Pilgrimage of Quivering Calves
Dawn, previously used for sleep, is now a time for sitting at bus stations, haggling with rickshaw drivers, groggily chatting with new friends or, in the case of Junagadh, marking the half way point on a hike up the side of a mountain. Hindus and Jains climb the 10,000 steps of Ginar Hill, rocky and tall enough for me to call a mountain, for pilgrimages, such as couples recently married who wish to ensure a happy marriage. Those too old, too pregnant or too fat, whether tourist or Indian, hire two strong men with a pole and a sling to carry them to the top. This feat amazed us to the point where Janet, when she couldn’t resist taking a picture, was subjected to the stink eye from an elderly passenger .
Arriving in Junagadh the previous dawn with a lonesome Austrian traveller we met on the train, the three beds in the only available room suggested we should share and become friends. Francizca joined us on the trek up the hill, our calves crying and quivering much of the way, to find hills fading into the distance. We decided against climbing to the second peak, requiring another 700 step decent before a 1200 step ascent, as viewing that peak’s small temple was more appealing than a climb we may never have been able to finish. Instead, we opted for a cup of hot chai at a hilltop stall, well stocked with water and oil by porters of all ages and both sexes who climb that mountain in bare feet while balancing their heavy load of goods atop their heads.
Darkness obscured the view and our skin color for most of the way up, but on the way down, Indian tourists stopped us four times, several cameras being produced along with a request to take our picture, for which I jokingly started quoting at ten rupees. Of course, we took many photos of the people climbing the hill and of one happy, little guy who jumped around shouting “Photo! Photo!” until Janet took his picture.