Day 11: Hardwar

May 28. I would have stayed in Rishikesh another night just for that sweet room but I felt like I was done there and I was ready to go. My restless feet need to be on the move again. I ended up taking a rickshaw all the way to Hardwar since it is so close and the shared rickshaws make that trip anyway. My plan was to get an AC room asap. I needed the cool air. I found a room, rested and watched TV. Hardwar is a bigger city, a bit more chaotic and about three times the population of Rishikesh. I was in no rush to hit the street once I was inside. The main thing here is the ganga aatri performed by the river at dusk. There is also a temple on a hill that pilgrims come to from afar. I thought why not start there.

The temple is reached by taking a cable car. The ticket window for the cable car had a sign that said “1 hour wait time.” along the way to the ticket window are stalls and shops selling offerings that people can buy to bring up to the temple. Ok so far pilgrims are paying to buy offerings and paying to buy a ticket to a cable car. Awesome. Once you have your ticket you go into a “waiting hall,” basically an area where they put up bamboo posts and a tarp on top for shade with some seats. As you enter this area you pick up a number. Groups are called in every 10 minutes or so. It took about an hour wait for my turn. Meantime I notice this boy and his friends looking at me and the boy comes to sit by me and tries to ask me questions like “what country, what name..”, I wish he knew more English or I knew Hindi to communicate, he was very cute and his friend was even cuter. I am sure they had no dubious intentions but after 11 days of traveling solo and no sex being approached by a group of handsome 20somethings will automatically trigger fantasies of orgies.

My number is finally called and I push and shove as you have to do, and walk down a cluster phobic path only to find another waiting area. What is this Six Flags? Ok fine, wait some more then finally we get called to get into another cluster phobic path towards the cable cars. “Oooh what is this? Another stall selling “offerings,” this is it folks buy up your offerings before its too late, its your last chance.” it was an awkward few moments as I was singled out since I was alone and each car takes four. Most people do things like this in groups, no solo pilgrims, tourists or visitors here. So I had to wait to the side until there was a group of three that I can tag along with. Finally a cute family, two parents and a little boy and me, their adopted cable car rider. We wiz up the side of the hill, it was a very nostalgic moment, especially with this nuclear family sitting across from me, I felt like I was peering into some random family’s family album. In fact they asked me to take a picture for them that will probably end up in an album. I was cute.

Once you get off the cable cars there are more stalls selling offerings. The selling never ends here, it was like a little bazaar at the temple. Architecturally there is nothing of interest. But I should have known that. This is not about grand architecture, it is a place where people believe a special power resides and they make it holy. Now the way people around here seem to experience the sacred it beyond me. There is so much money being thrown around. And the hundreds and thousands of identical prepackaged offerings are handed to two guards that are standing at the shrine who then dump the contents into a huge pile. Really? Is that it? I wasn’t very moved by any of this, not that I was resisting but it just seemed like such empty ritual to me, very different from my experience at the Golden Temple for example. There was a woman crawling on all fours, she must have sinned really bad or something, people were pulling their kids away from her, she was sweating perfusly and people were giving not so nice looks. I wonder what she did or what she wants to make her go at such lengths.

It was all so brief as I was pushed down the conveyer belt of pilgrims and visitors and before I knew it it was done. I was on my way out. It was all about 7 minutes but I am still glad I waited to experience this. I was shaken for some money, when I only put five rupees the “priest” shook my arm for more before he can give me my bindi.

I decided not to wait in line for the cable car down and just walked it. I had to go back to the hotel and shower after that.

In the evening I went to the main temple on the river, Har-Ki-Pairi Ghat to watch the ganga aarti. This was, like in Rishikesh, an awesome people watching event. It was much more crowded here, much bigger. I was trigger happy with my camera. It was pretty fun.

On my way back I found myself drawn into this restaurant, they had a printout advertising “Thali for 60 rupees” and without thinking, since I was hungry, I was inside waiting for food. I always attract funny looks here, people don’t know what I am. I look Indian but I guess something gives me away: the fact that I am alone, the way I sit and wait, the fact that I use hand sanitizer before I eat, that I eat with a spoon not my hands. I have no idea what the individual things were but that was by far the most amazing and delicious Indian dinner I’ve had yet. And it was just over a dollar. Im happy. The little boy that served looked so Asian, Chinese mixed and was a cute little happy kid who kept bringing me more to fill my plate. He was so happy to get a tip I felt like I made his day. I left smiling and with no unpleasant bowel movements :)

Day 10: Ganga Aarti in Rishikesh

Feeling surprisingly refreshed for someone that was just on a bus for 12 hours I take my bag and try to find a place to stay. At first I share a rickshaw with three girls and we go to the High Bank area where a guesthouse was recommended. Didn’t like it so I put my bag back on and head back downhill, on foot. Its hot and I am just realizing how dehydrated I am, but I need the workout. Finally made it down and walked along the road until I saw a pedestrian suspension bridge. I follow my intuition and cross over. On the other side I check my book and decided to check out this ashram by the river. I get there but my mind can’t stop wondering about this santosh puri ashram the French woman wrote on her note. Should I just go there? What should I do? This compact little cute Indian guy strikes conversation with me and starts following me. He said he was just interested to talk to foreigners to practice his English. The guy seemed genuine so we hit it off. But my bag is still on my back and the sun is only intensifying. We go to the ashram I read about in the book. Very colorful place with sculptural representations depicting various religions scenes. The scenes were in cages or display cases, however you want to describe them. It was like a shiva/hindu theme park. We sat there in chatted some more but I wasn’t sure if this was the place for me so we left and walked back across the bridge and I started searching for a regular guesthouse. I am already exhausted by this point. My friend Lalit buys me a soda. He was a devotee of Shiva and had a lot to say about it. Nice guy, seemed to be really spiritual but not in the cheesy way that I’ve seen Westerners be “spiritual” in India. He kept saying “people come to India for peace but India lost its peace.” I mean yes Lalit, please don’t speak the obvious.

I see two blonds and I am drawn to ask them “where are you staying?” of course they respond “Parmarth Niketan Ashram! They have great rooms and the food is good.” oh really? that’s the place with the statues, the Shiva theme park across the river. So I tell Lalit, who’s been following me for over an hour by now that I will go back to that ashram to get a room. He wishes me good luck and walk away thinking to myself “I can’t believe I’m gonna cross that bridge for a third time already.” but I do and I make it back to the ashram. At the reception an old lady tells me “no room!” to which I respond by slapping my face with both hands “oh no! but I came so far for this place!” I am dripping in sweat and I played out the whole exhausted lost traveler look to gain her sympathy. Finally she pretends to make a phone call then says “ok ok, how many night you stay?” I say one maybe two, “ok ok one night I have a room.” I am relieved.

The room was amazing! My favorite room so far. It was so unintentionally modern with built-in concrete shelving. The bedroom had a backdoor leading to little space that I could only describe as a courtyard with an opening below to a similar space for the room under me and an opening above to the sky. To the right is a marble counter spanning the width of the room with a sink at one end. Then a door leading to the bathroom. All marble floors, very simple, very clean. I love it. Alas, the ceiling fan was not enough to cool this boy. This turned out to be the one of the hottest days here. I melted into the bed and passed out.

Hours later I woke up and went out to check out Rishikesh, or at least the area I was staying in, which I think was the best part where the ghats and temples lined the river. It was nearing dusk and around 6:30 the Ashram/temple where I was staying performs a ganga aatri, a ceremonial prayer by the river Ganges. This was some of the best people watching I had done so far. Students in bright orange and yellow robes, old men in faded pinkish robes, women in traditional dress, visiting families in jeans, a sprinkle of tourists, all kinds of people were there. The ceremony has a sequence and I am not very familiar with this so please don’t quote me on this but there was singing and chanting, sometimes clapping. Then there was a part when offerings, mostly flowers, were presented to a pit of fire. Then there was the culmination of the ceremony when flames were waved and people seemed to want to come as close as they can to the flame, put their hands over it then tough their heads and faces. At the center of all this is the head priest of the Ashram, who seemed like a rock star. This guy had a huge head of hair perfectly puffed almost like an afro with a streak of silver hair around one side of his face. When he entered the area by the river where the ceremony is taking place, people stood and parted way. There are banners all around with pictures of this guy, one of them even has him photoshopped next to the Dalai Lama. The pomp was almost Catholic.

I am really starting to like this. This was the first time that it really hit me that I am in India. I mean up until now it has been oddly banal, but being at this ceremony with all its performance and variety of people and energy was different. I walked briefly through a little market then headed across the bridge yet again (four times today) and walked aimlessly.

I noticed a place called Madras Café. I was hungry so I went. I was the only person there besides an older white man dressed in all white. He sat at the table next to mine. Seems like he’s been in India too long. I look at the menu and I found myself asking that guy if he’s been here before. I didn’t even think before I made the decision to speak with him it kind of just happened. He said he’s been here plenty and they have good food and made a recommendation. He also asked me to join him at his table. Peter was his name and he lives in Bayridge Brooklyn. What are the chances. “your name is Mohamed, that must get you into trouble these days? Huh? Some of my friends won’t even buy a falafel because they don’t know, maybe one out of ten guys is no good and supports AlQaida.” oh lord, is this really where this conversation is going? Luckily it didn’t stay that way. I think he was surprised to meet a guy named Mohamed in India, traveling alone, speaks English with no accent and blah blah. I understand. “but you don’t have an accent, you sound like New Yoka.” I’m thinking to myself “I am a New Yorker dammit. And stop trying to find out if I a religious or not just cuz my name is fucking Mohamed, I wish my name was Khalil or something.” The conversation actually took a more pleasant turn and we ended up talking about Middle East history, since he thinks I’m an expert, and it was all interesting. I got a free dinner out of it. Peter looked deep into my eyes and said “you’re a good man Mohamed.”

I walked back across the bridge, this time lights were out. All I can see is the silhouette of the hills across, the moon peaking from behind dark clouds like it is about to storm and the silhouettes of people in front of me, their bodies outlined by light from a motorbike coming from the other end. It was kind of surreal crossing the bridge in the dark. It must have been another power outage. I Haven’t said much about outages but they happen everyday.

I made it to my room and laid in bed. The sky was lightening like I’ve never seen it before. I was praying for rain (to cool down the air) but it was only a light show. I was sleepy but I kept staring at that opening in the courtyard to the space below and imagining a blue Shiva with its tongue sticking out and a halo around its head induced by a light bulb attached to the back of its head emerging fro the opening as if it was rising on a pedestal. “oh no are these the visual disturbances again mentioned as a side effect to the malaria meds or is this just my vivid imagination? Is it because I am staying at an Ashram, maybe there is something else living in……. …zzzz.z.z.z.z…” I fell asleep. It was a good day.

Day 9: Turning around

I woke up today happy that I wasn’t on that crazy bus last night. I went to sleep a bit sad because of an email and chat exchange I had after my bus ordeal. Today is a new day and decided that checking my email and face book every time internet was available was just a bad habit. I went to the café for an last omelet, ran into my Canadian friend, told her about my bus ordeal and how ridiculous I feel for having such a hard time making a simple decision. I think being on a trip like this, where you have the time and money and total freedom to do whatever really made it easy to see my faults, like my indecision was intensified, my insecurities everything is so much clearer. Which can also be a not very good thing since I am normally used to ignoring these things or distracting myself from them. But here they are.

Anyway, I was starting to feel mush better about everything. I walked back up towards Dheramkot, found a bench on the side of the hill overlooking trees and a mountain view and I sat there for hours. Listening to music and clearing my mind. Curious school kids passed by, they wanted me to take their picture, one boy wanted to try on my headphones. It was nice to be in the moment.

I had booked a ticket on a different bus for that night. Leaves at 7pm to Rishikesh. The ride was said to be 11-12 hours.

The bus ride turned out to be a pleasant experience. The bus was comfortable and nowhere near full. I had two seats to myself, window open, breeze in my face, headphones on, and no honking, no traffic. The bus had glass all the way up the sides so when the seat is reclined you can see the sky and the tops of the trees as we drive by. The temperature was pleasant. We stopped to help another bus that seemed to have broken down. While waiting outside this woman with a shaved head asked me what was going on. We struck conversation. She was a French journalist who had been at a yoga and meditation retreat for 10 days in Mcloed and is was heading to another place near Rishikesh. She was very nice, smart and I enjoyed talking with her. She is writing a guide to self-development and has had extensive experience with these kinds of retreats. We talked enough that she sensed I wasn’t the happiest fellow. I think her name was Gwyn. I went to sleep looking at the almost full moon, listening to Godspeed you! Black Emperor with the breeze in my face. I was missing Seth.

I woke up and the sun had already started to creep up, this bus ride was not bad at all, we were almost there. Gwyn got off the bus before Rishikesh but left me a piece of paper that said “Santosh Puri Ashram. Be happy.” The be happy part sounded like a good plan.

Day 8: Indecision can be harmful

Last night I decided that I will be checking out of my hotel today and taking the overnight bus to Dehra Dun. I did the usual routine in the morning: walked to café with computer in bag, ordered an omelet and a coffee, checked the email. There is that woman again. She’s been here every morning, looks like we have parallel morning routines. She smiled at me, then worked on her computer while she waited for her Omelet. Some time later we strike conversation somehow. There was a third woman chatting too. We talked about travel in general, travel in India, recommendations for cities, etc. I realized how jaded I sounded “what’s wrong with me?” but luckily I sensed some agreement on some things I said, I think. This was the most talking I’d done at once in a week. Wow! An actual conversation, someone to talk to! I’m starting to like this place a little more.

Since I have the do something for the rest of the day until my 8pm bus I decided to go to Dharamkot. Described in lonely planet as a “village” similar to the “village” from the day before bhagsu, I have very low expectations, as a matter of fact I wasn’t looking for anything anymore, just going for the sake of going and doing something with my time. At the main square, full of traffic and honking, I noticed this Scandinavian girl. She had two huge boxes that say cake on them. And she asks for a ride up to Dharamkot. So I thought why not share the ride. We ended up in a rickshaw stuck in traffic in the same spot by the square for about 10 minutes. Still boggles my mind that a) there are cars and honking up here, b) that there is actually a traffic jam. I mean these streets were not meant for any kind of vehicular traffic let alone big cars in both directions. Drivers have to fold their side mirrors and scrape by the buildings on the side to pass each other. It is insane. We pass the bottle neck and we head up on a little road to the village above. It is suddenly peaceful and quiet, pine forests cover the hills, cows and monkeys roam freely. I’m really starting to like this, why didn’t I come here earlier. Alas, there really is no village, which is fine by me since “village” here seems to mean more of the same concrete mismatched buildings that you find in any city, just smaller. There was a little snack shop with tables. I went in and had a soda. Here is that little cute compact guy I noticed earlier. And across the table was a couple, a white guy that looks like he’s been in Asia/south Asia for too long and his companion, an Asian girl that could pass for his daughter. Flashback to Thailand.

The white guy was telling the cute little compact guy about dipping in the Ganges, unlocking secrets of the mind and stuff like that. I was too busy checking out the little guy to hear with the mystic over there was saying. He gets up and leaves. And here I am talking to Trevor, a British guy who just finished some kind of job in New Zealand and is traveling through Asia on his way back to England. Some village outside Manchester where his father has been banned from the pub (the only one in the village) across the street for being belligerent. He a little compact hairy gremlin, and we ended up just sitting there and talking for a few hours. Conversation was so random, it ranged from talking about Egypt/Manchester cotton connection in the British Empire to how he slept with a girl in Thailand then she asked him for her pay in the morning and how he was shocked that it wasn’t just love.

I walked back downhill thinking “should I stay or should I go?” since I already checked out and felt like I was done here I thought I should go, but then again go where? I’m reluctant to go to lower altitudes where temperatures may not be so pleasant. On my way back, just before entering Mcleodganj I saw my first monkey. Then another and another. There was a cute little place called “Momo Café” on the way back. I stopped by to try some momos. The place is very small, maybe 10 by 12 feet with a little “kitchen” in the corner that’s probably 4 by 6 feet. it’s amazing how someone can make a living for themselves out of such a tiny makeshift concrete room. It had one window over looking a street below, the room was painted green with the tricolor Tibetan banner encircling the perimeter of the room where the wall meets the ceiling. It was a very sweet place. I got an order of momos (basically dumplings) and they were delicious. 10 for just over a dollar.

I thought I’d look around for a cheap room, if I find one then I am meant to stay, if I don’t then I should get on that bus. No room. Got on the bus. This was not the same kind of “ordinary” bus that I had last time. I had seat number 43. Apparently a notorious seat for being the most uncomfortable. 43 is in the back corner of the bus, it is not an actual seat but rather a metal bench with a flat metal back that is also the actually back of the bus. Super tight and hardly any leg room. Very uncomfortable. It is also right on top of the wheel making it so bouncy that my head would literally touch the roof of the bus with every bump. And these roads are BUMPY! The bus was completely full. Next to me was a guy who owns a shop, so he says, in Mcleodganj. Nicky, short for Nekhil, was a very nice guy with alcohol breath. He spoke just enough English to communicate and be totally charming. “I am bad guy, I drink I do all drugs, I am very bad guy, but I am happy.” hello, nice to meet you Nicky, please distract me from the fact that my brain is being turned into soup from this bumpy ride. He told me that the guy that sold me the ticket was also a bad guy for not telling me about seat 43. He was full of drunken wisdom like “in India you are nothing without money, I stop school so I can have money.” yes, it’s like this everywhere. “no, no, no, I am nothing, now I work I make money for my son to be something good.” I wish I can remember more of what he was saying, but like I said my brain was literally disintegrating so I had very little capacity to store information. By the time we made it down the hill, in about 20 minutes, from Mcleod to Dharamsala, I just wanted to get off that bus. There was no way I could go on like this for 12 hours.

Nicky insisted to help me return my bus ticket. I was willing to just loose the 385 rupees it was worth (something like $8.50). But he took my hand to the ticket window and told me to wait. He asked for a refund for my ticket, he had to write a note stating the request for a refund. I let him do it. It was so funny, he wrote something like “I have important piece of work in Mcleod, kindly return my money.” they gave back 75% of the ticket. Amazing. Thanks Nicky! Sweet guy just gave me the money, made me promise that I will visit his shop and if I come back in 10 or 20 years I will ask about his son and do business with him. He walked away. I took a taxi back up to Mcleod. I guess I wasn’t meant to leave that night after all.

Day 7: finding a middle

After another delicious omelet and an overdose of coffee I eventually ventured to check out the “village” of Bhagsu near Mcleod. I like walking on these twisted roads on the hill side because you can’t see to far ahead of you, which is nice. Until a speeding rickshaw comes and almost takes your life or leaves you with a really bad bruise. There are a lot of birds here. So much variety, different colors and sizes. I don’t know my bird species well, I wish I had a certain someone who knows all the names of birds and plants to tell me, but I was able to enjoy the diversity non the less. Baghsu was not that far away at all, it took about 15-20 minutes to walk there. I don’t know what I was expecting but my book said that it was a “quieter” place than Mcleod, sounds good. But then as I approach I see more of the same. Misplaced and mismatched two and three storey concrete boxes with shops selling refreshments and knickknacks. A sign in Hebrew and English read “Mexican and Israeli food.” this is another place where a bunch of western kids come and hang out together, sing around the fire and eat falafel. All the Indians here came from all over for the opportunity to make a buck off of these people, nobody is really from here. There is no village. hmm.. Ok, by this point my expectations are low, I already know that there are no sleepy quiet villages anywhere here. So I keep walking trying to enjoy whatever comes my way, no matter how familiar and uninteresting it may be. Signs for a “waterfall” pointed in one direction, and I thought “what the hell, why not, ill go see a waterfall.” it was a nice walk up steep hillside paths and steps leading to the “waterfall” only to find at the end a trickle of water down a rocky side of a hill. “is this the waterfall, oh god, so the village is not a village and the waterfall is not a waterfall.” I walk back with a smirk on my face wondering “what was I really expecting? Niagara Falls? And what am I looking for anyway, that’s not me, I never used to go around looking for things, villages and waterfalls. Why am I not just hanging out and enjoying this place, why is my heart not here, what am I looking for?” sounds like a really deep conversation with myself, right? Not so much. But really why was I so annoyed? On my way back I was having this bitchy monologue in my head, Anthony Bordaine like, bitching and complaining about how everything sucks. Maybe those levitation or rebirthing sessions or whatever are not such a bad idea. I realized soon enough that my frustration had nothing to do with India or what I have found or what I haven’t found. I came with my own baggage and I should have checked it at the airport. My mind and heart was somewhere else and I wasn’t allowing myself to enjoy my experience. With that realization being repeated in my head like a broken record I headed back to town.

Later that evening I wandered down a street that I haven’t before. I walked by one place that seemed to have lots of people. I walked in and sat, on the floor Japanese style, at a table. There was a Dutch girl opposite me, we talked for a while. It was a Japanese run place and they had delicious food, I had their dinner set which came with okra and eggplants in soy sauce, rice, two huge potato cakes, egg salad and something else all for 130Rs ($2.80) amazing! We spoke about our experiences in India and traveling and we seemed to be on the same page when it comes to disappointments. We were laughing and making light of the whole thing. Just next to us at the other table is a French couple. The girl looked like an incarnation of Sinead O'Connor and the guy…. Kinda just looked like me. I noticed them because they were not entertained by our conversation. They were probably judging us for not really getting into the spirit of India and shaving our heads and dressing the role. It was an interesting side by side comparison: two people who seemed to totally do the India thing and make belief and us two totally resistant and jaded. Two extremes, and I didn’t want to be part of either. I need to find a middle or else the next month will be painful.

Day 6: McleodGanj

I woke up early, maybe 6:30. That was a good night sleep. I was out the door by 7 and on my way for some breakfast. I had read that there are good places to get coffee here. EXCITING! Haven’t had coffee since the crap they server on continental airlines. Found a nice little place with wood slatted tables and chairs, and hanging photographs by a local artist. This is good so far. Maybe I will like this town. I had planned to stay here 4 or 5 nights thinking it was a laid back Tibetan village, but the arrival was off putting. I ordered a coffee and they even had omelets on the menu. It was the most delicious omelet I have ever had, super good! Fluffy and cheesy and filled with sautéed mix of olives, eggplant and herbs. Yummy. The temperature is pleasant. It felt like I was at a Brooklyn café, except out the door I see a valley coming down from the Himalayan foothills. They even had free wifi! I had 3 more coffees, like I was making up for the last five days.

It was very quiet, very pleasant. all i can hear is the ceiling fan spinning above and the knife meeting the cutting board as it cuts vegetables behind me. but i guess anywhere can be peaceful at 7 am.

Every time I see a calling place I want to call New York, every time I see an internet place or wifi I want to get on facebook and gmail. I just can't pull away. Here I am in this place, far from home, yet all I want to do whenever I can is to check on what I'm not participating in, whats happening at home.

By the time I finished my breakfast there were a few more people there and the streets were already active, it was barely 8am. Hmm.. I get into observation mode since I don’t have anything else to do. There are a lot of girls! I haven’t seen a single guy tourist yet. Almost everyone has a computer. Made it feel like home more than I wanted it to. This woman comes in, she must be sixty. Had purple pants a red top and a light yellow shawl. Skin wrinkled, fingers twisted at the knuckles, yea she must be sixty. Her silver hair had dreads, some with colorful threads and strings of fabric. What a hoot, she seemed younger in the way she walked and the way she handled herself. I couldn’t stop watching. She was such an extreme of a type of person that seems to come to places like this. “oh no, do they think im one of them, I mean I am wearing linen pants.”

I went for a walk after breakfast. This is not a pretty scenic place. I visited the temple, not a beautiful building. It is housed in a concrete structure that could have been a school or a parking deck. Buddhists in maroon robes sat facing the main shrine on two sides of the main room. Visitors and tourists get to walk around and even enter the shrine itself. It was a very odd experience. Seeing the Tibetan monks and nuns sitting there, some with their eyes closed and praying, others playing with their cell phones and giggling with other monks and nuns. Middle class Indian families with their kids and big cameras walk around in a space between the monks and the rest of the devotees. Interesting clash and people watching here. I sat for a moment to take in the interactions.

You can walk around this entire town in about 20 minutes. There is nothing but shop next to shop selling the same things: water, handicrafts, knickknacks, stuff. Walking is difficult because of the cars that whiz by as if we’re on an open road. “this place is so small just park your damn car and walk.” I passed by a message board, and what I saw posted on it was hilarious, this was the final straw, this is not the place I thought it would be. “hypnosis sessions,” “discover your subconscious,” “ tarot card readings.” tourists are of mainly two varieties: the Hawaiian shorts type and the “I’m a hippie, I don’t shower and I walk barefoot” type. I haven’t talked to anyone here yet and by the looks of it, I am not interested.

I thought where are people hanging out, isn’t there a bar or something where I can meet people, find a travel buddy? Well, my search was brief and I just went back to my hotel bar and ordered a beer there. “strong or light sir?” asked the server. “strong please.” Kingfisher is pretty much the only beer you get around here and it comes in two varieties. The strong one has about 8.5%. I didn’t think much of it until I felt totally out of it by the time I got to the bottom of the big bottle. I just realized that I didn’t eat since breakfast and that it was around 6pm. Good thing my room is down the hall. I went back, distracted myself from how drunk I felt by typing up a blog entry, then played a game on my ipod and before I know it I was passed out. TV on, lights on. ………………………………...................................................... I suddenly wake up and it is midnight. “what just happened?” “am I dead” “are these the visual disturbances listed on the side effects of the malaria meds?” “do I have a pulse?” I couldn’t fall back asleep. It was a long night in my room watching CNN after that.

Day 5: a bus ride

I was first to arrive at the ordinary bus for Dharamsala at the Amritsar bus station. There were two porters there waiting to hoist passengers’ bags to the top of the bus. One of them was very handsome, he noticed me look. We had a moment there just looking at each other. He was very dark, very white teeth, big hands and feet and gorgeous dark eyes. I’m not orientalizing, he was just hot and he knew it. I was happy to wait there and exchange eye contact.

The first group of passengers to arrive were a German couple and a Swedish girl. The German guy seems so tense, I just got bad vibes from him. And he kept looking at me the wrong way which didn’t make me like him anymore. Others started to arrive and the bus filled up. I sat right behind the driver, it had the most leg room. The German couple just on the other side of the isle. We get on the road for the six hour ride.

At first the ride seems peaceful. We drive on a two lane road, one each direction. Trees on both sides. Orange prayers flags zigzagging between trees above. Here I was listening to the smashing pumpkins, eating some sweet and spicy pecans from Trader Joes and enjoying the ride. Warm air in the face. But that doesn’t last for long. The road changes as it goes through towns and roadside markets, construction sites and unfinished bridges. The driver is insane. Beeping is just a way of driving here, not like in Egypt, just a few intervals more. I mean these guys are beeping literally the entire time. Thank the Dali Lama for noise-canceling headphones. And to make it driving situation a little more tense, there is no such thing as lanes really. Cars driving in both directions at full speed approach each other almost to the point of a crash then veer in opposite directions non phased by the fact that an accident could have just happened. This is the way they drive, the, entire, way! The driver has spitting tobacco in his mouth and is spitting at a consistent interval I can predict when he will turn his head and spit a wad of dark red spit, tinged by the color of the tobacco. The German guy looked so tense at times I was worried he would yell at the driver.

Indian passengers would get on and off the bus along the route, the tourists stay from beginning to end. Along the way the same kinds of shops selling candy, soda and water with either Coca Cola or Pepsi logos painted on the shops. The landscape was unremarkable and flat. I thought this would be a steep ride, since Dharamsala and my ultimate journey Mcleodganj were elevated. Finally towards the last hour and half or so I can see some elevations, and vaguely some snow in the distance. Finally the foothills of the Himalayas. I had hoped to go further north and higher up but not this time. Suddenly the road gets very rugged, unpaved at times. I’m thinking to myself “wow, this place is kind of off the beaten path, I mean look at this road..” we swing left and right up the hills for a rattling hour arriving at Dharamsala. From there switch to a local bus further up to Mcleodganj, home of the Tibetan government in exile. My legs were restless and my patience deteriorated. I wanted a shower NOW.

On the local bus, this guy sits next to me. He was filthy looking. He had The haircut, you know the one, with the head buzzed leaving only a square shape in the back with some scraggly curls. His earlobes stretched. Wearing Thai wrap pants. Black under his fingernails. I’m thinking to myself “please keep your bed bugs to yourself.” it was that type of traveler. You know the kind, you would expect them in a place like this. You know, its so spiritual man! I keep moving my legs further away, having convinced myself that he indeed houses a population of bed bugs. The more room I give him, the closer he moves his legs towards mine. This is all I can focus on for the 15 minute bus ride. Finally we arrive!! As he gets up he reveals a patch of the Israeli flag on his bag. Probably just finished his service at the IDF. And what better thing to do after finishing service at the IDF, than go to the town of the Dalai Lama, smoke pot, listen to techno and get naked in the woods. I’m rolling my eyes so hard they got stuck in the back of my head.

Quickly I exit the bus and check into the Tibet Hotel, run by the Tibetan government. The room is simple, has a TV, a view of valley and a clean bathroom. I’m happy.
But first, WHAT IS THIS PLACE? The ride up here seemed so off the beaten path that I expected a small sleepy village with Tibetans living peacefully. Instead, my first impression is “what the fuck are all these cars doing here and who are all these people?” is that really a traffic jam, REALLY??

The town consists literally of 5 narrow streets, yet middle class Indian families had to come up here, to escape the heat in the plains, in their cars and honks. BEEP BEEP Teenage girls dressed in denim and tight shirts like they are going out on the town. What the hell is going on here? Did I really come this far for this? And where are all the Tibetans? I was confused.

Day 4: Golden Temple

At the Chandigarh bus station I made a big mistake. I found out that the “Deluxe AC bus” is only 20 rupees more than the ordinary bus so I was lured into waiting an hour and a half for it instead of taking the ordinary bus that was ready to leave. Bad choice. The AC bus, surprise surprise, did not really have a working AC. At least in the ordinary bus I could have sat by an open window. It was like a sardine can. I sat at the last row smack in the middle and to my right was a couple each with a little girl on their lap. One of the little girls got motion sickness and started vomiting. It was so hot I passed out. Sounds like fun, right?

I woke up as we arrived in Amritsar. The first thing I see out of the bus window is a bunch of those Indian wrestlers climbing ropes suspended from a tree. There was a wrestling/body building school adjacent to the bus station. What a welcome sight. When I got off the bus I was so out of it that I totally went for the first rickshaw guy that tried to get me. I said “Golden Temple”, thinking I would just stay at a hotel near it. And this old guy says “20 rupees” I’m like what a steal! OK! I go ahead and get on the auto rickshaw then I’m told “no, no, this one” and the guy points at a regular rickshaw, you know a bicycle with a little chariot seat thing attached to it. I think that ride woke me right up. He ended up taking me to some hotel near the Golden Temple, not sure if he had a set up with the hotel to get a commission. But again I was so out of it I didn’t fight. “show me a room for one please”, and I get a room without a window for 1400, WHAT! “no, no, no, that’s too much, I’m only ready to pay 800” I said. The owner is a guy who seems like the son of someone who left him money and his idea of work is to dress up every morning and go sit at the front desk of this little makeshift hotel and look pretty. He shows me a room with a window for 1000, I said yes knowing that I‘m overpaying by a few hundred AGAIN, fine. It was borderline gross. But after that bus ride I just wanted to take off my bag, rest my head and take a shower. At least I had a TV and AC, what luxury.

The Golden Temple was probably the coolest thing I experienced in India so far. I went that night to see it all lit up and it was an interesting experience. First you have to cover your hair, men and women. So I bought a little triangular bandana thing to put on my head. Then you have to leave your shoes at a place outside the temple. Then you step into a pool of water, to clean your feet, before you enter the temple. There is chanting on loud speakers at all times. It was a very cool thing to see. On the perimeter there is a colonnade where people seemed to meditate, sleep or just lay down. The main shrine, with a second storey covered in actual gold, is in the center of a sacred pool. There is an area where devotees can plunge into the pool. I walked the perimeter, watching people.

The next morning I went back. Even better. Not to be cheesy but it really had a special energy. I think just seeing so many people so into one thing and being religious. Also I loved how Sikhs are so open to allowing anyone into the temple to wander around, similar to my experience at the Bahai temple in Delhi. It feels good to be allowed in. I spotted a few more tourists today, finally. for a minute I felt like I was the only one traveling there in May. Today I actually wanted to enter the main shrine, the golden part of the temple, the holiest site for Sikhism. One enters by crossing something called the Guru’s Bridge. It is split into two sides, entering and exiting. The entering side was packed and moving slow with fans installed above to cool pilgrims as they wait. This was very cool: here I am sandwiched between all those devotees who seem to really want to be there. There were also some Indian tourists who were checking it out. I look into the water below and there is a huge gold fish. Then another. People were holding bowls made of dried leafs of some kind. They allowed a few people in at a time, the line moved slowly. I’m almost there. The guards lift a rod wrapped in Orange fabric and I’m in. To the right and left are two stands with men serving some kind of edible brown thing. Looked like moist brown sugar. Those who had those bowls of would get them filled with this stuff.

The first level of temple, on the exterior, is of marble with inlaid images of plants and animals in the style of the Taj Mahal. The top is covered in Kilos of gold. As pilgrims enter they kneeled and touched the threshold and some even kissed it. It was crowded. I didn’t really know what to do, it was a bit overwhelming. The space itself is very colorful, gilded and full of ornaments to look at. Huge crystal chandelier hung down the middle. But below people are pushing to get closer to the performance taking place at the center of the temple. There is always someone there chanting, reading scripture, surrounded by a small audience. This must be the most wanted ticket in town. To the right of the entrance, in the corner of the shrine, is a group of women working. They are wrapping what looks like some kind of bread into little care packages. The bright orange fabric wraps around the bread and then given to pilgrims. There is so much detail to capture but not enough time as I am pushing my way to follow the route around the center of the shrine. Musical instruments resemble a combination of an organ and an accordion is being played. Pictures not allowed.

Around the outside is a little area where people reach into the pool surrounding the shrine to get a sip of its water. Keep going around and there are stairs leading to a second floor. The entire ceiling is gilded, covered in gold with panels of floral patterns. Pilgrims are sitting on the floor against the wall with little books of scripture rocking back and forth and reading, following the reading happening below along with the music. More stairs lead to yet another room with a reading. The entire temple area is dotted with these little rooms where a person is reading out of huge books of scripture around the clock. This was all very spiritual. I never thought I would say this.

Went back down stairs, crossed the bridge back and left the premise. Something about crossing a bridge into a little shrine makes the experience there otherworldly. I was only aware of that when I found myself returning to the perimeter, recognizable earthly. This was very cool, I just don’t know how else to describe it.

On my way back to collect my bag from the hotel I stopped by a little place to get some breakfast. I had a paratha, a bread stuffed with potato shavings, yummy. A few minutes later this tall British guy walks in, “do you have scrambled eggs?” (in a British accent of course), and the guy working responds “ no eggs allowed within blah blah kilometers from the Golden Temple..” “Oh, no eggs! but what do you have for breakfast..” he annoyed me, I don’t know if it was the accent or the fact that he looked like he didn’t shower in a month. More on this type coming soon.

Day 3: Chandigarh

Chandigarh, Le Corbusier’s little project towards the end of his career, is a strange place. But first let me tell you about my hotel. Very shady. The guys there were all giving me these looks of suspicion and unease. Like they didn’t want me there. And they gave me a room right next to the reception, the sheets were not clean, it looked like this is where they rested when business is slow, which is probably most of the time. They also over charged me by about 300-400 rupees. Not sure what was going on there but it sure as hell made me want to get out of there ASAP. Thanks for the recommendation Lonely Planet!

Back to Chandigarh. It is India’s “first planned city,” a distinction that assumes that all settlements before 1953 were not “planned,” hmmm, interesting. Anyway, it is laid out in a grid, lots of trees (it is supposed to be a garden city) and blocks are called “sectors.” sector 1 is where Corbu’s famous buildings live. I stayed in sector 22. These are huge blocks, not NYC size blocks, this city was designed for the car (very Corbu). Oh and it is so clean that it is shocking to be here after Delhi. It also feels very middle class, people here are doing alright. I even took a city bus to the High Court, one of the three main Corbusier landmarks. For 25 cents I traveled across the city and passed by some nice little cubic modern houses. There is also a military base in town or near by so the seats on the bus had some funny labels on certain seats like “freedom fighter only” and “blind person only” in addition to the typical “old persons only” seats. I sat in the back and enjoyed the ride at 7:30 am.

We reach the final stop and I don’t see the high court, there are so many trees I can’t see anything. I just like my cities dense, non of this garden city crap, show me the concrete! You have to walk for about a mile practically threw the woods to get to the court building. On the way there was a little squatter settlement of short little brick boxes. No windows and barely 5 feet tall. This was the only sign of poverty I saw here. There it is, a Corbusier building! This is not my first, I’ve met his work before but I never thought i'd see this.

One arrives towards the back of the building. Looks a little shabby, many would probably think this is very ugly but I was loving it. I couldn’t enter the building because I had no permission so I had to go around. I thought I would find a pristine modern concrete plaza with the famous Open Hand sculpture in its center, you know like I saw this in Architectural history class. The plaza isn’t all that grand, weeds have cracked the concrete and the Open Hand, where is it? Oh there it is standing alone at the far end. Oh shit, why is the sun getting so intense already its only 8. Now I gotta walk across this concrete no man’s land to get to the sculpture that was designed to symbolize the newly founded capital of Punjab. Le Corbusier must have visited here in the winter when he designed this.

After a half hour of admiring the deserted sunken court by the Open Hand I made my exit and went to check out the Rock Garden near by. Why not, I’m already here. What a strange little place. Designed for a kid, all the doorways and arches are about 4.5 feet tall and every surface is covered with rocks, broken plates and cups, pottery and ceramics. There were mazes, valleys and waterfalls. Like an Indian Gaudi creation of an Alice in Wonderland set. There were bizarre armies of sculptures of little people, animals and just absolute randomness. My feet were killing me from walking on the uneven surfaces, the sun was getting intense, and I felt cluster phobic, get me out of here! It took another 20 minutes to find the exit, I was panicking. “OMG, am I gonna have to spend the night here, where is everybody, will I have to drink out of that artificial waterfall, but what if I get diarrhea?”, what’s that little doorway? it’s the exit! Sheesh!

Collected my bag from the shadiest hotel on earth then off to the bus station. Off to Amritsar.

Day 2: Out of Delhi

I decided today to try something different. My hotel offered a car with a driver for 4 hours for 600 rupees. Not wanting to haggle for rides anymore and knowing that I want to go see a couple of things on the outskirts I went ahead with the driver. The driver, papo, was very nice. First thing he asked when we got on the road was if I was married. Hmm, awkward first question but I simply replied no knowing he would ask why not. “Why sir, why not married?” “I’m too busy,” I said. He told me he has been married for 6 years and has a 6 months old boy. Papo is 24. that’s really where the conversation ended for the rest of the time. I felt very strange having my own driver in this big car. I kept wishing that my friends are filling those empty seats. that’s when I realized that I don’t really like traveling alone anymore. At least not in this kind of setting.

Four hours were just enough to go to Qutb Minar, the Bahai Lotus Temple and Humayum;s Tomb. Both the tomb and the minar were interesting sites but Lotus Temple was the most intriguing. Not the structure itself, which is beautiful, but more the overall experience of the site and the Bahai information center there. I didn’t really know much about Bahai’s except that there is a minority in Egypt that is being prosecuted and the they follow a 19century prophet who had very progressive ideas about religion. Despite being smack in the middle of the day’s heat, it was crowded with Indian tourists. It was very clean and organized. Groups are allowed into the building, built in the 80s, and are asked to be pray silently in whatever religion they follow. Inside, rows of wooden bleachers with marble seats are arranged to face one of the corners of the lotus shape. There was a bird inside, not sure what kind, that made a lot of noise, good noise, and flew down to the bleachers. It was a very nice experience overall, but then I went to the information center and was surprised to learn a lot more about Bahaism. The principles are very modern and universal. It kind of reminds me of Deism in the sense that it promotes the idea that all great religions come from one source (a supernatural being) and they they are essentially one, except for "non-essential" rituals. But Bahaism also has a prophet that who is glorified in someways. There were also images of his son traveling the world in the early 20th century promoting Bahaism in places like Illanois where there was a picture of him speaking in a church and where he laid the founding stone of a Bahai'i temple. anyway, it was all very interesting to me.

back out, oh I forgot for a moment how hot it was outside. By the time I walked back to my car I was drenched in sweat and panting. Next and final stop on my 4 hour tour: Humayun's Tomb. This was a beautiful site, if only I can distract myself from thinking of how hot it is. This tomb was commissioned by Humayun's wife and designed by a Persian architect in 1562. I think it was the precedent for the Taj Mahal.

I collected my bag from the hotel then headed to the train station. Feeling like I've been paying too much for transport I decided to walk with my bag to the main road to catch a rickshaw. A very regrettable choice. Did I not think that carrying my backpack and walking for a little over a mile in the beating sun was not going to be painful? What the hell is wrong with me, why didn't I just pay for a tourist taxi? but once I got on a rickshaw, who made excellent time by the way whizzing between cars, I was happy with my decision.

Delhi train station is a pretty miserable place. But I found my train, and my seat and was happy to have the AC blast in my face for 3.5 hours to Chandigarh. They actually give you a bottle of water and food in a second class AC train!! Amazing! and the train was fast too. Things are getting better already.

Day 1: give me all your money

I almost didn't make it on the plane. I got to the airport early, stood in line patiently to check-in (next to me a crying baby whose mother thought the best thing to do to shut to the baby up is give it Coca Cola), took off my shoes and waived my Miranda rights and waited in line again at the gate to get my seat assignment only to be told that there is no seat for me as the flight was overbooked. The next 25 minutes were very tense but ill cut to the chase, I made it on the plane, on the last available seat that belonged to someone who didn't show up. flight was, ok.

Arrive in Delhi, pick up bag rather quickly (since it was the last one in there it came out first), step out of customs and here comes that third world smell, aaah, I have no idea what it is but there it is. Smells like food, feet and mothballs? I peek around for my hotel pick up but i don't see my name (i had also decided already that the 900 rupees the hotel wanted to charge for my pick up was too much) so i just went ahead to the prepaid taxi. the guy charges 450 rupees, walks me out to a taxi driver waiting outside in the oppressive 100 degree weather (and thats the temperature at 9:30pm) and only gives him what looked like 150 or 200 rupees (the guy behind the desk is like a slum lord for taxis, pockets more than half the money).

the driver (who was very handsome) got lost in the Defense Colony (the area i'm staying in and seemed very frustrated and started cussing me out in Hindi), we finally found the place and i gave him another 150 rupees.

sleep. wake up at 6, have an omlette and head out. my first delhi rickshaw ride was nice, cheap, with no traffic (as it was only 7am) and hassle free. my first stop is the Red Fort. massive building, not particularly well kept, lots of little pavilions inside, i do the loop, take the token pictures and I'm ready to go feeling strangely underwhelmed. I kept telling myself "I need to be excited to see this, I should be impressed." I was too distracted by feeling guilty for not being in awe.

I crossed the street (passing by urinals that have been installed on the sidewalk, reminded me of the plastic urinals installed in London streets near bars and clubs) into Old Delhi looking for Jama Masjid (India's biggest mosque). Here the streets were grim, bodies laid out on the sides the street still sleeping, people squatting down having something to eat, rickshaw drivers chatting, guys carrying boxes and bags three times their own size over their heads. smell of urine was oddly refreshing when i get a whiff of it after the constant smell of open sewer. the street itself is under attack by competing pedestrians, cyclists, rickshaws, taxis, cars, vans and trucks. I too am competing for a path to walk on, the asphalt is starting to feel very hot under my feet. it is only 9 am.

I found the mosque. it sits on a platform reached by a very tall set of stairs. entry to the mosque is free, however if you have a camera you must pay 200 rupees, and what tourist would be there without a camera. i guess it is a way of going around charging tourists for visiting a functioning house of worship. The building is beautiful but not the biggest I've seen. I boy approached me and asked where i was from, i said Egypt then he followed me around asking me for Egyptian money to add to his collection. another man followed me and insisted i see a shrine-like space in one of the corners of the mosque where apparently there are relics of the prophet. I resisted and he insisted so i went. A wooden room, box-like with some Indian motifs and painted white is built in one the corners of the building near the outer court. standing inside, and visible only from the waist up as the opening is more like a window than a door, is a bearded man. His hair is treated with henna, giving it that reddish color one sees so often on the street, his beard too has some red. Even his tongue and the inside of his lips look dyed. He proceeded to explain to me that there are five relics of the prophet that were given to Shah Jahan in the 16th century by the Ottoman Sultan. The bearded man seemed to recite something he knows by heart more than any other scripture. this was a tourist trap. but I was only invited to see this because i replied to the man that i was Muslim. this was a tourist trap targeted at superstitious Muslims who might fall to their knees and empty their pockets just to see a hair of the prophet or a stone pressed by his foot print. the authenticity of all this seemed so suspicious. yet there was something formal about this thing, i mean how could it be there if it is fake. but the guy in charge was a total sleaze. when i offered 10 rupees as a donation at the end, he looked at me and said but this is very little, as if feeling underpaid. I said that is all i have for him and he snatched the money and thew it violently to the side where i assume there was a pile of money. the whole experience was very awkward and i just wanted to get out of there.

i left the walls of the mosque thinking "what to do now," it is only 10am and the sun is beating mercilessly on my head. a group of malnourished guys and one girl were smoking pot? outside. I was already nearing the end of my day only 2.5 hours after it started. just around the corner were two music stores side by side. one was blasting the Koran and the other blasting popular Indian music. the guys working at both shops seemed to accept the fact that whatever they are blasting from their speakers can not and will not be heard for what it is because it is becoming only one part of a cacophony of sound: part Koran, part Indian dance music, and of course saturated with the honks and beeps of cars and rickshaws. this was exactly where i wanted to be, in the middle of all this.

I escaped the midday heat by going to the National Museum. This was perhaps the biggest disappointment. you would think India would have an impressive national museum but this place seems completely under-funded, dilapidated and the collection was underwhelming. the building itself was rather small and was only built in the 1960s, and looks like it hasn't received much attention since. I did however totally fall in love with their Mogul and Persian miniature painting gallery. these images were amazing, I can not describe it in words. they made me want to go to pearl river in Chinatown and pick up some fancy paper, art supplies and get busy. it was mostly the detail and the influences layered in each piece that got me. one of my favorites has a portrait of a nobleman holding an icon of Virgin Marry. Apparently this was after he was visited by a European Ambassador who had brought with him gifts including religious icons. I spent most of my time here.


Delhi is a strange city. it is so crowded on the streets, there is so much traffic but there is not much of a city. there are so many wide tree lined streets with random buildings but hardly any cohesive urban fabric. where are all these people coming from and going to?

I can't wait to ride my first Indian train tomorrow and head north.