Discovering Rishakesh

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Crossing Over

After insisting the driver take me to the agreed destination and stop trying to drop me at his friends' guest houses, we arrived in Laskshman Jhula. He tried to drop me at the edge of town, I didn't know where I was but high up on a hillside I knew I wasn't at the bridge I'd asked for. I refused to leave until he dropped me where we agreed and he begrudgingly took me into town. He dropped me atop the steps to the bridge, I paid him and ignored his demands for more money as I walked down the bustling, bright, shop lined steps towards the bridge. I asked some French travellers if I was heading the right way and they confirmed I was. The place was very lively, the atmosphere was warm and friendly and I began to warm to the place instantly. As I crossed the bridge I was consumed by hunger and thirst. It was 7pm and I'd eaten just two slices of toast and drank a mere pint of water, 8 pints short of what I was drinking most days, but I felt this was more tolerable than diarrhoea at this point.

As I crossed the crowded footbridge over the Ganges I was struck by how many people were here, I'd expected a quieter place, but everyone was smiling and friendly, occasionally a stranger would stop in front of me to welcome me with a beaming smile, some even shaking my hand and thanking me for coming. It was close to a sensory overload and I filled with excitement at the experiences the coming days might hold.

Rishakesh sprang to fame when the Beatles came to an Ashram here and wrote the White Album. Since then it has been a mecca for those seeking answers to unknown questions and has become the self styled yoga capital of the world.

I located the guest house I'd chosen from the guide book, but the plump, jovial woman in the reception room told me it was full. I continued on through the narrow, lively streets looking for a place to stay. A young boy asked if I needed a place to stay and led me to a room down the road. He wanted 150 rupees a night which seemed a bargain, though the room was dingy and unwelcoming, with windows opening onto a dark corridor and a cramped, squat toilet in the corner. By now though I just wanted to settle, it had been a very long day and I agreed to take the room. I put my own padlock on the door and went to find food and water. A bag of crisps and some fresh water brought the life flooding back to me and as I returned to the room to have a proper look at it, I realised just how dirty and dingy it was. The lock on the inside of the door was broken and that finished it off – I gathered my things and headed back to the streets. Soon after I saw a sign to the Ganga View hotel, down a dark alley towards the river. I found someone that worked there and discussed rooms and prices. I took a look at a 200 rupee room and took it instantly. The room was colourful and bright, with windows on 3 walls and a clean, marble bathroom with a western toilet. Each window was adorned with a bright silk curtain, each in different colours. I thanked the man and began to make myself at home.

Taking Turns

After organising my things I walked the short distance from my room to the river. It was dark now and there was no one around on the steps which I'd walked down. I took off my flip flops and walked along the bottom step, my feet touching into the cold waters of the sacred river. I sat down with my aching feet in the water, feeling the cold cleanse the dirt from my soles and looked across at the lights from the ashrams (spiritual centres for yoga, religion, meditation, reiki etc.). There's a song that played by chance the day I moved to Sweden for work in 2009. Th song is Anywhere Is, by Enya and it had played on my iPod at random as I sat down by the river in Malmo on my first night of 3 months working abroad. Then, for the first time ever, I'd paid attention to the lyrics and realised they talked of taking turns in your life, not knowing what's next and not knowing whether you were beginning one journey, or ending an old one. The lyrics, sang to beautiful music, had struck a cord that night and since then it's held a poignant place in my travelling experiences. I liked to listen to the song at the start of each major new trip or turning point in my life, but until now I hadn't felt like I was at that point in India, as though I was still making my way to the start of my journey. I now felt as though I was starting that journey. I took my iPod from my pocket, selected the song and held it close to my ear as I listened. I felt a strong sense of emotion, which emotion I'm not sure, but the hairs stood up all over me and I had a sense that my adventure was truly now beginning. As the song finished I lay back on the step for a moment with my eyes closed, breathing deeply and feeling truly happy and relaxed for the first time since I'd left work and began the arduous process of shopping, packing and travelling.

As I returned to my room, I began to turn the key in the lock when I heard a huge amount of noise coming from the street above. I withdrew the key and walked to the street to investigate. The road was filled with Indians of all ages in very colourful silks, dancing and singing. Behind them, a cart shone a bright light through the speakers it carried and on to a band of drummers in orange robes, surrounding a suited man playing a trumpet. The music was loud and vibrant, the drums thumped an infectious rhythm and I quickly took out my camera to grab some shots of this most unexpected scene. The street was crowded with people observing the proceedings and as I jostled for a good angle to take a photo, I heard a familiar American voice... JAMIE! I turned around to see Ashley standing there, the girl from Delhi and the metro, camera in hand taking photos of the same scene. “How's it going?” she asked, “Tyler's just over there!” We stood chatting for a short while before I returned to the crowd for more photos. As I finished, I turned around to see them heading into a shop, so I went back to my room to get the much needed shower and rehydration I still craved.

Heading back into town, the street was now quieter, the band had moved on. I learned that they were there as part of a wedding ceremony, welcoming the groom. The shops along the street glowed brightly in the night, a colourful array of clothes and trinkets on display. I was soon drawn in to browse. I went into a shop that sold a strange array of things, many of which I couldn't fathom a use for, though I suspected I would understand much more after spending some time here. In that shop I found a selection of scrolls containing quotes from the Dalai Llama. On struck a chord with me, so much in fact that a bought a small version of it. Those of you reading this may or may not understand or agree with the following verse, but I want to pass it on regardless:

THE PARADOX OF OUR AGE
We have bigger houses, but smaller families;
more convenience, but less time;
more degrees, but less sense;
more knowledge, but less judgement;
more medicines, but less healthiness;
we've been all the way to the moon and back,
but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbour.
We build more computers to hold more information to produce more copies than ever,
but we have less communication;
We have become long on quantity, but short on quality.
These are times of fast foods, but slow digestion;
tall man but short character;
steep profits but shallow relationships.
It's a time when there is much in the window,
but nothing in the room.

I bought this and some small incense sticks for my room, the smell was now becoming quite homely, and headed over the road to an upstairs restaurant, up some metal stairs / ladder. The place had a very bohemian feel to it, a pile of shoes by the counter indicated I should take off my flip-flops, before wandering onto the colourful, rug covered cushioned floor, around which a square of squat tables was laid out, playing host to a wide range of travellers, of every nationality as they sat around on the floor cushions. Some were eating, some reading, others chatted in groups; some sat simply with their eyes closed, tapping their feet to they rhythmic Indian beats coming through the speakers. Many languages filled the air, all manner of English was being spoken as travellers from around the world conversed in a common language. I took a seat in a space to the right, next to a couple having a chess match, the loser would have to buy a banoffee pie for the other. I began talking to a couple to my left, an Israeli pair about my age, sat smoking hash. They'd been here a while, they guy had grown a full beard and they were both really chilled. I asked them endless questions about Rishakesh, things to do here and their experiences. We talked a lot about the state of affairs in the west and the middle east. Eventually I ordered some food and was soon tucking into a delicious spinach and mushroom burger. Here again they were familiar with travellers and had a menu to suit palettes from all over the world. When the Israeli couple left, I sat back against the wall, closed my eyes and listened to the music. I really did feel relaxed now. The music was fantastic and I was very reluctant to leave, but I was weary and worn out from the sickness that morning and the endless hours of travelling, so eventually I paid my dues and made my way back to my room.

That night I had the first solid sleep I'd had in weeks. I dreamt great dreams and woke up feeling amazing. I had a long lie in under the cool fan before getting up to find it was still only 9.30am and I had the whole day ahead of me.

The Waters Fall

Walking out into the main street I was struck y a beauty I hadn't noticed in the dark of the previous night. The town was flanked by lush hillsides; small mountains covered in green forest. Across the wide and fast flowing river, the same scene – the township giving was to tall peaks and thriving vegetation.

I took a stroll through town and sat in a riverside café for breakfast. Eating jam on toast and sipping a masala chai tea I began to write some of my blog. I didn't get very far however, as I'd finished eating and was keen to explore my new world. I watched people bathing in the river below me, hundreds of people dipping in the waters, some ritualistically, others just taking a bath. One man, startled by the cold, almost fell into the full flow of the river, his friends just managing to catch his outstretched arm. The bridge above heaved with colourfully dressed people crossing between the two sections of this northern part of town.

I popped back to the room to repack my bag and set off north, following the river in search of a waterfall the couple from the previous night had told me about.

The heat of the day was intense now and as I walked along I had a strong feeling of solitude. Other than the occasional car passing, I saw no other people walking the path. I stopped to walk down to some ruins by the river, it appeared someone called this home, but no one was in. Down by the riverbank three Indian men sat on a rock, watching me with intrigue as I climbed a rock nearby to take photos of the mighty flow of water as it rounded a corner towards me. A steady stream of white water rafting groups continued to float by – it didn't look like there was much white water on the river though and I decided I'd pass that one up and save the money for something else.

Back on the road I took my shirt off – not something I would do normally but there was so few people about I felt it acceptable. I soon had to stop and put cream on, I could feel my shoulders reddening after just ten minutes in the intense rays of the sun. I was getting through my water supply quickly and had a growing concern it could be an issue. As I walked I could hear loud chanting from an Ashram by the water on the western side of the river, as people bathed in the waters at the foot of its steps. A little further, dozens of rafts were on the banks as hundreds of thrill seekers prepared to get wet. Some were jumping from a small cliff nearby, often screaming as they plunged to the water below. A young Indian guy stopped his car and asked if I wanted a lift, but I felt that would spoil my little adventure and politely declined. Fifteen minutes or so later I came across a small selection of shacks by the roadside, selling basic supplies. I took the chance to stock up on a couple of litres of water. I asked the elderly woman serving ion the shop if she knew where the waterfall was; she told me to find the temple and go right. Sure enough, a little further down the road a found a small old red and white temple, with a thin path leading into the scrub behind.

I started down the track and was struck hard by the humidity as I entered the dense vegetation. I began to sweat instantly, but the path was steep and I was soon above the thick greenery and into the trees, where it dropped back to a cool 35 degrees or so.

As I slogged up the path I thought back to other travels, in 2008 I'd walked miles through banana plantations and into the rainforest of the Cook Islands to bathe in Wigmore's Waterfall. In Thailand, I'd walked for hours through the jungle, through rice paddies and hill-tribe villages to bathe in a waterfall lagoon. On the former trip I'd been with Charlotte, and the latter was with the two of us and another 20 or so people. This time I was alone and it seemed to make the walk have more impact. I was also soon to find that the impact of the destination would also this time be much more profound.

After ten minutes or so of forging my way through deciduous forest and sporadic undergrowth, I began to hear laughing echoing from the hills around me. Soon I saw a few people splashing around in a small brook. I paused on the trail, but this wasn't nearly big enough to constitute a waterfall. I soon had to cross through the water, my feet becoming wet and slippery and the grit of the track sticking between my toes. It wasn't long though, before the sound of laughter and joy filled the air and I saw the waterfall I'd been looking for. At the end of the trail, the rocks of the mountain formed a natural horseshoe, inside of which was a crystal clear pool. The white, glistening water was thundering down from the rock as a small waterfall, under which an army of people splashed around, throwing water at each other and trying to stand upright under the thundering water. I laid my bag down, stripped to my board shorts and climbed in. There were two other western tourists sat watching, both soaked already, but for now I was the only westerner in the water. I sat to one side while the people in there played around, but was soon dragged into the middle by the group. I stood under the heaving weight of water as it pummelled my head and back, slowly lowering myself into the pool, lying on my back and feeling the heavy, cleansing water massaging my body. I bobbed up and floated to one side, where it was like being in a hot tub. The pounding water was pushing air down with it, which bubbled up all around me in a lovely, relaxing fizz. My outstretched feet shook with the movements of the water impacting the pool close by. I didn't get to sit taking it in for long, as I was soon pulled back into the middle to pose for photographs with the excited Indians. We all splashed around, I washed and rinsed myself repeatedly under the mighty falls, each time feeling cleaner and deeply cleansed. I dug out my camera and for half an hour I took photos, smiled in other people's photos, got people to take photos on my camera; the atmosphere here was so friendly and the people so excited to be around one another it was like nothing I'd ever experienced, except for perhaps a few extraordinary nights when I was running the dance music society. After some hours of bathing, splashing, photographs and chatting, I stood out in the sun to dry. As I left the main waterfall, everyone took time to say goodbye to me and I began to walk back to the trail. I didn't get far before another group called me over for a photograph and again we sat chatting for some time.

After that I began to walk back, but I needed some cream again so I sat on a rock a little down the trail, out in the sun. I took a sip of water then just sat there for a minute, processing the events of the last few hours. I felt an incredible feeling of contentedness and a deep happiness. As I rubbed cream on my neck I noticed the necklace I'd made in Delhi was missing, it must have been beaten from my neck by the heavy waterfall. I didn't mind though – it did nothing to dent the mood I was in. I realised I was smiling to myself and must have been for some time, about nothing in particular. It was a good feeling.

As I ambled back down the track the trees down the hill to my right began to shake. I saw a monkey in one of the trees, the another, and another. I soon realised there were hundreds of monkeys in the forest around me and I took out my camera to try and get some good shots. I didn't get any good shots – I really missed having my SLR and a big lens, in the same way I had done in the Corbett Tiger Reserve a couple of days previously.

Silver Diamond Sand

As I began to walk back down the road to Rishakesh, I stopped at the shop I'd been to previously and thanked the old woman for her help. I bought a bag of masala flavoured crisps, though they turned out to be rather horrible. Walking back I passed numerous people walking the other way in search of the waterfall. Each stopped and asked for directions and each time I told them with unshielded enthusiasm where it was and how beautiful a spot it was when you found it.

A short way further down the road, as I walked in a near daze of contentedness, I saw below me a white sand beach, dotted with people and a shallow stretch of very inviting looking water. I found a way down the hillside and on to the beach, took of my shoes and walked towards the water. The sand here was not like any I'd ever seen – silver and grey, almost pure white and dotted all over by shiny specks of who-knows-what, making the whole beach glisten like diamonds in the snow, it's hard to convey just what it looked like, but I've never seen sand like it. The white beach was hot on my feet, but also soothing. I walked slowly, feeling the sand between my toes and looking down at the glistening floor beneath me. Soon I was sat by the waters edge in a quiet little spot, looking out across the river. I stripped down to my shorts again and sat basking in the intense sun. It didn't take long for the water to become irresistible. I walked slowly off the bank, feeling the cold strike me feet, then my legs; I paused at the top of my thighs and spent a minute adjusting. Then I walked straight in up to my chest. There is a ritual of dunking oneself in the Ganga three times and whilst I was yet to understand the significance of this, I did it anyway. The first was a quick dunk; the second I stayed under a little while and the third, after regaining my breath, I dropped right down to the bottom, lying on my back on the dense, silty bottom and for a minute or so staying perfectly still as I felt the might weight of the river washing over me. I burst out of the river for air and stood in the water, tingling head to toe. Once again I felt cleansed and the deep sense of happiness grew even more.

I lay on the beach, still tingling from the river and warmed myself in the unbroken sunshine. I sunbathed and dunked repeatedly for the next hour or so,lying on the beach smiling to myself between the cleansing, refreshing triple dunkings.

Some time had passed when I began to feel hungry and set off at a slow pace along the beach. I stopped a little further down and took an empty bottle from my bag. I waded into the river and filled the bottle with the cold Ganga water, to be taken home for Lorna. I took a photo of the spot where I bottled it and sealed the lid tightly in place.

A little further down the river, after stopping to take photos of some cows grazing in the picturesque surroundings, I ran out of beach and my path was blocked by boulders and rapids. As I walked back to find a way up to the road, my right flip flop snapped and came off my foot. The rest of the walk back was a mix of hobbling barefoot on roasting hot stony tarmac and trying to walk with a barely attached shoe folding under my foot and falling off every 3 steps. It took a while.

The Start of Deep Debates

Back in Rishakesh I shopped for some new flip flops and went to pick my laptop up to do some blogging. As I walked out from my hotel I'd taken about three steps when I bumped into Ashley again. She said she, Tyler and two other people were just about to eat in a nearby café and invited me to join them. After calling in a couple of shops I climbed the stairs to the café but Tyler and Ashley weren't there yet. I sat at an empty table but heard two American voices behind me. “I don't suppose you're waiting on another couple coming back are you?” I turned and asked. The were indeed, so I introduced myself and joined them. They were college students from Colorado and were in India on a college trip. I couldn't believe the tale when they told me. They had 8 weeks in India, travelling all over and doing some of the most amazing things, physical activities and adventures as well as meditation courses, yoga and home-stays – and it was all counted towards their final marks! The trip was subsidised and by doing it they would get a better mark in philosophy and in religious studies. I was astonished by that and wished those sorts of opportunities were available at home.

When Tyler and Ashley came back we ordered food and sat chatting for hours. The conversation grew deep, starting with the death of Osama Bin Laden and finishing in deep philosophical debates about the mind and soul. We talked for hours, occasionally one of us would go away for a few minutes while the restaurant owner gave us a kicking at chess, but would soon be back. I came the closest to beating him, as after watching him play a few games I could see he had a clear strategy, so I opened with a couple of stupid moves that threw him off his plan. I still lost.

Long after dark, and after half an hour of proper dark thanks to a power cut, the two college lads left and Tyler and Ashley invited me back to theirs to hear some of Tyler's music. I stopped by my room to grab The Alchemist, as they had both heard about it and were interested in reading it. I was now reading the Way of the Peaceful warrior, another book gifted to me by Richard the previous weekend.

Back at their place we sat on their extensive balcony over the Ganga (they were paying £6 a night, I had to share a balcony for my £2.50 a night) and sat talking, bathed in the green light reflected off the vibrant walls around us. We listened to Tyler's songs on the iPod and soon he agreed to play a song he'd written the night before, about travelling and getting to Rishakesh. The song was beautiful and I could relate to every word, I knew what he was referring to almost all the way through and the words seemed to perfectly reflect the day I'd just had. I asked if I could video him playing a song, so that when I get around to doing a video for this trip I could include it. He obliged, but played a different song that he knew more thoroughly. We rearranged the furniture to get the lighting right and recorded a lovely song, Ashley sang along too.

Soon after this, we were joined by their new neighbour, a 27 year old Spanish man called Vincent. He wore full, long white linen and was on something of a spiritual journey. He'd just finished his yoga instructor qualifications and had returned to Rishakesh to become a reiki master. He spoke very, very highly of his reiki teacher and both Ashley and I took her number. I knew little of the discipline prior to that conversation but now I was really intrigued. I asked Vincent how he'd feel about trying out his new yoga teaching skills on someone that had never done it before and we arranged to meet the following night. Tyler and Ashley asked if they could join in and he agreed. “Not teaching” he said, “just four friends having fun”. That's good enough for me, I thought. He then remembered that one of the next two nights was the full moon and for some special reason it was auspicious. All over the world on that night people would join in mass meditation and he didn't want to miss it. Tyler and I had been discussing meditation earlier and neither of us understood it or knew how to do it, we asked Vincent if he'd mind us joining him. He had no issues with it and after some confusion about which day was which we agreed to meet at 9pm the following night regardless and do one or the other.

Ashley had been learning tarot and she sat reading Vincent's cards as Tyler and I talked our way through another host of deep subjects, exploring ideas and concepts that wouldn't be considered mainstream. It wasn't long however until sleep was knocking for me and it was time to retire. We bade farewell until the following evening and agreed that if anything changed we would take the old fashioned notes under the door approach to letting each other know.

After a short read of my book I was soon asleep.

Writing with the Flies

The following morning I awoke much slower than the previous day, rising closer to 10am. This was going to be the day I caught up on my writing. Gathering my things I began to recount the events of the previous days in my head, before heading out to find breakfast. I walked to the river to find a place with a nice view, settling on a small raised lounge of cushion floor seating. As I sat and opened my laptop I noticed a lot of flies skirting about me. This wasn't too uncommon so I went ahead and ordered a cheese omelette and some masala chai tea. The place was playing nice laid back western music; Dido, Tracy Chapman, Enya, Jack Johnson. I liked the background ambience, but I ate my breakfast at an astonishing rate, having it essentially ruined by the amount of flies around me. I was quick to pay the bill and leave.

I moved on to the Ganga café where I'd sat a few days previously, ordered a water and sat writing for the next 4 hours, until I drained every last bit of power from the batteries. As I sat there, Indians came in a constant st5ream to bathe in the Ganga below. Women bathed fully clothed and soaked through, men bathed in their underpants and children bathed naked. After paying for my water, I made my way back to the room, put a chair on the small balcony outside with my laptop plugged in by the door and continued documenting my story.

I stopped typing at close to 5pm, having caught up to within half a day of where I now was. I repacked a bag and set off on the 2km walk south to Swarg Ashram, another area of Rishakesh downstream, named because of the number of Ashrams and meditation centres there. The walk was a busy one, hundreds of Indians were making their way down this road for reasons I didn't know. I was heading there to see the Ganga Aarti. I wasn't sure what it was, but it was held every night at sunset and I had been told it was worth checking out.

Spiritual Songs

Arriving in Swarg Ashram I was struck by the difference of the place to Lakshman Jhula, despite being part of the same town. This place was much less touristy, moire densely populated and awash with beggars, sadhus (spiritual men in orange robes) and macaques. I stroll around for some time, aware it was close to sunset and keen to find the Ganga Aarti I was looking for. As I stood on the stepped bank of the Ganges, an Indian man approached me and, taking a finger of red dye from a small tin, drew a bindi (red dot) on my forehead. He tied a bunch of red cords around my wrist and placed in my hand some small white beads and an orange flower. He tried to explain the significance of this to me, but something was lost in translation and it became another thing I'd have to look up. I'd read the bindi was usually worn by women, but that didn't seem to be the case here.

I wandered around some ornate gardens, with evening prayer bellowing out of speakers around the place, before heading back down to the main road by the river, following it until I found what had to be the Ganga Aarti I was looking for. A crowd was gathering around a semi circular concrete pier, across from rows of steps on the river bank. I began to feel hungry and realised I hadn't eaten since breakfast, but I didn't know how long I had until the even, whatever it was, would start. I mulled around taking photographs as the crowd grew. The sunset began to burn fiery reds in the background, descending towards the mountains directly opposite the assembling throng. Nearby, an old man sat attentively wrapping tiny paper parcels and placing them on tiered gold trays. He'd been doing this for some time but I couldn't fathom what 'this' was.

I took countless photographs over the next half hour as rows of young men in yellow robes began to sing; a microphone was passed around as their voices boomed loudly through speakers all over the area in which we were gathered. Two western girls joined the crowd and stood nearby taking photos also. The song and the drumming gathered pace as the sun began to make it's last glowing movements to the horizon. I stood mesmerised by it for a little while; in the haze of the mountains it was possible to stare directly at it. Our glowing star was bright yellow at the top, fiery orange in the middle and finished off by an arc of the deepest red across the bottom of it. I tried to get a photo of it, but I couldn't do it justice – I'd need a proper lens and filters for that. Suddenly the music ceased and the gates to the pier were opened. People began to stream through to the platform in the middle. I stayed put as I didn't know what was going on. The two western girls however went ahead and joined the crowd on the pier. I mulled it over – no one had so much as cast them a glance so I figured it must have been OK. Besides, I was being pestered by flies where I sat and thought there may be some respite from this over the river. The gates had now been closed, but as some people talked their way through I slipped into the back of the small group and didn't pause for long enough to be told no. I sat by the other westerners on the platform as the ceremony began. First there was singing, a chorus of singing from the yellow robed young men at the centre of the steps opposite. Then an old man in deep red robes with a long bear descended the steps and took a spot in the middle of the group opposite. Below him, a group of people in colourful dress were sat on a small floating platform, throwing small offerings into a fire burning just above the water level between where they sat. The red robed man took the microphone and began to sing. His voice seemed to carry on the wind, deep and husky but with a melody to it that soothed the ears. People all around began to clap in time with each other, following the rhythm of the song. I joined in as I sat cross-legged on the concrete. After a couple of lovely songs, the central group began to light fires on small gold trays; they were the things I'd watched the man attentively preparing earlier. Small fires burned all over, as the singing continued and everyone in the immediate vicinity of the important red robed man sang along word for word. I took a video as the flames were held high and moved around in symbolic motion.

After watching this for some time the ceremony began to draw to a close and I left the pier. Back up the steps towards town I saw the two western girls and we began to talk about the ceremony. None of us properly understood it and felt that something significant had been lost on us. It turned out were were all staying back up the road in Lakshman Jhula and we decided to head back there to get some dinner. As we walked back down the pitch dark, though busy road, we talked at length about home and work. It turned out that all of us had left our jobs to travel and review the directions of our lives. Tamsin and Kate were both from London, but were unsure what they were going to do when they got back. They still had a month left in India yet, but it had become clear to all of us that two or three months in India is nowhere near enough. I have two months and won't even be able to see a fraction of just the north west, not if I want to do it justice. Luckily I hadn't gone to India on a sight seeing exercise, I was there for quality of experience, not quantity. I'd only been there a week on that day, but something was already telling me I'd be back in India in the not too distant future.

New Faces and Literary Debate

We sat down to eat in the Little Buddha café, close to my room. The place was spread over two floors, dimly lit with warm lights and overlooking the river, the rooms and furniture all made from dark hard-woods. The table tops were sections of huge logs and the roof was supported by thick wooden beams, all stained in a soothing deep brown. The chairs were big wooden basket chairs with thick cushions, really slouchy and comfortable. I ordered a vegetable byriani with a masala chai and nipped back to my room to see if I'd been left a note for the nights plans. I was back in a few minutes, so I assumed nothing had changed. That only left me 45 minutes to get my dinner and be ready for 9, which was tight, though Vincent had said the previous night “9 Spanish time” which meant anything before 10 would be fine.

We sat chatting and I noticed a girl sat on her own, looking around as I had on my first night wondering whether to join a conversation. I invited her over and she introduced herself. Her name was Jasmine, a strikingly pretty girl from Israel. She told us how she lived on the Gaza Strip, in the middle of the fighting. Her whole family was there and she intended to move back once she's finished travelling. As we exchanged travel tales Jasmine began to tell us how she's spent the previous week travelling to Gangotri, up to the Gaumukh glacier and the source of the Ganges; the same place the pilgrim I met on the bus head been heading. I'd been considering heading up there from Rishakesh and the way she described it sold it to me entirely. The town, the ashram, glacier and hot springs that dotted the 37km round trip sounded wonderful. The two other girls also seemed to love the idea and I watched as their plans begin to fall apart around this idea. I recalled what the lively group had said to me on the roof top in Delhi, of how it's impossible to stick to your plans when you're travelling in India – I was now starting to see quite clearly how this was in fact the case.

As we talked, Tamsin told us of her plans to spend the following week in an ashram for 7 days, doing a course in yoga and meditation. Each day was to last from 5.30am to 9pm and follow a strict schedule designed to ensure the best outcome for the mind and spirit. As she explained it to us I began to really like the idea, and the cost worked out well. She told me that the final session of the season was beginning the coming Saturday and I took the contact details from her. I intended to go to the internet café the next morning to try and book a place for a week. If that worked out, I'd stay in Rishakesh until after that, then head out to the glacier and the source of the Ganga the following week.

We were later joined by another couple, Chris and his girlfriend, who had an odd name which escaped me within moments of being told.. The girl had been studying in southern India for some time and her boyfriend Chris, a drum and bass / dubstep DJ & producer from London, had come to join her and travel in the north for a month. I told them about the mass meditation that Vincent had told us about and everyone wanted to get involved. I would find out the details that night. Soon after they arrived I noticed it was gone 9.30, so, after a short power cut, I said my goodbyes, exchanged numbers and headed off to Vincent's room for yoga.

I trudged over there, heavy from my food and chai and not really in the mood for yoga. Arriving at Vincent's room I could see that Ashley and Tyler weren't in next door. I spoke to Vincent who'd just got in and he was as tired as I was lethargic. He'd found out about the meditation though and produced a map. It was to be held at 7.30pm the next night – he knew the location so gave me the map to meet him there. We agreed to give the yoga a miss and I headed back to the restaurant. We continued to talk at length. I told tales of the beach and the waterfall to the north, in return everyone else told of their highlights of northern India. My pen got a good working keeping track of ideas for places to visit. We had two English degree holders with us and naturally the conversation turned to literature, though as was become precedent, it focused on books of philosophy, spirituality and the mind. Each of us recommended several books to the others and discussed the merits of ones we'd all read. Under particular focus was The Alchemist, which I'd finished reading a couple of days previously and had handed over to Tyler to read. We debated the ideas it put forward and the two English students put forward a critique of it's literary style. I feel it sounds boring as I describe it, but the conversation was very intelligent, touching on deep and very enjoyable.

As 11pm rolled up we decided to call it a night. The others were set to leave the next morning but by the were having second thoughts. The waterfall, the beach, the glacier, this town – there was a lot worth staying for. We each exchanged numbers and agreed to meet for the meditation the next night if anyone stayed around.

I retired to my room and resumed my writing. My stomach was feeling uneasy again but I managed to block it from my mind, mostly. I typed until the early hours, until my eyes burned with tiredness but I was finally caught up with the blog. I'd written 17 pages of a4 that day, over 15,000 words, as well as managing to experience more new things, see a new place and meet many new people. I wondered how sustainable writing at the current level of detail was going to be. It was a challenge to keep up with it, but I felt I'd be very happy to have done it in later life. I also wondered how many people were actually reading this; I'm writing this account for myself as much as anyone else, but I did wonder. I had some other things I wanted to write down from the discussions we'd been having lately; some things to think about, but that would have to wait as sleep was knocking hard on my door. Tomorrow I would have to try and get my blog entries online – but first I had 600 more photos to sort out and add to it.

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Photos

First Night in Rishakesh
The Ganges (Ganga) is lit by the lights of Rishakesh as I bathed my feet on arrival

Marriage Ceremony
The streets come to life as musicians belt out songs for a marriage

Over the Road
An old, impressive temple sits over the road from the back of my hotel

Prayer Beads
A stall sells colourful prayer beads on the road north out of town

13 Storey Temple
A huge temple complex towers above the road by the Lakshman Jhula foot bridge

Ruins on the Riverbank
It appeared these ruins were someone's house, but nobody was home

Danger...
These signs warn against bathing at various points on the banks of the Ganga

Lanzarote?
This seemingly random photo of a road is included as it's a very close match to one I took in Lanzarote, which is one of my favourite photos ever. This doesn't have the same mystique as the original but I like it none the less

Getting to the Waterfall
Small waterfalls wet the appetite on the walk up the hill to the main waterfall

Indians Bathe
There is an unusual yet obvious party atmosphere at the waterfall

Please Take a Photo of Us
I ended up obliging people with loads of photos of random Indians, but this one sums it up well

Profile Shot
The waterfall beats down on my head as I pose for a photo

New Friends
As I began to take photos, everyone around me wanted to get in on the action

More Randoms
Even on the walk back I was stopped for photos. The man in his pants didn't strike me as odd at the time as everyone was bathing like that

Bottles at Source
Bottling Ganga water for Lorna

Riverside Pasture
In my favourite shot of the day, a cow grazes beside me as I sit on a stony section of riverbank

Comments

[Siva]

I felt like I am at Rishikesh..
I am the same guy who commented on your May 12 post.You have written with just the empathy towards the culture and the place. All the people from the west simply compare things and irritate themselves over what is not here to what should have been here, thinking on better standards. You seem to see things as they are and enjoy places. Great blog.Keep it up and enjoy India. I do travel a bit and am from southern india. Would be glad to give you any travel advice if you plan to visit the south.Happy travelling..