Amritsar is 20 hours by night train from Ajmer, the nearest station to our last stop at Pushkar. Undaunted at the prospect we booked tickets in A/C 3 tier. Basically reserved bunks in compartments with 3 tier bunks each side, and a double tier along the length of the compartment. There were only 16 tickets left when we booked, but we had the choice of bunks so we opted for the double bunk. All the best plans.... as they say.......When we boarded the train we discovered we had been allocated a top bunk of the three tier and the top of a double tier so either way we had to climb up. John decided to opt for the highest bunk in a misguided act of chivalry, and soon regretted it when he discovered he couldn't sit up without banging his head on the roof. Undaunted, and never one to miss a chance to sleep, he nodded off before we chugged out of the station at six, and seemed to remain comatose for most of the night section of the journey. Maybe he'd banged just head harder than I thought ! We weren't sure what to expect from Amritsar before we arrived. Being part of The Punjab many of its residents are Sikhs, who speak Punjabi, rather than Hindi. On leaving the station concourse we were faced with the usual onslaught from hoards of taxi and rickshaw drivers, all keen to know where we wanted to go and quote silly numbers of rupees for taking us there. We started the process of trying to find a reasonable rate, and soon noticed and older gent bring pushed forward who was indicating he would only charge half the rate if the others. Keen to make the rupees stretch we took him up in his offer, much to his delight. He led us through the crowd and gestured that we should put our bags on the back hood of his rickshaw- his cycle rickshaw. Now John and I are not the lightest of passengers so we always hesitate at the prospect of taking cycle rickshaws. Thx time we came complete with two 14 kg backpacks and two further 5kg day packs. We tried to tell him we would be too heavy but he would have none of it and pushed his right foot firmly down on his pedal, taking us into the melee of traffic trying to leave the car park. The streets of Amritsar were throbbing with traffic, animals and people. Whilst our driver tried to avoid potholes, navigate speed bumps, and all the other obstacles we held onto our luggage for grim death- frightened that at some point one of us would have to leap into the traffic to rescue one or other bag, or each other. We were relieved when we arrived and paid the driver double the agreed rate for the ten minute journey - a whole 100 rupees (£1) in an effort to salve our conscience. The whole cycle rickshaw issue us a difficult one. Many of the cycle rickshaws in the town are pedalled by older men who have been earning a living like this for many years, unable to afford the next step up to a motorised rickshaw. There are many who feel that the drivers are exploited, but at least they are able to hold their heads up that they have earned the money they have. Amritsar had many more cycle rickshaws than anywhere we have been so far. The streets were very dirty and buildings shambolic and run down around the old city. Once inside the city walls the passages were narrow but unfortunately not quite narrow enough to prevent motorbikes getting through, which added to the fumes. The city seemed to have a greater level of poverty and deprivation than others we have been in. Despite that people were friendly and the whole experience more hassle free than many other places. In complete contrast to the surrounding area sits the Hari Mandir (The Golden Temple). The most significant religious site for Sikhs, it's open for visitors of all religions every day except Friday. Both of us were particularly keen to visit the Temple which we first became aware of in1984 when it was attacked and severely damaged by the Indian army, on the instruction of Indira Ghandi. The event subsequently led to her assassination later the same year by her Sikh bodyguards. The Temple sits in the middle of a large lake filled with Koi carp, reflecting its image into the water. The stillness of the water and the piped music conveying an illusion of calm as visitors take time to contemplate their surroundings. It was obvious that the site is extremely significant to many people. The other fascinating area of the temple is the Langhar (communal kitchen). Volunteers help out with various tasks, including vegetable preparation, cooking, serving and washing up. Huge cauldron like pots are used to cook the dahls, and food and chai is distributed free of charge to anyone who wants it. An amazing feat, undertaken every day. The Golden Temple is definitely somewhere you can only experience yourself. It's impossible to convey the serenity of the place, and the hospitality of the volunteers there. The following day we made plans to visit the famous border closing ceremony at Attari/Wagah, the crossing point between India and Pakistan. Every evening an hour before sunset soldiers from the two armies perform a ritualistic marching routine, bearing many similarities to John Cleese's Ministry of Silly Walks sketch, each side trying to outdo the other. The nightly ritual has become a tourist draw with many national and international tourists flocking to observe the spectacle from the erected stands on both the Indian and Pakistan side of the border. For John the ceremony proved to be one of his favourite moments of the trip so far.