Leaving Rishikesh didn't quite go to plan! We were supposed to share a vikram with Ghopal to Haridwar, so we could avoid an unsafe bus driver whizzing us down the mountain chichanes; Liz didn't enjoy the bus journey up that much and was dreading the journey back [the buses are bone rattling here and held together by sellotape which rotted in the 1980s!] So after our last early morning yoga session, Ghopal had flagged down a guy, bartered with him to take him & two foreigners to Haridwar, as he was meeting some friends, and was holding him at the hotel entrance. I on the other hand, was struggling up at the reception desk trying to pay our hotel bill by credit card, but unfotunately their machine was playing up. After numerous attempts we decided to give up and pay by cash. Unfortunately by this time Ghopal's vikram guy couldn't wait any longer, which now forced him to try to barter again, this time with two foreigners in tow. Foreigners are charged more than three times that of locals! Needless to say each one laughed and drove on forcing Ghopal to explain to us we'd have to just get one to the bus station alone and bus it to Haridwar. As we jumped in one vikram, luggage and all, with Ghopal following us in the vikram behind, Liz and I couldn't get over how superly nice Ghopal was and how we felt so very guilty for getting him to hang around until we checked out, given the new circumstances. I dragged this conversation out for a while to divert Liz's attention away from the pending 'Italian Job' that awaited us.Unfortunately Liz's apprehension turned out to be well placed. The bus driver was the worst we had had so far and my hands were black and blue by the time we reached Haridwar. The journey back to Haridwar was a completely different route to our journey there, but just as hairy. As many chichanes, crazily driven heavily loaded goods carriers hooting around every blind corner, pillion passengered motorbikes and packed to the brim jeeps overtaking AND undertaking on the sharp bends giving you their courtesy 'beep beep' as they casually swerve back in front of the bus, narrowly missing the oncoming bus or lorry and our front bumper! We arrived into Haridwar safely; just!We were about to discover that the stress in our afternoon was only just beginning! Our train tickets for our journey from Haridwar to Amritsar were 'wait-listed', which in short meant at the time of booking there was no availability. We were WL13 & WL14 which, according to The Great Ganga 'boy', is low enough down the list to chance it. (Most hotels can help with travel arrangements and it usually results in the hotel manager 'sending the boy'; more often than not on his kev'd-up scooter.)Chancing it we were, not able to find the wretched printed wait-list anywhere on the platform, we planted our bums on two seats in no particular carriage hoping that we wouldn't get moved on. Unfortunately one of our seats was a reserved seat and half dozen non-english speaking Indians were laying claim to the other, despite not being able to prove it, rudely shouting and pointing at us to move! It was a very busy train and it became apparent they were lots more chancers like us, each trying their luck to discover the 'empty' seats. As nobody could show me the seat number for our other seat I refused to budge until I had two seats together. Fortunately, a nice indian passenger from further up the carriage explained that the elusive wait list was with the guard and pointed out of the window to a large man with a clipboard surrounded by dozens of shouting men! Both feeling beyond hassled and Liz willing me to sort all this out, I get off the train and push to speak to the guard like the others. Being a foreigner seems to help in these kinds of situations and the guard promptly finds our names on his list and scrawls down the carriage and seat numbers against the WL13 & WL14 on our ticket. As luck would have it, we had somehow sat in the right carriage and only a few seats from our approved wait-listed seats. All smug, I stroll back into the commotion and attempt to bring some order to the mellee surrounding Liz. It turns out the wife of the guy who had been giving it large, was in one of our seats whilst a sweet young girl was in the other. The girl simply agreed to swap seats leaving Liz where she was and almost by default I took the seat next to her. The commotion moved to the other end of the carriage and we were left in peace. With the seat trauma over we settled into our six hour train journey to Amritsar.We arrived into Amritsar late; no surprises there; Indian Railways! Hotel Grand across from the station were expecting us. The rooms were true to the guide book and had recently been renovated but were nothing special. Being extremely tired and it being almost eleven in the evening, we took a room and got some well deserved sleep.With a good inclusive breakfast in our tum, we walked to The Golden Temple. Leaving our shoes in the huge shoe room outside, I scoped out the souvenir shops for a head scarf. Being a Sikh temple, the Sikh's holiest of temples, we had to cover our heads and wash our feet before we could enter. As you enter, the sun reflects from the Golden Dome grabbing my attention, then I was drawn to the reflections it makes in the pool. A gentle chanting comes from the temple adding to the tranquil atmosphere, the Guru Granth Sahib, the Sikh Holy Book, a 'living Guru' is continually chanted by four priests twenty four-seven. I loved the atmosphere in The Golden Temple more than all the other temples we have visted thus far. We were hardly hassled and were left alone to enjoy and discover the grounds ourselves. We even ate at the free community dining room, called a Langar, which apparently all Sikh temples have. We were given a stainlees steel cup and sectioned-plate before we donated some money to the guy at the entrance, as we had seen others doing, and walked upstairs to a huge hall. Following the herd we sat down cross-legged in rows and were promptly thrown, not handed, chapatis. You had to have your hands open in a bowl shape for him to drop the chapatis in your hands as he refused to hand it hand-to-hand. Another guy followed him scooping a large spoon of dal into our boyscout-like sectioned plates, followed by another with some aloo gobi, some rice and another with some sweet stuff. It was actually quite nice and we did our best to eat it. Everybody around us was having seconds, yet we finished carrying a full cup of 'not mineral' water and half eaten langar food down the stairs to hand to the guys doing the dishes. This was the best bit. The food we had just eaten and all the supporting activities surrounding its preparation, had been carried out by volunteers. We were encouraged to take photos of ladies and gents chopping the veg, boys wheel barrowing the clean plates and cups to the entrance gate, women, men and children washing the dirty plates. It was truly an amazing sight. My only regret is that I didn't join in and chop some onions!Back at the hotel that afternoon we met a Scottish couple Stacey and Cameron who we ended up doing a tour with us to the Wagah Border Ceremony. They had similarly taken time away from their jobs, though they were self employed, and were nearing the end of their travels.The Border Ceremony was something else, as Palin and others have commented on. We arrived with a bit of time to spare to find the stands heaving with people. Luckily, there is a section reserved for foreigners which we were shown to by one of the eccentrically dressed Indian guards. All the foreigners we had nodded to throughout the day were there all in one place; so funny! Whilst waiting for the show tostart, due to our high height in the stands, Liz was able to peer over the 'garden' wall and spot the Indian guards were limbering up; holding onto the trees and swinging their legs behind them and in front of them impressively up as far as their chins. It was so funny to watch. All the guards behind the wall in the 'garden' were laughing and clowning around, whilst all those 'on show' in the parade ground were straight faced and all serious, blowing their whistles at audience members who dared to walk in the wrong direction.It was hard to determine what was going on in the ceremony itself, but there were many dramatic openings and shuttings of each of the India and Pakistan gates, the raising and lowering of each others flags; each guard trying to keep their countries flag that little bit higher than the other, along with lots of 'Ministry of Funny Walks' style prancing up and down. In one word; comical!

As part of the border ceremony tour, the four of us then visited the Golden Temple by night. As with the border ceremony drop-off he parked a good 10 minutes away from the attraction, causing us to have to walk 'the final mile'. Remind me what we paid this guy money for again! Liz and I having visited here earlier made this second visit much smoother as we already knew the ropes. Shoes outside, headscarf on we led the way through the foot dip and up the stairs! The Golden Temple, this time lit by moonlight and bulbs casted a much more impressive reflection in the pool, the chanting of the Sikh Holy Book sounded clearer and together these seemed to make the stroll around the pool that evening that little more special. With the jeep dropping us back to the hotel we wandered to find the closest restaurant, continually declining countless offers for a cycle rickshaw, we walked to a well known place called Crystal where we enjoyed good Indian food whilst exchanging travel stories, hints and tips with Cameron and Stacey. Apparently their meal that evening was one of their most expensive on their trip! Whereas, in comparision, it worked out to be about the average for Liz and I. Are we spending too much? Different travellers, different budgets I guess! Wishing one another well for the remainder of our travels we packed and then got a good nights kip, our last night in Amritsar!