Editor’s note: Rick McKay, Joe Masonick, and Jack Karolewski, have been annual travel companions for more than 50 years to a variety of sites with many goals. This week’s adventure is the ninth in the series.
The eighth part is at thevoice.us/afghanistan-allure
By Rick McKay
We crossed from Afghanistan into India by way of the historic and dangerous Kyber Pass. In India, we visited the famous Sikh Golden Temple in Amritsar, which stands in the middle of a large, rectangular, pool of water and has access to it by a causeway from the western side. Lilly pads floated in the water around the temple, symbolizing the ability of mankind to rise and float above the turmoil and suffering of their existence on the physical plane.
Amritsar was the site of a devastating and horrific massacre April 13, 1919 when British officer Reginald Dyer, fearing that an insurrection was about to take place, ordered his troops to fire their rifles into an unarmed crowd of Indian civilians, and killed at least 400 residents, including women and children, and injured more than 1,000 others.
We spent the night in Amritsar, scattered among a number of dwellings. I was in what appeared to be a British colonial officer’s residence with six bedrooms surrounding a large dining room with one long rectangular oaken table in the middle. Each bedroom was elaborately decorated with dark ornately-carved chairs, tables, and four-poster beds.
From Amritsar we passed through Jammu and ascended to the remote city of Srinagar. Srinagar, which is in an idyllic region called Kashmir which occupies the northwestern-most section of India and lies at the base of the dramatic Hindu Kush mountain range.
After weeks of grueling travel, we all felt as though we had arrived in Shangri-la, and a much-needed respite from the daily grind. The eastern side of Srinagar is similar to Venice with a series of interlocking canals and waterways throughout. The stagnant water is covered with a layer of bright green algae, reflecting the verdant trees whose branches arc overhead.
We were housed and boarded for five days on a series of stationary houseboats, four-to-six group members on each. The houseboats floated in the island-dotted southwestern-most spur of Dal Lake. Each was an ornate work of art decorated with intricately-carved wooden panels, inlaid tables resting on oriental carpets, comfortable couches and relaxing sleeping quarters. Our meals were prepared by our hosts and we were paddled to shore on small boats called shikaras where we toured carpet and paper mache factories.
Some of us took a bus over a rocky gravel road, rising higher and higher, to explore the glaciers nestled in the crevices of the Hindu Kush mountains. I was woefully unprepared for the rapidly-declining temperatures we encountered as we ascended. Dressed only in jeans and a T-shirt, I tried to put on a happy face while being photographed on the ice before, once again, wrapping my arms around my shuddering body and heading back to the bus.
On another day our entire group was leisurely transported by shikara across Dal Lake to visit the famous Shalimar Gardens on the northeast shore of the lake, resplendent with terraced pools, shooting fountains, trees, and displays of red, white, and orange blossoms abounding.
After five leisurely days in this exotic paradise, and pampered shamelessly by our respective host families, we were loathe to leave Srinagar behind. But leave we did, descending gradually to the capital city of New Delhi.
As friendly and good-spirited as everyone in our group had been—they were all real troopers—it is hard to be in such close quarters with the same individuals for nine weeks on end and not get on each other’s nerves. Being thrown back onto the coach, after the bliss of Srinagar, was more than Jack, Joe, and I could bear. Once in New Delhi we decided to part ways with our tour group. Instead of moving on with them to the upcoming destinations in India and Nepal, we chose to arrange a flight out of New Delhi to visit Egypt, instead. It would allow us almost a week to tour that historic land. Once we had done so, we would fly back to Athens in time for our return flight home.
However, we could not leave India without making a special journey on our own. The following day we took a steam engine train called the Taj Express to Agra to behold India’s most famous work of architecture, the Taj Mahal. Spectacular it was, indeed!
Our visit to Egypt was short, but filled with adventure! On the evening of our first night, we took a taxi from our hotel in Cairo to the Plain of Giza to behold the Great Pyramids. The sun was setting fast, so Joe and I rushed past the pyramids of Cheops and Chephren to the smaller Mycerinus intent upon climbing to its summit before darkness fell. The prospect was much more daunting than I expected. Yet I quickly ascended while Joe waited below to take a picture of me from ground level. Once I reached the top, he followed. The view was nothing less than spectacular, and we arrived just as the sun began to sink behind the horizon, beyond the vast empty Saharan sands to the west!
The next morning we were determined to return to Giza before the multitudes would arrive. We encountered only one man, an older gentleman in a long white gown who offered to be our guide. We declined, but he continued to follow us as we approached the north face of the Great Pyramid Cheops. The entrance to the interior was 30 to 40 feet up the north face and we slowly ascended to it. Each block in the structure is three-to-four-feet high, requiring one to pull oneself up from one level to the next. The old man followed us. Upon reaching the entrance we found it still barred and padlocked from the night before.
The old man shook his head and headed back down and waved for us to follow. Jack did, but I suggested to Joe that we should continue our ascent, and so we did.
That was a big mistake!
Continued at thevoice.us/one-false-stop-loomed-in-pyramid-climb