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Published: September 16th 2008
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As I said, this is a Turbo Tour:
Early Saturday morning (after a fantastic breakfast in the hotel dining room), I made my way to the train station, where I quickly and easily confirmed my train the following day to Agra. I then jumped on a bus and rode the one hour bumpy, trafficky ride into Rishikesh.
Once again, I was the ONLY foreigner on the bus. People stared at me. A lot.
Rishikesh is a peace-loving little town on the banks of the Ganges, also known as the Yoga Capital of the World - made famous by the Beatles' extended ashram stay in the 60s. It is filled with yoga centers, ashrams, Western-oriented coffee shops, and hippie-like foreigners and expats on their own path toward spiritual enlightenment. Good vibes abound in Rishikesh. It was a hot day, but I braved the sun anyway and explored the town, walking up and down the beautiful river, across the picture-perfect bridges, landing finally in a German bakery/restaurant to enjoy - for the first time in weeks - Western cuisine. Soup and salad. Such a treat.
Speaking of eating, I should mention that I have nearly mastered the art of
eating with my fingers - the right hand, to be exact. In eateries not accustomed to serving foreigners, as well as at the ashram, fingers replace chopsticks, forks and spoons, and chapati (unleavened bread, not unlike a tortilla) and hands serve as utensils to gather food into small piles and help it to find its way into one's mouth. It is an artform, and I marvel at those - especially foreigners - who have become experts, with skilled fingers deftly maneuvering the food into manageable portions. For food preparation, bare hands are used to cook and blend and mix food together - one never sees a streetside chef using a large spoon. It's all about the hands.
On a similar yet wholly distinct topic of learning, first in China and now in India, I have become an absolute expert at using the anti-Western version of toilets so prevalent in Asia. These are no more than holes in the dirty ground with dangerously slippery foot beds on either side, on which you do NOT want to slip. That would get really ugly. In these types of toilet stalls, no toilet paper is ever available, that would be unheard of. There
is no ability to flush, no sink with hand soap, no towel, no mirror to check your reflection and make sure your skirt is not tucked into your panties by mistake - none of these simple luxuries we take for granted here in the the West. When fortunate enough to find one of these absolutely horrifying and filthy "toilets" in a public place (because finding a toilet stall with walls in the great outdoors or in a busy marketplace might be considered a luxury, considering one's location) I have begun to master the art of its use: Take a deep breath and hold it in. With full attention and utmost concentration, position one's feet and slowly move into a squat position. Balance..... Now, carefully hold bag on lap while digging through it for tissues. Try to hold nose, continue to hold breath, and do not under any circumstance exhale or inhale. Do not slip, falter, sneeze, or cause any other movement that could lead to a messy disaster. If a fly lands on your knee, ignore it. Do your business, then somehow return to a standing position, bag never having touched the ground, put yourself back together, and exit the
stall with as much dignity as you can muster. If this were an Olympic event I would most definitely win Gold.
Now considering the toilet and the eating situations here require a lot of hand use, it makes sense that cultural norms demand that the left hand is reserved for undesireable bathroom duties, and the right hand for eating (as well as shaking hands). Never, ever get caught eating with your left hand. A big no-no in Indian culture, and utterly rude. And gross, if you think about it.
But all this leaves me wondering... what about those born left-handed? What are they supposed to do? Is this handedness discrimination?
OK back to the topic of food: A theme to dining here in India, no matter what the setting, is eating quickly. Very quickly. In the ashram, meals lasted all of 10 minutes, then everyone quickly rushed out to wash their plates and go about their business. So unlike European culture, eating seems to be a practical affair rather than a social one. There is no lingering over a meal, making it last, chatting with friends, casually paying the bill when you feel like it. Rather, in
a restaurant, the second that plate is emptied of its contents, it is whisked off the table and the bill is dropped down. The waiter will often stand there until you fork over the cash. And if you dare stay seated at the table, reading your Lonely Planet or just hanging out, watching the scene unfold around you, you will probably get asked to leave to make the table available to other customers. It wasn't just me, this seems to be the norm across the board with all diners. Eat and run. I hate being rushed out, but such is life here. I have to remind myself that I am not in Paris. As though I might get confused about this.
After the expedited but very full visit to Rishikesh, I made my way back to Haridwar in the late afternoon, just in time to catch the beautiful Ganga Arati ceremony held every evening on the banks of the river. I then weaved my way through the hordes of people and crowded streets of the bazaar, and treated mysef to another dinner of Palak Paneer and sinfully buttery naan, as soft and flaky as a freshly baked croissant, at
the restaurant Hoshiyar Puri. Seriously, why eat anything else?
Just make sure you eat it very quickly. And with the right hand, of course.
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