Gazing out the wet bus window as we left Dharamsala, I felt immediately welcomed back to the India I left behind weeks ago. Cows, monkeys, goats, horses, camels, workers carrying giant loads on their heads and gaggles of schoolgirls in matching blue salwar kameez (Punjabi pant suits) with white dupattas (shawls) walking along the side of the road all served as my welcome committee. Even when a turbanned Punjabi Sikh man practically sat on my lap on the bus and then proceeded to yammer away at me in incomprehensible English, I couldn't wipe the euphoric smile off my face. Oh it's so good to be back.

Punjab is one of India's most prosperous states and the homeland of many thousands of Indians who've migrated to or gone to study in the West. As such, it's not uncommon to hear American, English or Canadian accents spoken by visiting non-resident Punjabis here for holiday or making a pilgrimage to the holiest shrine of the Sikh religion, the Golden Temple. As a result of this widespread introduction of Indian culture in the West, many of the sights, sounds, smells and flavors of Punjab are familiar to any of us who've seen turbans or eaten naan. 

After checking into my dingy, hot, overpriced yet conveniently located guesthouse in the Punjab capital of Amritsar and having a shower to remove the day's black build up of grime and pollution, I walked across the street to the Golden Temple. After performing the requisite removal of my shoes, washing of my feet and covering of my head, I entered the complex. I was awestruck. In my opinion, this place is even more atmospheric and beautiful than the Taj Mahal.

So called because of the 100 kg of pure gold covering the main dome, the Golden Temple is a large complex surrounding a sacred pool in which the ornately-adorned temple itself sits. Open 24 hours a day 7 days a week, the Golden Temple complex sees tens of thousands of Sikh pilgrims and tourists each day. Walking clockwise around the pool I watched as turbanned men and boys swam, families bathed and blessed newborn infants, men in traditional Sikh dress (blue robe, orange sash and turban, huge knife in a hip holster) prostrated deeply before the temple entrance as volunteers whizzed around the place keeping things tidy and running smoothly.

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly), the most interesting part of the temple to me was the kitchen. In accordance with the wishes of one important Sikh guru, Guru Nanak, 35,000 people are fed free meals at the temple every day.  A constant stream of people sit in neat rows on the floor of a large dining hall as dedicated volunteers sweep through ladeling dhal (lentils), tossing chapattis (flat bread and the staple of the North Indian diet) and pouring water. After mealtime, diners deposit their shiny metal plates and cutlery into the hands of the first member of a bucket brigade that doesn't stop until the dishes are washed, dried, polished and returned to the front of the line to begin the trip again.

I paid a visit to the kitchen where I was enthusiastically greeted and taken on a tour. First stop, the chapatti dough mixer where a stack of 20 kg bags of flour reaches to the ceiling and an imported-from-America industrial mixer kneads the dough to make lunch for thousands. Next stop, the chapatti rolling board; twenty women and men rolling out balls of dough before handing them off to the oven where another twenty people sit with longhandled spatulas turning the soft doughy circles as they bake up to perfection. Next stop- the dhal pots, where more volunteers tend to water and lentils bubbling and stewing in giant hot tub-sized metal vats. Of course I took about a million photos.

Just as I was about to leave the temple I met Rupa, a lovely 25-year old Punjabi girl who beckoned me over to talk to her and her cousin. I was shocked. In my five months in India I've only been approached by one other woman and she wanted to put henna on my hands for 100 rupees. Rupa's studying for her Masters in Computer Science here in Amritsar. When she's finished in a month, she'll move to Toronto to be with her soon-to-be husband, an English Indian whom she has never met. Today we went shopping for a gagra choli (Indian formalwear: a short tight-fitting blouse with a matching floorlength skirt and matching veil) for me to wear to Burning Man. Unfortunately they were all at least $100 and entirely too hot to wear in the desert, but it was fun trying them on. Afterwards we had tea and talked at Rupa's house before returning to the temple for sunset. It's fun having a female friend.

Tonight I had the best tandoori chicken on earth across the street from the internet cafe. Tomorrow I'll take an evening trip to Wagah, a town on the Pakistan/India border where apparently they put on quite a show every night at sunset. More later.