up so high they almost nailed their own heads. Then they would run back to their starting point and the crowd would roar.

In all my life, I have never seen anything like this before. It was an unbelievable display of machismo and pure testesterone. The announcer would shout HINDUSTAN! And the crowd would scream back ZINDABAR! Long live India! And all the men and teenagers would be screaming their heads off and waving Indian flags and all the women were looking at them like they were crazy. It was hilarious.

After a very cramped ride back to Amritsar (somehow I managed to fall asleep on the way out), we decided to have some dinner. We went to a place called Punjabi Rasoi and ordered some dum aloo and dal makhani. Were it not inappropriate to lick your waiter’s face because the food was so good, I would have done it. Instead, we went to bed and woke up at about 2am to something that sounded like the passionate lovemaking of 1000 feral cats and 2000 monkeys. I was not sad to leave our hotel in the morning.