The next morning the old farrier never showed up but some of the locals from last night did. I soon had the names of half a dozen farriers in town and set off to see a man about a horse.

The first farriers I came too was stooped down arranging his tools as we arrived. He was an old man, but he was slow and thoughtful as he looked over Rosie’s hooves. However, he basically said, “no,” and just disappeared into the back of his shop, tightly sandwiched inside an old part of town. Slightly dejected I started off again down the road but a motorcyclist stopped to enquire what the problem was. I guess a white man on a horse stands out a bit! The chap spoke fluent English and after another chat with the old farrier, it transpired that he didn’t have the right size shoes for Rosie’s feet but… they were available in the market. My friend immediately volunteered to go on his bike and after measuring Rosie’s feet, (with another similar shoe), he zoomed off.

This was the first time I had shod Rosie, since leaving Delhi and it was a slightly harrowing experience. In fact even more so when the chap returned with 4 different shoe sizes. However, this was normal in rural areas and the farrier didn’t even blink as he set out to alter each shoe to the same size to fit Rosie’s feet.

As India modernizes, less and less people have either horses or donkeys, preferring 2 wheels to 4 legs. My farrier was one of a dying breed but one who still took great passion in his work. He was called Jogdish and used to be a weight lifter before taking to the family trade full time. His ’smithy’ was a small lean-to in front of an old inn. Many pilgrims used to pass this way and would stop off in this part of town. Now the inns are another milestone left behind in India’s developing landscape.

The farrier heated up each shoe and hammered it over a heavy anvil into the right shape. Whilst it was hot he placed it onto the bottom of Rosie?€?s hoof with a singe of steam leaving an imprint so he could judge the right fit. After several hours we finished and I trotted Rosie a couple of kms around the block. There were no problems and we set off to Khanna.

The final push to Pakistan

This last week has been one surprise after another. My first night after Sirhind was spent in a cattle semen freezing facility, like that was the last place I had expected to stay in. My second night was spent as the guest of Dr. Daliwal of Ludiana Vetinary College. Punjabis routinely took delight in pulling over in their cars to snap pictures of us on their mobile phones before blazing off into the sunset. Trotting along, the Punjab has also got much more developed. People are definitely more industrial here.

This last week has been one surprise after another. My first night after Sirhind was spent in a cattle semen freezing facility, like that was the last place I had expected to stay in. My second night was spent as the guest of Dr. Daliwal of Ludiana Vetinary College. Punjabis routinely took delight in pulling over in their cars to snap pictures of us on their mobile phones before blazing off into the sunset. Trotting along, the Punjab has also got much more developed. People are definitely more industrial here.In Ludiana it’s wedding season and we decided to take a rest and enjoy some of the hospitality of Dr. Daliwal. Rommel and Tiat rejoined us and I had chance to replenish stocks and do some much needed washing. Rosie particularly needed the rest since she had recently been limping on both her front legs. A senior vet at Khanna told me that it was from riding her continually on the hard-top road for the past two weeks and she must have rest. Since then we’ve been sticking off the tarmac whilst riding.

The biggest mistake I’ve made since leaving Delhi was travelling on a time-limit. It stressed all of us out and put Rosie under undue stress which I have since deeply regretted. It also meant that our push to the border was the hardest part of my journey so far.

From Ludiana we took a quick diversion across the countryside back to the GT road. It’s peaceful riding down straight roads that you can see zig zaging away until the horizon, as they dodge through neat patchworks of fields. The people are more genuine off the GT road and not so concerned with selling you something. After a sit and a chat they’ll leave you happy as Larry - in fact you’ve probably made their day. I’ve enjoyed single guys riding beside me on their motorbikes and incredibly funny conversations in broken Hindi and English.

On many of the bridges we passed over from Ludiana we weren’t allowed to film, due to the Punjab?€?s status as a border state. New Delhi also maintains a high Police presence here as a deterent against the uprising of the Sikhs, who have previously been intent on creating their own nation of ‘Khalistan’ - the sovereign kingdom’

Prem Nath

We had a bizarre story at a small village, North of Ludiana called Kot Karawal. We arrived late at night, through the swirling mists of a gathering Winter and woke to the arrival of a wandering Sapera (or snake charmer to the lay man). Prem Nath was a modern snake Charmer from the nearby village of Tamwal. Your average 21st century snake charmer travels by bus, which kind of shattered the romantic image of a blister sore holy man entrancing snakes by the roadside for passing pilgrims. Yet he had all the trappings with long rasta farian type hair flowing robes, a basket full of snakes under one arm and a medicine case under the other. This being India he just sauntered into our little gathering and asked if he could ply his trade.

We had a bizarre story at a small village, North of Ludiana called Kot Karawal. We arrived late at night, through the swirling mists of a gathering Winter and woke to the arrival of a wandering Sapera (or snake charmer to the lay man). Prem Nath was a modern snake Charmer from the nearby village of Tamwal. Your average 21st century snake charmer travels by bus, which kind of shattered the romantic image of a blister sore holy man entrancing snakes by the roadside for passing pilgrims. Yet he had all the trappings with long rasta farian type hair flowing robes, a basket full of snakes under one arm and a medicine case under the other. This being India he just sauntered into our little gathering and asked if he could ply his trade.You often hear about India being ‘confusing’ and a ‘myriad’ of different cultures. Nobody can really describe it and I’m no different. Prem belonged to a caste of snake charmers and for ten generations they have travelled the Punjab as nomadic artisans earning a wage as best they could. Modern India is full of contrasts from the India you read about in the papers to the real India you see when you penetrate the rural areas. Snake Charmers are a way of life here.

Prem played for about an hour. He obviously enjoyed his trade and we paid him a good day?€?s wage. Our host, from the previous night, was a great chap called Dr. Balbir Singh. During our stay, he and his father, Iqbal Singh, treated us with the utmost respect and sincerity. He was also a vet and took a good look at Rosie. Rosie has been losing some weight these past few days, but her saddle sore, which has been recurrent for almost two weeks now, has stablised. I’ve been treating it with dry antiseptic powder during the day and adjusting the padding around it to keep the weight off so it could heal.

A night to remember

The day that had unfolded so nicely at the start didn’t end the same way. Today happened to be Baba Guru Nanak’s 535th birthday and the whole Punjab was going mad. Unfortunately I was riding through the middle of it. Somebody set a firework off next to road and she bolted. All the stress, all the tension of riding on the GT road for the past two weeks, came pooling out as we started overtaking cars. She didn’t think anything, she felt nothing. She did the one thing she knew how to, which was run. I repeatedly tried to pull her over to the roadside and haul her in, but like I said, she felt nothing

The day that had unfolded so nicely at the start didn’t end the same way. Today happened to be Baba Guru Nanak’s 535th birthday and the whole Punjab was going mad. Unfortunately I was riding through the middle of it. Somebody set a firework off next to road and she bolted. All the stress, all the tension of riding on the GT road for the past two weeks, came pooling out as we started overtaking cars. She didn’t think anything, she felt nothing. She did the one thing she knew how to, which was run. I repeatedly tried to pull her over to the roadside and haul her in, but like I said, she felt nothingShe nimbly dodged all the sign boards and bushes I tried turning her into but pain was meaningless next to the one impulse she felt, which was run. It was a time that I will never forget in my life and an experience I don’t want any horse to have again. I couldn’t give anymore strength to diverting Rosie since all my strength was given to staying in the saddle. We clocked 6kms in 10 mins.

Rosie eventually tired as we mounted an over pass and I brought her to a halt underneath. I had the sickening feeling that she was going to freeze up and that’s just what he did. After an hour?€?s rest, despite walking around giving her grass, her muscles contracted and she stopped moving. She was really stressed. Her heart was racing and she was highly unnerved. I coaxed her back onto the road and walked slowly up to the nearest dhaba, but we had to stop for the night. Rommel and Tiat arrived and we set up camp under a tree behind the Pahwari Vaishno Dhaba. I made a makeshift fire for Rosie, continually massaging all her legs and talking to her but by morning she was still stiff as a rod. All the massaging and coaxing in the world wouldn’t get her to move. We were all highly strung but we managed to track down a friend of Dr. Balbir Singh’s who lived 10kms North near to Jallandhar. He arrived late that morning and diagnosed 2/3 complete days rest. There was only one minor problem. I had to be in Pakistan by the 28th or my visa would expire.

So what did we do? Well we compromised. Dr. Balbir?€?s friend had an Aunty who lived in a village only a kilometre away so we headed for there but I can’t describe how worried I was.

I got Rosie there by a combination of coaxing with grass and encouragement and we eventually tottered into the courtyard of our new host’s house. We gave her painkillers and vitamin injections and rehydrated her intravenously with 5L of electrolyte solution. I massaged all of her legs continuously and by the next morning she wasn’t as bad, but her legs were still stiff and we couldn’t afford another day’s break. There was 100kms to go, a sick horse and only two days left! The only thing I could do was walk.

So that’s what we did. For the next two days we walked constantly keeping myself on the road and Rosie off to the side. At first she was walking like a thunderbird but she gradually grew stronger and stronger. Much to his credit, Rommel took my bags in his car (as he had done a few times before) and I was able to just carry a bag of barley mixed with chana (chickpeas) and chopped straw. I fed her regularly to keep her energy high and through the continued advice of Dr. Cyril Roy (of Friendicoes SECA, Delhi), gave her plenty of carrots. As we neared Amritsar the mist descended and the cold poured in as we strapped lights to the back of the saddle to alert vehicles behind. By midnight of the 26th we had covered 55kms and after a brief stop at a road side dhaba we were off yet again early the next morning.

Arriving in Amritsar

We finally reached Amristar at 2pm. Rosie was looking much fitter and hardly the mare she’d been only 48 hours earlier. I met my final contact along the GT road who was Mr. Sokirt Singh, another long time friend of Dr. Sharma and a hero of mine as he brought me tea and biscuits. We still had some filming left to do at the Shri Hari Mandir (Golden Temple) in Amritsar so we flew over there; leaving Rosie tethered outside and watched by Tiat.

We finally reached Amristar at 2pm. Rosie was looking much fitter and hardly the mare she’d been only 48 hours earlier. I met my final contact along the GT road who was Mr. Sokirt Singh, another long time friend of Dr. Sharma and a hero of mine as he brought me tea and biscuits. We still had some filming left to do at the Shri Hari Mandir (Golden Temple) in Amritsar so we flew over there; leaving Rosie tethered outside and watched by Tiat.So, rinsing my feet and covering my head with a bright yellow cloth, I entered the temple complex and found myself on a pure white causeway looking up at four stories of gleaming gold. This is the climax and the centre of the universe for the entire Sikh religion world wide and they really make sure you know it. The opulence of Golden Temple is just breathtaking as it stands in the middle of a shimmering body of water contrasting with the enclosing white marble buildings on the outside. You feel purified just by being there and strangefully peaceful despite all the jostling of the thousands of Pilgrims queuing to get inside. The Shri Hari Mandir (or Golden temple to the tourists) is built in the centre of Amrit Sarovar tank (from which the city also takes it’s name) and is only reached by a single white causeway which I crossed.

The creators of all the major religious centres of the world all seem to be trying to create a little piece of heaven on earth. The Fourth Guru completed the Amrit Sarovar tank in 1577 and the town soon followed. In 1588 the fifth Guru Arjan Dev Sahib began construction on the Hari Mandir as a central place of worship for Sikhs. The Golden Temple was meant to be a symbol of the new religion open to every person of caste, creed, sex and religion. The temple has four doors rather than one to prove it?€?s welcome to any faith. The golden dome (apparently gilded with 100kgs of gold), is meant to be an inverted lotus flower turned down to face the earth to show the Sikh’s concern with the problems of the world.

As I entered I just felt complete as I squeezed my way inside the lower level of the temple amid other pilgrims keen to hear the readings of the Guru Granth Sahib. The readings are continuously read by priests in 3 hour shifts from 4am till 10pm and broadcast over loud speakers inside. People fit in where they can downstairs or in the upstairs gallery to quietly listen and pray to God. The inside is stunningly set with more gold than I had ever seen. Crystal chandeliers glisten above and engraved marble work decks the walls.

We spent the night and paid another visit to the Golden Temple in the morning. The temple feeds 10,000 people a day and the kitchens were something I wanted to see. So, this morning I ate breakfast along with 400 people. We all shared the same meal of dal, naan and rice and carried our plates outside to be collected. I stayed a little while to help with the washing up which was just a case of ‘mucking’ in and getting it done.

One Stuffy guard and barred

Around 8am we left again for the border. Rosie seemed much fitter than she had been and we trotted much of the remaining 30kms from Amritsar to Wagah. Despite her previous weakness, Rosie was now en par excellance as we made excellent time along the meadow banked road to Wagah. Rosie managed a trot most of the way so we quickly arrived at the last Indian town at Atari. The village simply lined both sides of the GT road for about a kilometre and the people stared hard as we passed.

Around 8am we left again for the border. Rosie seemed much fitter than she had been and we trotted much of the remaining 30kms from Amritsar to Wagah. Despite her previous weakness, Rosie was now en par excellance as we made excellent time along the meadow banked road to Wagah. Rosie managed a trot most of the way so we quickly arrived at the last Indian town at Atari. The village simply lined both sides of the GT road for about a kilometre and the people stared hard as we passed.There was a distinct lack of population after Amritsar. The fields have an attended look and there isn’t much housing so as to give a buffer zone should Pakistan invade!

The plan at the border was to arrive at 2pm, meet Mr. Guldeep Chokra who had a truck waiting to load Rosie and proceed through customs before the gates shut at 4pm. In Pakistan, Miss Ayza Omar, whom I’d been in contact with since September, had agreed to arrange a horse to take me from Wagah to Lahore. Her cousin had flown up a Geo TV film crew from Karachi to film my entrance for a regular TV programme and Brooke Hospital for Animals were also coming, as well as a number of journalists and respected persons.

Geo wanted to film Rosie from the Pakistani side of the border so I said I ‘d try and bring her in close enough over the Line of Control. At the border everything went as planned… that is until the last minute. Indian Wagah is a tourist’s dream. CDs postcards, videos, key rings and every other kind of knicknack related to the border is on sale and small kids thrust CDs into your hand and guide confused tourists to one of 20 or so waiting restaurants. At precisely 4pm each day the Indian and Pakistani gates clang shut and both countries put on a semi-serious parade ’stand-off’ where the idea is to out shout, out stomp and out pomp the other side to the whooping and cheering of citizens of both countries - all in the name of fun of course!

When I arrived outside customs, Sokhirt was already there waiting for me with Mr. Guldeep. It was 2pm and I felt bone tired from the past few days?€? solid riding. I was actually glad to have some help navigating customs. We quickly obtained permission from the head of customs to take Rosie onto the LOC. At first he seemed somewhat puzzled as to why anybody would want to take a horse over temporarily but he saw no harm as long as we only went halfway and returned quickly. After completing all the customs formalities, Sokirt, the horse and I went to the gate where a rather stuffy looking border guard eyed us suspiciously. It was 1530pm. “Where are you going,” he demanded and started shaking his head saying “no horses, no horses.” I could feel my temper rising at this pretentious man who chose now to start an argument, when I am obviously stood with a horse having proceeded so far through border control. After a ‘diplomatic’ discussion he eventually let us pass but fate was against us. We only got 15m in when the same stuffy guard decided to change this mind and without his superior’s bidding he recalled us. But time had runaway with itself. The guard repeated “No horses,” and the Pakistani gates shut with a loud clunk and my entrance into Pakistan was barred.

I just stood glassy eyed staring at the shut gates and the pompous little man tugging me back further onto the Indian side. He actually insisted I wait 20mins watching the border ceremony from the Indian side, but I knew there was no entry once the gates had shut. Only diplomats and Prime Ministers were allowed through after hours and they were very rare occurrences. I just couldn’t believe it, after so many weeks hard riding to get here on time. You can’t keep a schedule and ride a horse at the same time.

It transpired that Customs and the Border Security Force (BSF) were two separate units and weren’t as co-ordinated as you’d expect at one of the most important border crossings in the world. The custom’s officials were sympathetic but I couldn’t find the BSF officer on duty to complain. I also couldn’t go chasing around with so much expensive baggage, so I checked into a hotel and took the next night bus down to Delhi, where the Pakistan High Commission issued me a one year multiple entry visa - probably to stop me coming back!

My one day stay in Delhi was rushed and I spent most of the time on the phone to Pakistan and living at the High Commission. I caught the bus to Amritsar again on the 1st Dec. 04 beginning to wonder if I would ever make it to Pakistan when our bus was hauled in for several hours because a passenger hadn’t paid customs duty on almost a tonne of flowers on the roof. However we eventually arrived after 14 hours and after a quick breakfast with Sokhirt I piled in my last Indian rickshaw to the Wagah border.