Sunday 29 January - Tortoise or Hare?

Today, our last day in Rishikesh, I'm just hanging. There's so much to see, I am content with what I have seen, so stay close to our little corner of Laxman Julla. Now you know I'll be back here 'cause I have some favorite spots, and begin the day with breakfast at Bella Vista (!) Cafe. This is a memory maker, where you're welcome to sit as long as you like, graze, look out across the river: pack-donkeys loading up with stone in the shallows below; downriver, colorful ashrams crowd the shore; upriver, the patio roofline frames the Shiva temple next door to our hotel. Look for upcoming (once I'm home and editd) photo ops of this 13 story wedding cake of typical Hindu architecture, each layer ringed by shrines, the whole backdropped by a mist-kissed Himilayan mountain notch.

Afternoon finds me once again at the German Bakery high above on the far side, sipping chai masala, the energy of the river, and the mountains, and the cameos of tourists from all over.

For once we are all packed up and assembled on time for transport back to Hardivar and the train back thru Delhi, then next night to BodGaya. Juggling extra tote bags and back-packs to keep up with the shopping melee that is India for first-time visitors makes each leg of the journey more and more of a challenge. At the eye of a chaotic little storm in front of our hotel we await the bus: bindi men and the sellers of postcards cards and lenticular images of Ganesh swirling around us and then...

A group of Indian youth (a high school outing?) gather across the path, giggling and pointing their cameras at us. Hamming it up, we inspire their confidence and soon we are linked arm in arm with wave after wave of grinning young Hindus as they take turns having their pictures taken with us. Smiles and laughter and clowning for the camera our common language, we are part of the show rather than the spectators for a change.

Oh, did I mention we were waiting for a bus? And waiting. And waiting. Now worrying as our 'cushion time' is steadily eaten away by typical 'India time.' We do not want to miss this train! And those extra packs to juggle? When three jeep-vans arrive to shuttle us up the road to where the bus has easier access, it's a mad anxiety rush of spatial challenge to get all of us, and all our stuff, loaded up. The driver flies down the switchback dirt road, horn blaring, bus rocking; passes one or two slowpokes at a time once we reach the highway. Note that I use the term 'highway' loosely - it's one lane in each direction. One lane, that is, except when motorbikes, cars, buses, dump trucks and scooter-taxis pass on what can even more loosely be termed a shoulder, kicking up yet more dirt! And then an anxious twenty minute tortoise crawl from the city limits to the station.

We arrive just before the train, and collapse, exhausted and relieved, in our first class seats. Dinner is served with china and silver, the courses keep coming, the four hours pass quickly, I'm ready for a good sleep.

I'm battling congestion again, from mold in the hotel bathrooms and the mildewed blankets on the beds. Using the neti pot morning and night helps, but sleeping in a spore zone overcomes me. I've been so glad for the couple of doses of NyQuil I had thrown in my bag at the last minute. Unfortunately I ran out in Agvar under similar conditions. Once we reach BodGaya, I hope to find an Ayurvedic shop to ask for a remedy (should have done that in Rishikesh). Next visit, I'll carry enough doses for the entire trip, bring a back-packer's fleece in addition to my silk sleep sack and compressible feather pillow, and throw their bedding into the hall.