From Mumbai to Delhi to Rishikesh

The train ride last night was great! I sat next to a family from Mauritius, who on their way to the airport to catch a flight home, had their passports stolen and so had to make the trip up to Delhi to visit their embassy. What luck, right? When I first boarded the train I was presented with a fresh towel, a tray of snacks, a chilled bottle of water, and of course, chai. Settling into my air-conditioned berth I read and listened to music until it was time for dinner. The palak paneer, rotis, rice, dal, yogurt, and salad that was served provided way too much food for a single sitting, so having thought ahead, I packed the rice and dal away in a tupperware container I'd brought from Vibhu's to save for the next day's lunch. Dinner was followed by strawberry ice cream and another round of chai. By 10pm I'd cozied myself in for the night with the pillow, sheet, and blanket provided by the friendly train staff. I quickly drifted off to sleep and was roused only by the smell of breakfast wafting through the train. Hot omelets, fresh croissants, fruit, juice and chai were served. A few more hours of reading and chatting with my neighbors and by 11am we'd arrived in Delhi.

Stepping off the air-conditioned train, I was overwhelmed by the heat. My mouth instantly parched and my eyes burned in the assault of hot wind. Those first few moments in Delhi's train station, overcome by the heat and chaos of touts desperately vying for my business, completely obliterated any thought I'd had about staying in that city for more than a few hours. I hired an autorickshaw to take me across town to the Interstate Bus Terminal where I caught a bus up to Rishikesh.

The bus ride was a long and hot 7 hours of downing litre after litre of water, loving and hating the hot stream of air that pounded my face, staring out the window admiring the will and determination of the millions of people who's lives are dictated by the ebb and flow of the streets, and an increasing agitation with the bus driver who's love of his horn made me want to wrap my fingers around his leathery neck or at least give him a good slap across the back of his head.

Sweaty, stinky, and tired, I was desperate to get off the bus. Exhaustion had made me grouchy and the gurgling in my stomach told me that I needed to find a bathroom, fast. We eventually stopped for a break at a government sponsored rest stop, which surprisingly even had decently clean toilets. After taking care of business, I stood to pull up my pants when something fell from the sky and hit me on the head. Turing around, bewildered at what could have possibly fallen on my head in an enclosed bathroom, a used, bloody pad appeared on the floor. Disgusted, I examined the walls around me to find a small opening near the ceiling which I assume opened into the next stall over. Sick, sick, sick, was all I could muster to think as a look of utter disbelief filled the contours of my face. Shocked, I ran out of the bathroom, never looking back to see who the woman was who chucked a pad at me. I doubt the action was intentional, but intent aside, please ladies dispose of those items properly! But I am in India, and 'properly' is a very subjective term.

I eventually arrived in Rishikesh at a seemingly deserted bus station albeit the lone richshaw driver or two looking to scam the next arriving tourist. After haggling ruthlessly for an elevated, but fair price to take me to the center of town. I was dropped in the touristy part of town, and ashram after ashram lined the streets. With only a sprinkling of guest houses among the ashrams, my choice of accomodations was minimal, but after a 45-minute search for a reasonably priced room, I went back to the very first guesthouse I had inquired at. 270 rupees was way more than I had wanted to pay, but the cheapest I could find. I unpacked, showered, and immediately fell asleep.