After a short ride I transfer to the minibus that goes to the border—and here’s the Fruit-eating Frenchman again!
Another short ride and we are dropped in a field. It is the border. We are the only people crossing!
There is a nice, well-kept park on the Indian side of the border. There are manicured lawns, flowerbeds and great trees. Snappy soldiers wear green turbans, short beards and long mustaches.
The border formalities are minimal. Our passports are stamped and the Frenchman and I wait at a little teashop for another bus. Two pleasant English-speaking men, also waiting, casually ask if we happened to notice any Pakistani troop movements on the other side of the border. The Frenchman suggests they go look for themselves. Oh, my aching intelligence! Here’s our bus and, without the gentlemen, we are off for Amritsar!
Holy Mackerel! There are women aboard this bus with bare faces! It is a very pleasant shock! Beautiful even if the women are plain! The men are wearing turbans in pastel colors smartly turned up fore and aft.
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