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.

Wednesday 25 January - Discovering Rishikesh

This bus trip from the Haridwar rail station through Rishikesh to Luxman is a trip. The driver speaks no English, and stops several times along the way, apparently to run personal errands. It's another harrowing assault on traffic until we meet the highway. Here are those verdant hills I wished for, saw in my minds eye, upon waking on the train a few hours ago: grains and sugar cane; cow patties and firewood; gypsy tent cities on the outskirts of villages. Then a turn into the mountains and a nauseatingly rutty, radical switchback dirt road deeper and deeper in and up. Rishikesh finally appears around the next bend, far below on a distant hill. Snapping window shots, just as I think "well this would be a great place to stop for a photo op," the front right tire blows. An ancient spare, bald and bubbled, doesn't inspire confidence. But we make it, with at least three stops along the way for the tour assistant to argue with the driver who wants to drop us hundreds of yards for our destination.

Our hotel is up a flight of stairs, our room is barely big enough to turn around in but we are greatfull for a wash up and a hot lunch. Then we stroll. Rishikesh/Luxman. Cows. Dogs. Bright colored cottages encircled by carefully plotted gardens. Jammed together row upon rows of shops. Clothing, Tibetan bowls, jewelry, shawls, hand worked wood kitchen implements, mobile phones and regional reliquery, paintings of saints and mirrored embroidery. Temples crawl with statues of idols, some painted, some so intricately carved that color would have proved a distraction. Across the river on a wobbling foot bridge to the more popular side of town, prices are appreciably higher and streets a lttle wider. We bargain hard for three large jeeps to take us a kilometer farther, to meet and have tea in the cafe of an old friend.

We're late to the river for Arati, but create our own. A sweet faced urchin lights my sugar cube, and when my launch fails to send my little boat of flowers far enough into the current, she wades after it and helps it to freedom. Against all common sense, I reward her with twenty cents. So you know what happens next. I'm surrounded by cherubs, hands imploring. Their gentle harrishes harmonize with my chanting to the river of life. Beautiful.

Cars carry back to our hotel for panzer in a red creamy sauce, rice and rotti, the ever popular fresh lime soda. Now to precious sleep.