Travelling Amritsar to Rishikesh - India March 2010

At the train station for my late night departure from Amritsar to Hardiwar then onward to Rishikesh, there was the usual scene of transitors or perhaps some homeless people sleeping on the platform concrete floors with grey blankets, endless families of all castes and their children eating and drinking hot chai waiting for the train. Amritsar station didn't have any tvs blaring the latest Bollywood filmclips, so I was a little bored. After an hour of staring at the the rats running a muck in and out of various holes in the platform walls and the local store guy throw his store's rubbish onto the train track my train finally arrived.



Another goods night sleep from the rocking of the train and befriending yet more locals and answering their 50 million questions about "what is your good name?" "Which is your place?" "Are you married with children?" "Who is travelling with you?" pick a lie, any lie - that is always my answer - never say as a woman you are travelling alone, never confirm where you are staying, you are always married and your husband is always going to be waiting at the next station for you as he was there on business and you are on holidays :)


So I arrived into Hardiwar and knew that my mission was to find the bus station to take a public bus 1 hour up to Rishikesh - Yoga capital of the world and where the Beatles shacked up and smoked god knows what for one of their albums.

Thing was Kumbah Mela was one - I thought if I came outside the auspicious bathing dates it was be quiet - ha ha ha. I arrived to full military force absolutely everywhere, Sadhu's absolutely everywhere and just masses of people. Thankfully there were also ramps everywhere so I could wheel my bag around and try fake confidence that I knew where I was going. When lost, my bet is always military as there are always being watched and it just feels safer to ask them for help. So of course being the only foreigner in sight amongst a sea of Hindu pilgrims here for a festival that takes place once every 10 years (yes I am special or stupid one of the two) I had all eyes on me, not to mention all touts swarming my way for "rickshaw" "hotel" "tour guide" I confidently brushed them all aside and once they disappeared I approached a soldier and asked him for directions to the bus station to Rishikesh - using his gun to motion me out the gates and "5min walk" away I continued thinking to myself this is India - ask at least 3 people - so another couple of soldiers confirmed his direction was correct but I would have to get a rickshaw to the bus station and it should be only 25 rupees - problem I am a foreigner and I get a special tourist price.

So I kept rolling along their footpath past the info booths for Kumbah Mela registrations and found me a rickshaw guy - there were none to be seen at first but I decided to roll in the direction along the main road (not as suicidal as it sounds) and hopefully one will pull up along side me - sure enough one did but he wants 250 rupee (remember its 25) so I laughed and with a determined look on my face that I didn't care if I had to walk the how many ever kilometers to the bus off I set - he caved and agreed to 25 ruppee :)

Literally it was a 5 min ride down the street and he pointed at a old silver bus that was starting to pull out from the curb bound for Rishikesh. I ran over and tried to get on the bus but the steps were so high I couldn't lift my bag up and no-one around me inteded to help. I felt something in my back ping and I lost my balance as the bus driver lost patience and pulled away - I banged the door and yelled out hoping to grab the attenion of someone nice on the bus and luckily and ancient man who didnt look like he could lift a pen, let alone my bag got the bus to stop and pulled me and my bag aboard. Luckily there was a seat left a couple back from the door and I had my bag in the corridor. Now let me explain this "bus" to you - once upon a time I am sure it was a fine machine but this aged tin box with wheels belonged in a metal scrap heap! It grunted for the entire hour and our hair-raising experience is made all the while worse with both the neck braking speed of the driver, the cursed look from the conductor that he couldnt fit on more passengers due to my bag blocking their way and the need for all my fellow passengers (most Sadhu's or extremly poor villagers) keeping the windows closed and these windows painted blue, orange or red - I decided in the end that was a good thing that I couldnt look out as I might have been sick.

They continued to cram more people on and my bag was being pushed further down the aisle with my little old stick man determined to stick up for me and hold onto my back which everyone is really kicking to get past. The speed that we travelled for that one hour up the windy mountain roads to Rishikesh made me keep having flashes to all those buses that fly off the cliffs in South America killing hundreds of people - I was definately in panic mode for the entire 60 minutes and constantly working out how I would get through the emergency window fighting all these men as we submerged into the ganges.


Finally we arrived in Rishikesh and I promised myself that regardless of how much the trip back down to Hardiwar was - I was paying coming back. My life was worth more than 40 rupee. So the bus station in Rishikesh is just a dirt carpark at the back of town - a few rickshaw drivers are there and no-one else around so your bargaining dosent get you too far. I was also informed that he could only take me so far to my Ashram as apparently rickshaws cant cross the bridge - I just agreed because I was mentally and physically exhausted. Along the way my rickshaw driver saw another tourist and decided to pick him up without asking me - I was annoyed as I knew he was making double the money when we should be paying the share amount, but in the end this driver did me a huge favour picking up this guy - again another guardian angel to help me out.


So the driver pulls up and says the other tourist is going the same way as me and will show me where the ashram is. I reluctantly agree and rip my bag as I try to pull it out from the back of the rickshaw.

I must say and this is rather ironic, typically when I travel I'm not into talking to other travellers, usually only the locals which is silly I know as I could get tips from them but I think I have seen too many tourists behave appallingly so I think its better to avoid them then be associated with them. Turns out, he was a Jewish American writer/hippy that had been in Rishikesh for the last 3 months writing a book on social behaviour for kids back in America - personally I think he had too much pot or fresh mountain air! But hey this guy was a lie saver - I thought the ashram was a simple walk across the street - try 3-4km along a rocky path (which meant he kindly helped carry my bag as I couldnt roll it), up 2 flights of stairs and then across the most scary unstable metal plank bridge floating on these balloons in a rapid flowing ganges!!!
It was the craziest walk ever and I cant beleive that the rickshaw driver was just going to dump me there and point me in the general direction! I never would have walked that way alone towards a river with no-one around - let alone across it. Once across the ganges his ashram was right there but he assured me that mine was a further 5 min walk straight ahead then right at the Shiva statute. Thankfully he was right but to be honest it had been so mentally exhausting to get this far I felt like throwing my bag in the ganges by then and sitting on the floor next to the sadhu's and crying! I knew I was close so persisted then finally after the help of yet another soldier I found the entrance the the Niketan Ashram.

Next blog..Rishikesh and the yoga madness.