India Part II

It's Hot!

Sat in an internet cafe in a town called Lonovla, a few hours from Mumbia, sipping ice cold orange juice after my first morning run in a long time.

Since leaving Delhi and crossing the swaying suspension bridge over the river Ganges onto the east bank of Rishikesh, with it's cold mountain morning air and colourful statues of the gods lining the fast moving opaque turquoise river, we have been much happier.

Rishikesh is a temple town, with little there other than Ashrams, temples, and accommodation for its constant influx of pilgrims coming to bath in the holy river, and tourists like us looking for peace.
We walked around the deserted streets looking for the hotel that we had decided on under the perverted stares of the dodgy geezers at the bus station.
When we eventually got there, sweating under our rucksacks and day sacks, our breath clouding in the cold, an old fella greets us at the gate. He shown us a basic, scruffy but totally adequate room with hot water, and said "Normally 200 rupees... for you 150"!

Happy with that! (We were paying 350 in Delhi).
After eventually swapping rooms because the toilet didnt work (thankfully a problem discovered before any cables were laid), we settled down to a long-needed sleep.
Then the guys below our room started knocking the foot-thick concerete wall down using a sledge hammer.

With it being a temple town, meat, alcohol, even eggs were prohibited. However, it was great to just wonder around without constantly chanting "Nahi, Nahi", "Chello" to hawkers, beggers and con men. The people there didn't stare, and on the whole were lovely, friendly helpful and honest.

We had hoped to do plenty of trekking over the week, to improve our fitness ready for thailand, as Mrs G and I had suffered a major cold almost throughout our project work in Himichal preventing any training what-so-ever. Finally recovered in Delhi, I was looking forward to finally spending some time running in the mountains... then I got another cold, starting as we left left for Rishikesh. Mrs G got it a few days later.

Bugger.

However, we enjoyed a bit of gentle walking rather then running, wondering around the north part of the town, and along the banks and Ghats of the Ganges. There were a lot of really young "travellers" (who hotly contest the lable "tourist", despite, erm, touring around the er, tourist areas), as well as plenty of westerners, dressed in pilgrim clothes with impressive dreadlocks and a steadfast refusal to make eye contact with other white people. Sitting, relaxing in cafe's drinking hot lemon, ginger and honey tea gave an unusual insight into how some of the younger travellers/tourists view the world around them;

"Don't try to dance...Just do it! Never try... just do!- use your energy" One lad said with great intensity and a worrying finger movement around the eyes.

"I feel like the people around me are missing something in their aura... they are not connected in a higher plane, ya know, they need to look into themselves, find themselves in the environment they are in" Said a young girl wearing a tight-fitting strappy top in this holy, ultra-conservative temple-town.

Me- I just wanted to chill out man. I dont want to find myself. The disappointment of spending all this money and travelling all this distance only to find that I'm a dick would be too great.

Rishikesh was great, slow moving, relaxing, and without the stares and hassle of Delhi. However, the pure vegitarian diet and no beer with my curry, and the rather noisy (but cheap) accommodation pushed us onwards. I needed some Chicken tikka and a beer.

Plus I think a cow there didn't like me. He "laid a head" on me as I passed on the way for breakfast one morning. Then I was wondering back to the hotel that night, when my boot swept through the wettest cow-pat I've ever seen, covering my boots and trousers with shit. I round the corner, and there was the cow who'd given me a "Kirkby kiss" that morning. Staring at me. Unsettling. Time to go.


We got to Missouri via a hour and a half taxi ride. Full of cold, with heavy baggage and in a really happy relaxed mood, we decided to spend the 750 rupees on a taxi instead of the 100 for a bus, with comfort in mind. It was a nice treat to be honest!

The taxi rank had all the prices displayed, and our driver was a really nice chap, highlighting points of interest as we wound our way through the mountains. Indian taxis are invariabley old ambassadors, much repaired and running on CNC gas. However, this one was in mint condition, with crisp-clean white towelling seat covers, the typical massive head and leg room, and the sun was out, bright and warming enough for me to open the window to the fresh pine-scented air.

Missourie itself is a popular holiday destination for Delhi-ites, looking to escape the heat of the city in the summer. Off-season like it is, the town was quite with many of the resturants and hotels closed. Commercial vehicles are not allowed down the main street, so we jumped out and walked up and down and around for a while until we found the hotel we had decided on in the guidebook, called the broadway.

The fella shown us a few rooms, all around 400-500 rupees, but after explaining we wanted cheap, he shown us the tinest room in the hotel for 300, with a free lumpy mattress and no proper windows.
I now know the definition of a lumpy mattress- it was like a bloody scale model of the peak-district. I even lifted the mattress to remove what I thought was a pile of rags that had been gathered and stuffed underneath. We did get hot water, as long as we asked for it well in advance. But we were tired, and so I signed for one night, vowing to have a look about for a better hotel. We found one the same day- right next door! Hotel Deep offered us a huge room, with constant hot water, satalite TV, room service, and comfy couch with coffee table next to the large window giving wonderfull mountain views. For 300 rupees. Bargain.

Missouri was lovely, and feeling slightly better, we spent a fantastic couple of days strolling up the Camelback road, and back down through "the mall", an easy few miles stroll. The Camelback snakes along "behind" Missouri, which is built on a ridge at around 1800 meters. Lined with victorian styled streetlamps and with no traffic, it was great to wonder along looking down to the valley floor below, passing other couples now and again who all smiled in greeting. One nice fella explaind to us why it was called the Camelback- there is a rock formation on a nearby hill that looks like a camel, at a certain point on the road when the rocks line up.

The "modern" influence and money of Delhi was obvious, with it's bars that allowed women to drink in, nice shops and resturants patroned by trendy couples and well-dressed young families. Everyone there was really friendly, honest and easy going (except the hotel porter), and we really enjoyed our days there, eating breakfast at a roadside omlette-vendor, and dinner at a nice tandoori resturant that served reasonably priced Kingfisher.

Further up was Randour, which we walked through one day. Higher than Missouri, the affluence Delhi provides was less evident. Rubbish was again cascading down the mountain side, there were more cows in the road, attracted prehapes by the rubbish, and a lot more stray dogs.

On our way there, a jeep thundered past us, typically too fast for the conditions, horn typically blaring to compensate. He rounded the corner and we heard a screech of tyres. Followed by the most heart-wrenching yelping I've ever heard.

As we rounded the corner, the jeep rolled back a few feet, releasing a puppy, who was screaming in agony, his doggy friends jumping around him, ears working and tails tucked in fear and distress. As the puppy cleared the offside of the car, we seen where the car got him.
His left front paw, from the shoulder down was like flattened mince-meat, flapping long and destroyed as the puppy screamed and tried to hobble away to safety. My stomach turned, and I heard the two Japanese girls behind us cry out as they burst into tears. The puppy still screamed, and all around everyone was frozen, looks of anguish and horror on every mans face. I set myself to run over and do the humane thing, fast and painless. There are no vets here. But as soon as I formed the thought, I considered how that would be recieved by all those in the street watching and hesitated. Then it was too late- the puppy, still yelping, disappeared down a gap between two houses, his companions following, prancing and wide eyed.

We kept walking, leaving the men's distressed faces, girls sobbs and puppies screams behind.

"Why do they drive like that?" Mrs Grasshopper vented.

"No forward planning"

"No care for the consequences. That could of been a child" She continues. She's really upset, and so am I. A bloke on a scooter rides directly at us. We move, use to this type of thing now and he passes by, inches to spare. I realise it was because there was a pothole on "his " side of the road.

We pass the jeep that mashed the puppy's leg, and I notice the driver has been weeping. He didn't stop at the time though.

We walk further, passing the tiny Kohlis and shops until we are on an empy road, skirting the edge of the mountian. We look down, and see a glint of metal in the valley below us. Then a scar down the precapice, smashed bushes and broken trees leading up to a missing railing section by the road side. By the time we walk to it, we can see where the car had left the road, taking out the railing, falling and tumbling 100s of feet down to where it rests now. The car was barely recognisable, although there had been no fire. The fresh tree roots suggested it had happened within the last couple of days.

"Dont get a night-bus" Our taxi Driver had said on the way here. "Too dangerous, too dark and twisty!"

Right you are mate. Day bus to Delhi it is.