Biddy's Boots #8
Rishikesh/Dharamshala, India
5 - 10 June 2022
There were a few people who warned me about India. Who cautioned me on my pursuit of arriving in the middle of Rajasthan. Solo. As a woman. And for my first time in India.
I shrugged. How bad could it be?
Yoh. I had no idea.
Noooooo idea!
As I reflect back on my first two weeks, I thank my angels for keeping me safe. I certainly now understand what those warnings were about. I laugh at the absurdity of it, the absolute wildness of it all. Yasses.
Jaipur was intense; people staring incessantly, the continuous flow of approach as people wanted my photograph, somehow always identifying that I was on my own, “Where you from? You want tuk-tuk? Where you going? You married? Boyfriend? Where he is? Children? Why not? First time in India? Come look, many things.” Even the odd child pulling at my skirt, begging. A simple ‘nahin’ with my hand up was futile in my efforts to be left alone. At times, I would use my umbrella as a shield, sometimes pivoting and shifting as the stranger refused to give up. At one stage, I turned to a child who had been following me and pulling on me for about 10 minutes, looked him in the eyes, raised my voice, and expressed, “Nahin! Nahin! Nahin!” at least five times. If everyone around me wasn't already looking at me, they were now. The child, stunned, walked away. Not my most compassionate moment.
Pushkar offered slight respite, but Varanasi hit back with a bang. Every time I stepped out onto the streets, I would clothe myself with an invisible bubble of protection and prepare myself mentally and energetically to always be on guard and fend off the hustlers. In India, at least in the first 2 weeks, I found myself continuously sensing and making judgments; placing people on the long continuum between pure-hearted and full-time hustler and opportunist. I have fine-tuned my sixth sense and learned how to identify the whispers of caution that are carried in the air and energies of all I meet. Sometimes, I feel I am too guarded. So finding that balance I feel would be a long-time practice if I had to stay in this country for an extended period of time. It makes me sad sometimes; that I can't just be my open, trusting self, safe and comfortable.
In 11 days, I had covered 3650km whilst arriving in a new country and visiting 3 citites and was about to arrive in my 4th. It had been Pushkar hot and I had had very little energy to do the things that support me in times of movement and change. I was ready to plant my feet in Rishikesh. But the stars had other ideas.
I do now realise my expectation of Rishikesh largely affected my experience of it. I thought I’d be arriving in a quieter place, less developed and cooler with workshops and yoga and shanti vibes. Instead, it was roaring with local travelers (Oh hey more staring men), loud, busy, expensive and still ravishingly hot! I did not have the capacity to navigate these unwanted conditions. I wanted to leave. I wanted to go to a remote island and float around in the ocean free from the sounds of nonstop hooting and the suffocating heat. At night time, I would take my Khoi, submerge it in water, ring it out and place it over my horizontal body. The circulating air from the fan would create a cooling effect against the damp material on my body. It would keep me cool until it did not. I’d wake up once or twice during the night once the khoi had dried, and repeat the process.
Thank you, angels, for Libby - the Israeli woman I met on the streets of Luxman Jhula – and the Ganges River, which honestly allowed me to wash away all my disappointments, attachments and those damn expectations. The magnetism of these waters is fascinating. The energy in Rishikesh is intense and beautiful. I would go back. In fact, I’d love to go back, but at a better time. I can’t say I went to Rishikesh at the wrong time, and with the heat and discomforts a distant memory, I can already express gratitude for my visit there and the absolute gift it was to bathe in Ganga Ma.
(Note to self, do not visit Rishikesh in the off-season.)
Gosh, I digress. Back to the title of this post: Rishikesh to Dharamshala.
Now, I wouldn’t exactly call traveling in India easy. But my trip further north was as good as it could get!
Firstly, Libby and I had to checkout of our accommodation by 10. We found a kind man to keep our bags as we rested and fueled up in the local cafes before embarking on our journey. By the time 2pm came, our idea of walking across to the other side of Rishikesh was no longer appealing as temperatures soared above 40 degrees. We hustled to try to find a taxi that was willing to take us through the intimidating traffic. When we did find one, the fee (of a 1-hour taxi trip) was almost double our 13hour bus ticket to Dharamshala.
Somewhat defeated, we popped open my umbrella and walked 45-minutes to the nearest tuk-tuk. As we got to the top of the road-side stairs, the first vehicle in sight was a tuk-tuk. I waved him down and we climbed in. We weaved our way through the Thursday afternoon traffic and arrived at the local bus stop. We knew the bus departed every 30 minutes or so and were expecting to wait. But as we crossed the road, a bus was busy pulling out. We shouted, “Dehradun?” and the driver gestured with a nod and pointed for us to get on. Local bus in India? Think South African taxi. After an hour’s drive, we arrived at the bus stop in Dehradun with over 2 hours of transit ahead of us. It certainly felt like I was at the taxi rank in the middle of Butterworth. We found the sweetest family selling fresh lime sodas and quickly rehydrated with both water and kindness. We identified a mall within eyesight and found a cool restaurant to sit and wait in. Not only were we the only ones inside, but it was run by three women! A rarity in this country. We relaxed inside and shared laughter and a few photos with the excited trio. After a little broken English and almost missing our bus to Dharamshala, we sat down in our seats and laughed at the relief and blessing of our trip so far. It really was so good to have a travel buddy for this transfer. I felt safer, less preturbed by the stares and had far less ‘approachees’ to fend off.
It was one hell of a winding road to Dharamshala. But, somehow, we both managed to sleep. At one stage we had a long stop for snacks and a toilet break. As I approached the loo, I almost passed out from the stench of urine flooding the air. I looked at the petite, pregnant Indian woman next to me, then to the open grass area beside us, and back at her. I gestured for us to wee together and off we went, crouched side by side in the dark to have a “team wee”. I loved this moment. I loved how despite the barriers and differences, there is a thread of similarity, of humanness that connects us and sometimes, case in point, this is seen in the most unexpected ways.
After our overnight ride, we arrived in the city at 6:30 am and I was abruptly woken by the hurried plea to disembark as I was the last one left on the bus. After some more broken English, we found a Tibetan woman to share a taxi with us up to Bhagsu, an area higher up on the hills above McCleodganj.
Shittles. In the startle and my half-sleep state, I had left my travel yoga mat and my treasured sun umbrella on the bus! 'What to do? What to do?' Oh, this was an experience. After a 13-hour or so trip, here I was in a new city trying to relocate the bus I arrived in with men that could not speak English. My taxi man took me all the way back to the bus stand at half the price and we spent the next 2 hours between the office and the parked bus, walking up and down, conversing with various drivers and workmen in the hope that our efforts would reunite me with my precious travel companions. Eventually, we found the bus. I held my breath. Out popped my umbrella. But my mat has unfortunately found a new home. Nonetheless, I was so excited, I hugged my taxi driver and he proceeded to kiss me on the cheek! It was a celebration I tell you and I could only be grateful for the patience and kindness of all those who were involved, and there were many!
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