Finally arrived in Rishikesh, home of meditation, and what a journey!!
I'm sitting here in a tree-top bamboo cafe overlooking the Ganga (Ganges) River, - still surrounded by greenery but the hills are much smaller than the huge wopping mountains we've come from. The river is vast and occasionally Indian tourists go past on inflatable rafts paddling furiously. A constant stream of people and motorbikes pass over the bridge in the distance. The sun's shining and life is good. It's a far cry from the dirty dusty bumpy roads we've traversed to get here!
It's taken six days to get here, - much longer than we originally thought! We left Kasol just over a week ago, excited that the bikes were finally ready, and enthusiastic to get back on the road. We'd spent the previous day doing little things - checking the bike and painting the number plate on. It was nice sitting on the ground outside Rama the mechanic's, industriously drawing on the letters and cutting the only available paintbrush to size - Indian style 'If you ain't got it, improvise!' - Great mentality and man do they improvise!' Tourists kept pulling up on their bikes to see what we were doing. - We even got a couple of offers there and then for our fabulously new shiny bike! The colour wasn't exactly what we'd asked for, but then you never know exactly what people mean when they shake their head from side to side and agree to everything! As an ESOL teacher I should know better than to ask closed questions! It's more pink than crimson but in 'shanty shanty' style, we've warmed to it, - finally named it 'El Rocinante'!
The first day riding, the bikes seemed OK to start with. We'd decided to take a 'short cut' over the Jalori Pass - 3200m up - the highest crossing between the valleys, but as the road got steeper and steeper, our little bike, chugging up the hill with two people and a ton of luggage tied to it, got slower and slower, and finally stopped altogether! It seemed to have overheated, so we found it a little patch of shade and sat on a rock to wait for it to cool down. Our fellow riding companion, Yarif, who was also coming to Rishikesh always has a sweet or biscuit handy everytime we disaster strikes, then we usually have a cigarette and contemplate our next move.. it's become a bit of a routine. The next bit of the road was so bad that Angel had to take me up to the next village on Yarif's 500cc (more powerful) bike. The next part up to the pass, was even steeper. While I was waiting, I'd been chatting to a couple of workers at the guesthouse we'd stopped outside. There told me there was a bus, but only every two hours. After the compuslory chai, we spotted a bus coming up the hill so I told Angel and Yarif I'd jump on the bus with a couple of big rucksacks and meet them at the top. the bus was packed but I squished down in between a young guy and an old lady. She 'namasted' me and I did the same back and then she proceeded to fish a sweet out of what seemed like her armpit, and hand it to me. I accepted graciously, but thought I'd maybe save it for later! Everytime we went over a bump, she let out a high-pitched yelp and then gave me a toothless grin. Everyone on the bus kept thinking it was the strange foreigner and turning around and staring at me, who was obviously smiling back! I got chucked unceremoniously off the bus at the top and waited for the boys, who came over the top looking like they'd crossed the MotorGP finishline.It was all downhill from then on..
The next day also had it's share of fun. Just as we were thinking about where to stay for the night, after a long and bumpy ride through the mountains, we passed a truck and the bike swerved to one side. - Flat tyre! We beeped the horn for Yarif to stop, but in India, it's customary to beep the horn everytime you pass a goat, sheep, cow, person, bicycle, monkey, dog, car, motorbike, rickshaw, truck, bus etc. so he rode on oblivious... it was a good ten minutes before he came chugging back along the road to see what had happened. We managed between the three of us (me obviously holding the bike up in an expert fashion), to get the tyre off. Angel then, as he usually does, left us waiting on the side of the road, while he zoomed off on Yarif's bike to find a garage. (Thank God for Yarif!) He called us about ten minutes later to say that there was one about 3km away and they were already repairing the puncture. We were well-impressed and celebrated with a sweet and a cigarette! When we tried to put the tyre back on, however, it just wouldn't go. Then Angel realised that it was a waste of time anyway, because the air had escaped again! By the time he went off the second time, it was getting dark and we weren't feeling so jubilant as we waited and waited and waited for him to get back. We he did arrive, he'd brought another guy with him to help put the tyre back on. Apparently the mechanic was watching the wrestling with his friends while supposedly fixing two tractor tyres and then some drunk guy showed up and started trying to fight someone else and the mechanic was in the middle of it all, so fixing our tyre - again - was not high on his list of priorities!
In the meantime, a young guy stopped and asked the customary question of where Yarif and I were from. He then asked us about the bike etc. and then offered some food. He said it was for Pooja (offering up to God). He tore the fried chappati in half and gave us half each and then poured half melted Ghee over Yarif's. I declined. We weren't sure if we were supposed to eat it or not, but when Yarif started chewing it and I saw his face, I thought I'd discreetly put mine in my pocket. It tasted disgusting - like he's had it in his socks - or worse! Yarif had wait until the guy had gone, all the time nodding politley, and then go and spit it out.
That night also had it's share of problems! We stopped at the next village and went to the only place we could find: 'Meena's Paying Guesthouse'. Meena's daughter was a hard negotiator and tried to charge us an exhorbitant price for the rooms but Meena herself took a shine to Angel and even kept telling her husband off when he made us fill in more forms and charged us extra for the photocopies of the passports. We celebrated our long, hard day by buying some crisps and a small bottle of rum and coke and sitting on the balcony at the back quietly listening to music on the ipod and looking at the stars. It was all OK until about 1am when I was VERY rudely awakened by some kind of really really loud flute (something like those World Cup things, and people laughing and singing. The noise was coming from the next room and there was only a mosquito net at the top, separating the rooms, so actually it sounded like the party was in the room with us. Even with earplugs, the noise was deafening! I waited about half an hour and then I could take it no more. In true Subwarden style, I decided to march round there and tell them to shut the hell up! When I got there, Yarif had beaten me to it and was pointlessly trying to explain politely that he couldn't sleep and that it was very late. There were at least ten, very drunk men, squashed into the little room! The ringleader however, was having non of it, and was like Scrappy-Doo trying to hit Yarif and shouting that he didn't respect their culture. Meena's meek husband was in the middle, trying to hold them both away from each other. Angel appeared behind me, and one of the other guys, started shouting at him: 'you and me - outside'! I think he'd seen too many movies! It all ended with the manager leading down into a dungeon-like basement with rooms that were half constructed - no walls or glass in the windows - so we had a cold, sleepless night - but at least the music had stopped!
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