My longest entry yet!

So, I found this tour to Haridwar a while back on the Delhi Tourism site and had been planning to check it out. Realizing it went to one of the holy Ganges destinations on the final days of the Kumbh Mela festival, which only happens once every three years, I got Chris and Peter (who arrived yesterday) on board, not believing there were open slots with less than a week notice. Granted, Haridwar was not hosting the festival this year, but it was still a very auspicious time to bathe in the Ganges.

This was my first trip outside Delhi…
…and now I know what everyone was talking about.

This journey was definitely a cultural experience.

Our taxi was an excruciating half-hour late due to “a flat tire”. Good thing I allowed a bit of buffer and that there is no traffic at 6:15am on Saturday. We made it to the office near Connaught Place punctually at 6:45am. Many people were gathered and there were two giant buses parked outside. People started walking over to the buses, but the main guy told us three to wait. Turns out that those buses were actually going to Agra (Taj Mahal). Our bus was a 12-seater parked out back. And only seven tourists were going.

We departed shortly after 7:15, driving pretty much back in the direction of Ghaziabad, passing Vaishali station on the way. Then we passed the border checkpoint and after that, I got my first glimpse of rural India.

What does rural India look like? Kind of like the city, just more of the dusty marketplaces and less of the shiny malls and tall apartment buildings. A couple towns looked a lot like what I saw on my FRRO trip to Ghaziabad proper. Some were just road-side food stalls and mechanics along the highway. It often appeared as if someone took a row of storage units and turned them into shops. Others were barely shacks with corrugated metal roofs, lined with Pepsi or Coca-Cola boards and the ubiquitous hanging potato chip bags attached to each other for easy display. At one point, we passed a random shiny building that I can only call the Baskin Robbins Oasis. The variety of vehicles was about the same except with the autorickshaws being replaced by oxen-pulled carts. Many of the trucks were so overstuffed with hay (or people) I couldn’t believe they were not losing their load.

A few hours out of Delhi, we passed some towns where most of the women were wearing burqas, which was a bit disconcerting. (We are still a good distance from Pakistan.) But then, typical Indian dress resumed. We stopped at a surprisingly nice rest stop – seriously, I had been beginning to worry about the quality of our food sources – where munchies and meals could be bought (I had an omelette and Peter had a grilled cheese sandwich, both delicious). The restroom may have been missing toilet paper, but it was clean enough. After all, it had an attendant, like every restroom I’ve been to in India.

The Surprisingly Nice Rest Stop

Ganges Pilgrims? All along the road, we kept seeing people doing a relay race in the other direction with decorated cars blasting music following along. We also saw quite a few men carrying over their shoulder a festive-looking half-circle shape. At first, I thought they were preparing for, or taking down, holiday decorations. I discovered later that they were pilgrims carrying water from the Ganges back to their home shrines. The farther we went, the more we saw, and the more I appreciated their long journey!

Welcome to Woodstock. We finally arrived in Haridwar and pulled into the parking area. It was like a county fair and hippie tailgate party all in one. Decorated cars, farm animals, blaring music, and general celebration in a giant dirt lot. There was a little confusion about what we should bring and when we would be able to get back to the van (it was not departing Haridwar for another 5 hours but the location of the van and driver would not be reliable until then). Were we doing a Ganges dip? (A “dip” was their term.) I still wasn’t sure. I mean, how crowded would it be? How dirty would it be? I wanted to be prepared for any scenario (I even had wrapped my vital documents in a waterproof ziplock in my money belt just in case.) One of the other tourists spoke awesome English and was invaluable in trying to figure out what the plan was, if there was one. After a lot of back and forth, I finally decided to bring my usual Giant Purse but stuffed in a change of clothes just in case. After what seemed like a while of preparing, we all walked to the Ganges staying, as they suggested, all together.

The Ganges at Haridwar

(And again, from the side with better lighting)

It was an amazing feeling, that first glimpse of the Ganges bathing area. Incredible. Everyone was there just to let the purifying Ganges water wash over them. A very positive feeling. I decided I was definitely doing the dip now. I was on such a cloud, I didn’t even mind when we had to take off our shoes before dipping. The driver who had been leading us up until then (and stopping, looking over his shoulder in a resigned manner whenever we paused to take photos) led us to the main area where stairs led down to the river. But before we go any further, an introduction of our little group.

Our Haridwar Seven

Us three were the only white folk. The tiny older woman standing next to me spoke not a word in English, but had a sweet smile. I got to practice my three Hindi phrases on her and so learned her name was Rita. The tall man on the left was Ricardo. During the ride up, I thought he was a quiet Indian, but he was actually a very friendly dude from Panama. No Hindi, but very good English. The remaining two were best friends, Ravi and Shaji. These two were so full of information and advice (solicited or not) that there was a point where I was wondering if they were part of the tour because the driver himself (presumably the only paid member of the tour) seemed to hardly speak any English. Ravi was our translating savior.

Near our dipping spot

Once we found a spot on the stairs to deposit our stuff (someone would take turns watching it and, wow, it was scary separating from my money belt), it was Ravi who pointed to a nearby doorway and told me it was a ladies changing room. Shortly later, Rita disappeared in that direction. He also told me that I should take my dip now and do photos later. Then he advised that I should just let other people take photos and share them with me later (I put my foot down there; I trust no one else to post or send photos.) Then he told me to be careful in the sun with my fair skin. Indeed, it was sunny and warm (maybe 80) and a perfect day for this.

Should I really do this??

All the women I saw were in full clothing (unlike the men) so, glad I brought a change of clothes, I stepped in jeans and all. Ravi joked they would be shrink-to-fit after that. I was told the proper thing to do was cup some of the river water to my mouth, sip it, then pour the rest over the top of my head. I was down with every part except the actual drinking. Although Shaji had been going on about the special bacteria-killing naturally-pure properties of the water (even saying at one point the H2O water molecule had a different angle?), I was not gonna drink it, but I sure as heck was going to dip.

My Ganges Dip

So how was it? Awesome! It was cold, but not freezing. It was the temperature of the ocean when my parents tell me how “warm” it is. Either way, it was very refreshing. I felt wonderful afterward! Apparently, I am now sin-free for three generations. (So if I ever have kids, that will mean something.)

So I went into the ladies changing room. No idea what kid of weird racket was going on in here. First, some ladies near the doorway said I could use a bench and asked me for money, but in a sort of fake way. Finally I said, “are you asking me for money just because I’m foreign?” I don’t think she understood, but she just waved me in. There were several large, wooden benches and older ladies sitting on them (sometimes with small children napping behind them) but I didn’t get it. I just wanted to change clothes. Finally, someone pointed behind the stairs to a quasi-private spot that another woman just finished changing at, so I changed there. (I’m not particularly modest, so I didn’t care where I changed.) When I was done, one lady tapped her bench, like she wanted me to sit there. What was she going to do? Comb my hair? Another lady put a red dot on my forehead. Confused, I eventually dug out 100 rupees for her. They wanted something else from me. I repeated the phrase “I don’t understand” in Hindi (“Mein nahi samachti hoon.”) several times, but nothing was made clear. I heard a woman behind me say in English, “just go” so I did. No idea what was going on in there; they did not look like beggars. In any case: dot number one.

Shaji has dual parentage (his father was Catholic and mother Hindi, I think) so he did this ritual in honor of his late father with a priest at the river. I took photos for him. The ritual was pretty long, but it was interesting to watch. At the end, the priest gave each of us a yellow dot. Dot number two!

Rituals and Dots

Shaji gifted me this white scarf, mentioning multiple times that it was from Kerala and handmade. He said I should wear it to protect my face from the sun. It was not a bad idea, but I kind of don’t like wearing scarves on my head and I didn’t want something else to carry around, as nice as the gift was. I kept putting it on my head, shading my face, then just taking it off. We slowly made our way back to the van to put back things like my bag of wet clothes.

On our way back, it occurred to me just how few foreigners we had seen. I thought I spotted one white couple right after we arrived. None since. That explained the staring factor. The staring here is at a whole new level. We are now museum exhibitions, not just novelties. For example, we were walking along this raised walkway where they were selling books, old coins, and other souvenirs. Some members of our group stopped to look at the merchandise and I walked a few paces on, just hanging out, waiting. Then several Indian guys (and one gal) gathered around me, just looking. If the rest of my group of seven (including muscular guys) had not been a few steps away, it would have been more intimidating. As it was, it was weird. To turn the tables, I took out my camera and photographed them. They thought this was unusual, but the woman wanted to look at the picture afterward to see how she turned out.

Stare at me and I’ll photograph you!

Eventually, we started walking back and were about to turn off the path into the lot to find the van.

That’s when we realized we had lost Rita.

She had been with us the whole time. And now, the tiny Indian lady most blendable with the surroundings was no longer with our group. We halted and spent some time looking. I did a loop around the marketplace we were in. Chris did a loop, too. Shaji told me to wear the scarf as the sun was indeed beating down. I put it on then thought, no, I’m the easiest person in our party to spot if Rita is looking for us. She seemed an independent lady, so I was not too worried, but we couldn’t leave without her. I figured that, if I were her and had lost my group, I would head back to the van. The others agreed. So, we waited a bit longer than eventually kept walking.

Rita was not at the van. But a group of old men begging were. And, despite being told off by the Indian folk (that always works in Delhi) they did not disperse. Ravi and Shaji were in the van talking nonstop. I was trying to think and couldn’t, probably because I was getting quite hungry as it was well past lunchtime (and no mention had been made of lunch nor was there any place to have a meal really). In short, I was stressed. Even Ricardo said later that I looked like I might explode on someone, though I promised not to explode on him. At any rate, I wandered a bit away from the van, looking for Rita, but not wanting to lose sight of the van myself. To my left, I suddenly saw Peter and Chris sitting at a coffee stall, munching on nuts. It was an okay vantage point so I decided to retrieve my own stash of munchies from the van since it looked like that would be our lunch. As I walked back, I got word that someone had found Rita. Whew. I sat, shared my nuts and raisins (the driver and his buddy were happy to oblige), had some chai, and tried to de-stress.

After a lot of discussion on what the next destination was (I got the impression we were behind schedule – and Ricardo was concerned how our itinerary did not seem to be following the site – but I had never seen an actual timetable), we finally decided to take the ropeway up to the temple, which was good because that was the place I most remembered wanting to see from the website.

Not losing Rita (foreground) again!

The gradually steeper, sometimes curving, roadways through this little town were cute and reminded me very much of the road to Kiyomizu in Kyoto, also on a hill. Our driver put us on two bicycle rickshaws who mainly had to pull us up as they certainly could not pedal uphill with three full-grown adults in the back.

Pulling the rickshaw uphill

The ropeway cost under 100 rupees and the line did not take long (though did involve going through security for the first time since Delhi.) But you could buy some munchies while waiting if you were so inclined.

The Ropeway and View

Shaji had me hold this little red bag he had purchased. I noticed a lot of people, even Rita, had bought these decorative red bags. I understood why at the top once we had removed our shoes and started through the temple. The bags were filled with lots of little trinkets to do blessings with. Circular red stickers for the wall, little pieces of paper with wishes to tie on a mesh grid (just like Japan), etc. Shaji offered to let me do some of his red-bag blessings, but I shrugged and declined. Then the corridors got narrow and very crowded with moving people. Everyone seemed in a hurry to go through, yet did not skip any of the “blessing stations” either. I got pulled down to my knees for one blessing station. The guy inside the alcove gave me a red mark on my forehead (dot number three), then asked for a donation. A donation for an unsolicited blessing. I dug out a 10-rupee note and put it in. “No, no, no” he said. I realized the bill was sort of covering his little bowl of red gunk so I moved it. But that was not his objection. He was shaking a 100-rupee note that someone else had donated. Yeah… No. I stood up and kept moving. My mood was not stellar and getting worse by the second as I realized that I was being herded from one blessing/donation station to the next in a pushy manner. I did not donate anything after that. Mansa Devi temple did not seem very holy to me. It seemed more like a gauntlet.

I was relieved to be free and back in my shoes. Chris suggested walking down instead of taking the ropeway and I jumped on that idea. Needed space. So the three of us separated, agreeing to meet the rest of the group at 7:30pm at the van, and we walked outside. I wiped away sweat from my forehead and my hand came off red. That’s when I decided to wipe that red temple blessing off my forehead with tissues.

The first thing we saw were monkeys! Lots and lots of monkeys!

As much as we photographed the monkeys, though, we were being photographed as well. I once turned and saw three guys with their mobile phone cameras pointed at me. So I posed. Museum (or zoo?) attractions, I tell you.

The Monkeys at Mansa Devi
(and view back up)

The walk down was fairly intense. There were a lot of beggars and ones in heart-wrenchingly awful shape. Every several paces during the hundreds of stairs going down the mountain was another beggar sitting on the side. I saw mostly men but the occasional child as well (I gave the first kid I saw some chocolates and should have realized when another little girl violently grabbed my dupatta scarf from behind several steps later that she was looking for chocolates, too. But I was startled and just pulled my scarf out of her grip and kept walking.) I saw a guy with missing feet and another with totally deformed feet bent in an unnatural direction. We wondered how they had gotten so far up the mountain. One guy had made a little house for himself, like a little cave with a canvas top that he could just fit under, sitting.

Almost down…

My calves were burning a bit toward the bottom. On the last stair was a beggar child who I swore said “chocolate” to me. (We were long past the previous chocolate.) I laughed and gave them one. We headed back into town, looking for a light dinner but none of the restaurants were open yet, so we settled for a glass bottle of coke, water, and the last of Chris’ cashews as we recovered physically and mentally from our walk down the mountain.

We managed by some stroke of luck to find a place to sit along the river for this lantern releasing called Aarti that everyone was talking about. Well… some people did gather flowers and other offerings in a giant leaf bowl, set it aflame, and set it floating down the river. That was kind of cool. But it was not many offerings. And not all at once, like we all thought it would be. And while we waited, we were insistently solicited for donations. Some, by people in a uniform. One guy was leading prayers, having us all lift our hands up at the same time – which was kind of fun – then splashing Ganges drips at us, and saying something that sounded almost angry in what I assume was Hindi. No idea what he was saying.

Waiting for the fire…
And Hindusm had this symbol first; it means good luck.

Ricardo, Shaji and the gang found us at our spot, so our group was back together. As we sat, some woman came up to give us another red mark on our foreheads. Chris and Peter allowed the red line (and donated) but I declined. Someone announced something and suddenly, half the people sitting got up to leave. Was it over? Was that all we were going to see of flaming offerings go by on the Ganges? Or was the action elsewhere? We never knew. A woman came up and, despite my protests, managed to put a red dot on my forehead. (And… dot number four.) She wanted a donation and very persistently was asking me something, but did not take my 10 rupee note. It was not until Ravi appeared that he explained that the woman was looking for a 50 or 100. Greedy. The woman did the same thing to Ricardo, who had the exact same experience with his 10.

Then a child came up and I had to physically stop her from putting a red dot on my forehead. Seriously. Only one of my dots I asked for. I wouldn’t have minded a freely-given dot, but they wanted the big bucks for them. Finally, we headed back to the van. I was a little bummed we never got to visit the giant statue of Shiva – it was very close. But oh well.

There’s Shiva

We were off. Somewhere between alcohol-free Haridwar and Rishikesh, we made a very long pit stop that included beer purchases (and juice, which Ravi insisted on buying for my benefit since I wasn’t drinking beer.)

The hotel, contrary to what was promised, had no restaurant. And no room service. I hung around and made sure that Ricardo and Rita got food and indeed, eventually, all of us went out into Rishikesh (it was about 10pm at this point) and got a very tasty meal at a local restaurant. It was Ricardo’s first real Indian food. He’d been in Delhi with his buddies (who did not want to come on such a “religious trip” with him) but had mostly been eating KFC and Dominos for the last several weeks.

Tomorrow: Rishikesh!